Amazing things happen when we let God’s love and light shine…
Your love never leaves
It's not who you are
Though shame screams I've lost it
You are never far
Your love never leaves
Why did I run for so long?
Chasing after the wind
Not realizing I already belong
Your love never leaves
I can always count on you
Anxiety lifts as I loosen my grip
And put my trust in you
Your love never leaves
It only grieves
When I refuse to receive
Believing the lie "I could never please"
Your love never leaves
All it needs is a place to grow
Embraced like a lost friend
My heart overflows
Your Love ❤️
- Kristin Aaron
Grief often rolls into our life unexpected and uninvited. We all eventually lose someone we love. Grief descended on our life like a thick fog when we lost our three year old son Jenson.
Here are 10 helpful tips I’ve discovered through personal experience for grieving forward and navigating your loss.
1) Stop Running
When something unwanted invades our lives, it’s easy to want to exit stage right. The great escape artist in us all emerges ready to perform the ultimate magic trick. But escape is an illusion.
Grief is like a grizzly bear. Every instinct in your body says run for the hills, but in order to survive you must NOT run. You can’t outrun a grizzly. If you try, it will catch you and devour you. Don’t let it win. Face the grizzly bear.
Put down your running shoes and instead pull out a good pair of comfortable walking shoes. You can’t speed through grief or airlift over it. You have to walk through it one step at a time.
2) Ride the Wave
You’ll find grief rolls in like an uncontrollable wave.
After hundreds of attempts to stop the wave and getting body slammed to the ground (I’m nothing if not persistent), I finally realized my approach looked a lot like a toothpick trying to control a dam of raging water. Zero chance of holding it back. Fighting the wave only created tension and torment.
A better approach is riding the wave. Yes, you’re riding it barefoot and blind with no control and no end in sight, but every wave eventually hits the shore and recedes back. As much as you didn’t sign up for a surfing lesson without equipment or getting tossed around in rough waters, ride the wave when it rolls in versus trying to fight it. It will save you a lot of extra pain and suffering.
3) Peel the Onion
Like an onion, grief contains many layers and the closer you get to the center the more it makes you cry. It involves processing a lot of complex emotions. When a death is tragic or includes a lot of unresolved conflict, it may feel as if you’re in a mine-field of onion bombs all needing to be excavated and peeled back to their core. Take it one onion at a time.
Opting out leaves your emotions with only a few bad options for making their exit depending on whether you’re an exploder or a stuffer. Exploders tend to injure other innocent parties where stuffers injure themselves.
Do the hard work of peeling back the layers of grief. A close friend who lost a son told me, “Grief is the hardest work you’ll ever do.” And she nailed it. You’ll be tired. You’ll be raw. You will feel crazy. But you’re not crazy, you’re just grieving (decision paralysis while buying hand soap at Target is TOTALLY normal – not that I’m speaking from experience or anything).
4) Look for Light
The veil of grief produces a deep darkness which can make you question whether you’ll ever see light or some sense of normalcy again. In the midst of the darkness, look for light. It’s there… it’s just hard to see due to the fog grief creates.
Make a conscience choice each day to find at least one positive thing and give thanks for it. It can be as simple as “I’m thankful I have a comfy bed” or “I’m thankful for a beautiful sunset”.
Train your mind to look for light.
“It is during our darkest moments where we must train ourselves to see the light.” – Aristotle
5) Receive Relief
When others show up offering help or relief, now is the time to say yes and thank you. You’d like to offer me and my family a week away at your vacation home? Yes please, thank you.
For the majority of us who don’t have friends with vacation homes, when asked “how can I help?” here are a few ideas. You can bring dinner. A Starbucks coffee sounds good. You can bring groceries. I could really use a friend to just sit with me. I need a dinner out to make me feel normal.
You’ll instinctively know offers that come without conditions and those laced with future obligations. Trust your instincts and lean into your safe people. Lean in hard. It’s one of those times when the goodness of others can shine if you let in love and light.
6) Honor Love
“Grief is just love with no place to go.” – Jamie Anderson
I heard this quote a few months ago, and it cut straight to the core. It explained why doing things to honor those we love helps us move forward.
My mother-in-law passed away a few weeks ago. Writing her eulogy and creating a card for the funeral with a picture of her and the scripture that embodied her life helped me both honor her and process my own feelings. It became a tangible expression of my love for her.
Some people start non-profits, others bring flowers to gravesites, and some post memories via social media. There are endless ways to honor love. It gives your grief a place to go and allows your loved one’s memory to live on.
7) Grieve your Way
My husband and my approach to coping varied dramatically. Doug would take skinny dips in and out of the grief pool and rage to music or get a tattoo because it made him feel as if he was taking on some of Jenson’s earthly pain (hello two sleeves in a year). I approached it by diving head first into the abyss unsure if I’d ever emerge again and using creative outlets like writing to unearth pent up emotion or design to make things beautiful.
Everyone grieves differently. Give grace to both yourself and fellow grievers as you learn to grieve your way.
8) Expect the Unexpected
Don’t be surprised when it shows up again out of the blue as an unwelcome house guest. I’ve found certain dates are guaranteed triggers such as our son’s birthday or the day he passed away. But others act like the boogeyman hiding in the bushes and jumping out when least expected. Often triggered by some kind of sound, sight, smell, or song, they help me realize I still have more onions to peel (ugh).
Grief is not a one and done type of event. You can’t schedule it and cross it off your to-do list. When it flares back up, go back to riding the wave, peeling the onion, looking for light, receiving relief, honoring love, grieving your way.
9) Laugh Again
What did the left eye say to the right eye?
Between you and me, something smells.
Why did the hipster burn his mouth?
He drank coffee before it was cool.
Did you hear about the two people who stole a calendar?
They each got six months.
Laughter is good for the soul. Don’t be afraid to laugh. It’s ok to keep laughing and living. (Expert tip: If you’re looking for more jokes, google is your friend — the above jokes courtesy of the internet).
10) Lean Into God
Hold onto his truth. I grabbed hold of the verse that God will bring beauty from ashes. I couldn’t see anything but ash and dust all around after years of chemo and a departure at three years of age from this earth, but I held on tight to this promise and still cling to it when the wave of grief rolls in.
As you journey through the valleys of anger and depression, remember God can handle your anger. Let him have it. And then let him comfort you.
I got stuck for a while giving Him the cold shoulder because I wanted a re-write. He waited patiently. Then I unleashed my anger at the injustice of it all. He listened. And once I was ready, he comforted and reminded me He will keep his promise to bring beauty from ashes.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me. Your rod and your staff they comfort me.”– Psalm 23:4
Grief isn’t something you “get over” but you can grieve forward and find joy again. From one griever to another, keep bravely walking forward towards the light. You’ll find sorrow somehow opens you up to experience even deeper joy. It’s a mystery I still can’t explain…
Allen is home. We live one mile from the Allen Premium Outlets swinging in regularly to shop for deals on everything from shoes to shirts. Safe. Serene. And now shockingly sad after a senseless act of violence.
When unspeakable tragedy hits, support from others fills in the empty space – the gap between this fallen world and the way it’s supposed to be. Our community stepped up and bridged that gap when our three year old son died after years of chemo. Lifelines holding us up when only ashes and rubble remained.
They taught me “5 S’s” of support for grievers. Let’s offer comfort to others walking through grief and trauma:
1. Slip on their shoes
First, imagine yourself in their place. How would you feel? What types of emotions would you be experiencing? What would feel helpful vs hurtful?
I imagine store clerks at the outlet having vivid memories of the sound of bullets, the clank of the store gate coming down, the click of the door being locked, visions of ushering panicked shoppers to safety in the back of the store coupled with a fear so strong it makes you weak in the knees.
First responders likely arrived to a horrific scene to help. I envision the way they bandaged up wounds and arranged transport to local hospitals. The way they honored the privacy and dignity of the victims who departed this world by placing white sheets over their bodies.
I think about the families who received that unexpected call forever altering the course of life.
Envisioning those impacted activates your own empathy. It helps transport you to the right frame of mind to offer genuine help.
2. Show up
Offer support in a way proportional to your relationship with the person impacted. Some ideas include:
Close inner circle friend or family member (or pastor) = all of the above plus an in-person visit if griever is open to it
*Note: Be very careful about invading someone’s most private life moment unless you are a very close friend or family member. Before barging in uninvited, check yourself. Avoid any tendencies to come riding in on your white horse to save the day. This causes more long-term harm than good.
For close friends and family invited in, expect to feel incredibly uncomfortable entering into their darkest hour. Most people worry about what to say. Leave your lengthy words and your fix-it toolbox at home. Nothing you do or say will take away the pain. It can’t be fixed. But, it can be less lonely with the support of others. Helplessness tries to convince you there’s no point in being there for your loved one. It’s lying. Your presence sparks a light in a sea of darkness. Grievers need their safe people.
Avoid this common mistake. Many people offer platitudes trying to simplify grief and trauma into a linear one-liner. Statements such as “God will never give you more than you can handle,” or “Heaven must have needed another angel,” or “Don’t grieve without hope” may help you feel better, but it won’t help a griever. Platitudes feel at best like empty promises and at worst judgments.
As Pastor Rick Warren who lost his child to suicide said, “The more extreme the trauma, the less words you bring.” You can’t take away the pain. Your presence speaks volumes. It is enough.
Park the platitudes. Present your presence.
3. Simply Listen
Avoiding a griever because you’re uncomfortable makes them feel even more isolated and alone. Greet them and read their cues. Go with the flow.
Be willing to listen. Grievers don’t always feel like talking about what happened. Let them lead and don’t force it. If they open-up, listen not just with your ears but with your heart. Offer empathy, compassion, and grace.
When our son Jenson passed away, I prepared to return to work after several months off. My friend Linda offered great counsel to co-workers as they asked, “What do I say to Kristin when she comes back?”.
“Just talk to her. She’s still a person. She just experienced something traumatic.”
Grievers may want a good laugh. Or need to talk about fashion or sports. Or want to hear what’s happening with you. Or cry. Listen and follow their lead.
Respect their boundaries. If a griever wants to share, they will. If they don’t, it’s not personal. Everyone grieves differently.
4. Suspend Judgment
If a griever is willing to open up and talk about their pain or memories, remember you are on holy ground. The wound runs deep. It’s raw and aching from trauma. Be a safe place where confidences can be kept.
There is no place for judgment in a sea of sorrow.
A friend of mine lost her sister to COVID. As she shared her heartfelt emotions on Facebook, one commenter mixed scripture with judgment about how she “should be grieving”. I wanted to punch him in the virtual face. Thankfully self-control ruled the day. I called my friend offering empathy and a listening ear instead.
Judgment from well-meaning people who don’t understand the depths of your pain or have never experienced the assault tragic grief inflicts add additional injury. Be careful not to scratch at scars.
Grievers may need to cry, cuss, scream, rant or laugh all in one sentence. And grief often causes temporary loss of any filter. Let a griever grieve. Don’t be alarmed when a normally decisive person encounters decision paralysis. It’s normal.
Put away your gavel. Suspend judgment.
5. Shine love
Nothing goes further than unconditional love.
Statements like:
I love you.
You’re not alone.
I’m praying for you.
I wish I could take away some of your pain.
Be like Jesus and offer comfort. “Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted”.
When Jesus’ friend Lazarus died, the Bible says “Jesus wept”. He mourned as he felt the depths of their pain. Bring hugs, tears, and your whole heart. Walk through the ups and downs, the uncomfortable and uncertainty with unfailing unconditional love.
You can be a fountain of healing in a desert of mourning. Let’s all be a positive force for comfort and healing today and tomorrow.
Recently I had the opportunity to write an article for a Patient Safety magazine sharing our son Jenson’s brave journey. He made the cover with the caption “How one boy changed patient safety”.
If you’ve ever wondered if you can make a difference in this world, you can! Start with one thing you’re passionate about changing (more on that in the article https://patientsafetyj.com/article/73598-what-s-your-one-thing “What’s Your One Thing?”).
Even through tragedy, God can bring beauty from ashes. What’s your one thing?
Our family recently received an incredibly generous gift. One that came about because of a small, heartfelt act years before.
It happened while attending a fundraising event in New York City. We headed to the 8th floor in cocktail attire and entered the grand ballroom as we took in stunning views – a beautiful wood coffered ceiling, intricate carved wood walls, and a balcony overlooking Central Park. A group of oil industry executives would be arriving later that evening. We greeted our connection with the Histiocytosis Association who welcomed us and guided us towards our donation table set up as part of the silent auction.
We arrived at a table full of stuffed monkeys and pictures of our family.
Looking at the picture of our son Jenson hugging a monkey, my mind flashed back to years earlier. Three year old Jenson had endured 55 rounds of chemo. We waited on pins and needles in the hospital hoping the bone marrow transplant he received from his sister Sydney would bring healing. Jenson had lost a lot. His hair. His ability to walk and sit up. His body was covered in redness and rashes as a sign of the re-birthing happening inside his body. He felt sick and sad.
To help him feel less alone, I told him about another three year old boy in Philadelphia. Marcus suffered from Histio too and was recovering in the hospital from his second bone marrow transplant. Jenson’s response surprised me.
“I need send him a monkey.”
Stuffed monkeys always made Jenson smile. He figured Marcus could use a smile too. We packed up a cuddly, stuffed monkey and mailed it off. We called it Monkey Grins. Over the last seven years, we continue to pack up care packages for Histio families around the world.
At the event, people had the opportunity to donate a stuffed monkey for $50 which we would mail out to Histio families. To encourage people to donate, each monkey also had a number around its neck that entered you to win a grand prize of Broadway tickets and a dinner out (a $500 value).
As oil industry executives entered the silent auction and later the dinner and program, they learned more about a rare disease where your body over-fires white blood cells and the mission of the Histiocytosis Association. I got to share our family’s story, Jenson’s brave battle with the disease, and how Monkey Grins got its start.
The response was overwhelming as strangers (and even the guy running the slides/sound in the back of the room) reacted with hugs, tears, and a desire to help support the Histiocytosis Association fund research and help us send smiles.
At the end of the evening, a man from the audience approached me and thanked me for sharing our story.
“I’m the one who won the grand prize for donating a monkey,” he said pausing for a moment before the next sentence.
“But this isn’t for me … this is for your family.”
I stood shocked as tears flowed down my face overwhelmed with gratitude at the kindness of a total stranger. A small act of kindness touches lives.
But it didn’t stop there as this night became a magical evening where God gave a glimpse into the often secret and sacred ways kindness seeds grow and bloom years after being planted.
You see, the Histiocytosis Association was created years ago because two parents (Jeff and Sally) felt alone when their daughter Bethany was first diagnosed. Sally told me that night the main reason they created it – they didn’t want others to feel so alone. They created an amazing non-profit to help find a cure and support others as they walk into the land of uncertainty. A small act of kindness touches lives.
I got Jenson’s diagnosis at work. And despite the doctor’s warnings about staying off the internet, I found myself compulsively drawn like a bug to the light longing for something to help guide us through this journey. The first site I found was histio.org (Histiocytosis Association) where Jeff and Sally’s vision came to life as a total stranger living coasts apart found their website in a time of great need. A small act of kindness touches lives.
Seven years ago when Jenson passed away, we knew we wanted to keep his vision of sending smiles alive. So we asked everyone coming to his funeral to bring a stuffed monkey to be mailed out to Histio families journeying down this road. We received about three hundred monkeys that day. A small act of kindness touches lives.
With more monkeys than Histio families we knew, I reached out to Jeff at the Histiocytosis Association. He and his team agreed to partner with us to reach more people. And due to the international reach of their organization, we have now mailed thousands of monkeys throughout the world. A small act of kindness touches lives.
The fundraising event in NYC started 30 years ago because a father working for Saudi Petroleum found his family in the eye of the storm as they received a diagnosis that rocked their world too. He decided to do something about it and asked his company to sponsor a fundraising event to raise awareness and funding for research. His company asked for other companies in the oil and gas industry to sponsor the event too, and such was born a huge gift to others that has raised awareness and funding for 30 years and many more to come. A small act of kindness touches lives.
Oil industry executives gave generously that evening to support families they had never met. A small act of kindness touches lives.
At the event, we met a family who had received one of our Monkey Grin care packages in the mail. It brightened their day, and they wanted to brighten another family’s day too. The mom and I exchanged contact info, and she mailed a check for Monkey Grins to help with future postage. A small act of kindness touches lives.
And to top it off, the mom we met also personally knew Marcus (the boy who received the first Monkey Grin). She reached out to Marcus’s mom while we were at the event, who sent a picture of Marcus today – monkey in hand. A small act of kindness touches lives.
God gave a gift that weekend in New York City. A small glimpse into how kindness starts and spreads … one small act at a time. Like a dandelion in the wind, kindness seeds can be carried into places you never dreamed possible and bloom in amazing ways. How can you spread some kindness today?
Sometimes you’re deep in a toxic relationship and can’t see the signs. I know because it happened to me. It started at age eleven.
I counted down the days until my 11th birthday when I could get my ears pierced. The girls at the piercing store let me select earrings (hypo-allergenic stainless steel hearts). They drew dots on my ears with a marker, placed the ear-piercing gun on my ears, and pulled the trigger as I struggled to hold back tears.
It was done. And I LOVED it! My ear piercing dreams finally came true.
The infections and pain in my new ear holes started a few days later. Little did I know the sleeping beast had been awakened. My toxic relationship with nickel began.
Nickel is a common allergy affecting an estimated 15-25% of women and 8-10% of men. And you’ll be surprised at all the things that contain nickel (more on that below).
For people who suffer from this allergy, our immune system views nickel as a harmful substance. Once you develop a nickel allergy, you will always be allergic to it and subject to an immune system response whenever exposed.
It has taken me years (30+ yrs) to figure out the best way to manage it. So for anyone who suspects or struggles with a nickel allergy, here are a few tips from a recovering nickel-a-holic:
1. Avoid exposure to common items which can contain nickel.
Jewelry for body piercings
Other jewelry, including rings, bracelets, necklaces and jewelry clasps
Watchbands
Clothing fasteners, such as zippers, snaps and bra hooks
Before freaking out at this crazy long list of common everyday items, know one thing: all of these items don’t always contain nickel. It depends on the metal alloys used during the manufacturing process. Nickel is a common filler in metal products because of its strength and durability.
It took me forever to figure out why some bra hook closures without a piece of fabric covering them gave me rashes on my back. Or why eyeglasses with metal frames made my ears itch. Or why the beautiful 14kt white gold earrings my husband gave me as a gift made my ears throb in pain.
If you’re a jewelry lover like me, there are lots of beautiful nickel-free options available. For fine jewelry, stay away from white gold which frequently contains nickel: stick with platinum, sterling silver or most 14kt gold. Or for more affordable everyday designs, look for products or lines that are nickel-free (I offer a jewelry line with many nickel-free products including every pair of earrings offered).
If you’re dealing with a chronic rash or suspect a reaction to something metal you already own such as scissors or a zipper or the metal on your garden hose, you can test for nickel with a nickel testing kit. Whenever possible, avoid nickel exposure if you suspect you have a nickel allergy.
2. Prior to any major surgical procedure involving a medical device, get your blood tested for a nickel allergy!
I had my blood tested prior to neck surgery thanks to a compassionate nurse sharing her story. Her son broke his jaw in a freak accident and got a metal chin implant. His implant contained nickel which created a severe inflammatory response that almost took his life. I shared with her my suspected nickel allergy and challenges with earrings and unexplained rashes through the years. She said, “Honey, this conversation is a God thing. You need to be tested. And insurance probably won’t approve it.”
She was right on both accounts. Insurance does NOT as standard practice approve patients being blood tested for metal allergies prior to having a device/plates/screws put in their body. I did it anyway, and it turned out to be money well spent as my results revealed a SEVERE nickel allergy.
Results of Metal Allergy Blood Testing
After seeing these results, my doctor changed my neck surgery procedure from an artificial disc (which all contained nickel in 2016) to a cervical fusion with titanium plates and screws. I still give thanks to God for a nurse who will never know she likely saved my life.
Side note – given my test results revealed a major nickel allergy, insurance did eventually pay us back for the approximately $500 metal blood test.
3. Consider changing your diet.
This one threw me for a MAJOR loop. Many foods contain nickel too?!?
For over fifteen years, I’ve struggled with odd symptoms such as severe arthritis (especially odd since it started in my early 30’s), mystery rashes, and what I’d describe as an overall weakened immune system. Through the years, doctors have run tests for all kinds of autoimmune disorders like Lupus, Lyme disease, Fibromyalgia, and many others with no answers.
Recently I considered trying acupuncture for relief and decided to research whether acupuncture needles contain nickel. Yes, they do unless you order special nickel-free ones. But that internet search would change my life as I came across article after article highlighting foods high in nickel.
The biggest culprits consisted of staples in my diet: beans, nuts, soy, wheat/oats/rye/millet/buckwheat, chocolate, tea, and canned foods.
As I read this news, my mind flashed to a very typical day in my “trying to be healthy” dietary world consisting of wholegrain bread and almond butter with a cup of chai tea for breakfast, hummus and crackers with canned green beans for lunch, and a big bowl of lentil soup for dinner (with some soy sauce for extra flavor)
I called my husband in a bit of a panic.
“I’m kinda freaking out right now,” I told him as I shared the highlights from the articles.
“Babe, this could be the best thing that has ever happened to you. So basically you’re allergic to nickel and have been on the high-nickel diet. It’s kinda funny too because you’ve been so disciplined about eating healthy, but it’s like you were poisoning yourself.”
I wasn’t laughing.
But he turned out to be right. After almost a year on the low-nickel diet, the results are remarkable. My arthritis pain is almost gone (unless I accidentally eat something high in nickel at a restaurant where all the ingredients aren’t listed), and my immune system functions better than it has in over 15 years. I feel like I got my life back.
Switching to a low-nickel diet took a bit of time and testing, but I found a website and chart by Rebelytics which helped guide the journey into the land of the low-nickel diet. Generally if I eat a gluten-free diet and stay away from beans, soy, nuts, tea, canned goods, coconut and chocolate, I feel great. Yes, it is a bit high maintenance. And yes, I still dream about chocolate covered almonds. But it’s a small price to pay for getting your health back.
For anyone suffering from a nickel allergy, there is hope. You can feel good again. Don’t let nickel ruin your life.
Christmas joy filled the air. Ornaments glistened, smiles radiated, and lights twinkled. Santa awaited … well would await (WAIT emphasized) in a matter of several hours. My daughter Sydney eagerly anticipated this year’s visit while our two year old Jenson hesitantly checked out the man in the red coat from a distance and shook his head no.
We put in our name (and cell phone number). They would text us once our spot to see Santa opened up.
With our name in the cue, we headed to PF Chang’s for our annual family dinner to celebrate my brother’s birthday. Visions of fried green beans and spicy Kung Pao Chicken danced in our heads.
We got everyone settled, placed our order, and enjoyed a lovely “no-drama” meal. After eating, I excused myself to the restroom. Sydney and Jenson excitedly declared they wanted to come too like travelers going on some great adventure. Such is a mom’s life with kids four and under.
I lifted Jenson from the high chair and walked with the kids towards the restroom.
Being a party of three, we opted for the larger handicap stall. Inside the stall, I noticed the changing table pulled open. No biggie, easy fix. I pushed it up and watched as it folded to a flat surface back on the wall. I sat down to go to the bathroom. And that’s when I saw it…
“Don’t move. Stay right where you are,” I adamantly declared in my stern mom voice.
A huge piece of poop sat under the changing table. It must have dropped from the changing table when I pushed it up.
Completely grossed out, I willed myself to keep it together and keep the kids away from it. What kind of disgusting person leaves a chunk of poop in the bathroom at PF Chang’s?
I stood up from the toilet only to discover it wasn’t contained. A big piece somehow made its way on my sweater too. I carefully peeled off my sweater only to see another layer on my shirt. Could this get any grosser?
I did my best to wash it off in the sink to no avail. I was up a creek with no clean shirt and Santa’s text coming at any moment.
I needed help (as did the handicap stall we emerged from), so I headed to see the manager of the restaurant.
“So… there’s a huge issue in the restroom. It needs to be cleaned. Some disgusting person left poop in the stall. It must have been on the changing table when I closed it. It’s on the floor and everywhere. It even got on my sweater and shirt. I can’t believe someone would do that!”.
The gracious store manager apologized. She even gave me a card to dry-clean my clothes which she offered to reimburse at their expense.
“I just can’t believe someone would leave poop like that,” I shook my head in absolute disgust.
“You’d be surprised at the type of stuff we see,” she shared.
“I have one other problem. We are about to get texted for our place in line to meet Santa. I can’t wear this,” I pointed to my brown stained shirt. “Do you happen to have a t-shirt or anything I could use and return?”
The manager headed towards the kitchen. She emerged with a PF Chang’s server shirt. “Keep it,” she offered.
I thanked her, took the kids back to the table, and headed back into a clean stall in the restroom to change. Once back at the table, I shared the whole crazy story as we settled up the bill. My phone pinged with the Santa text letting us know we had a few minutes to get there or lose our spot.
As we prepared to leave, I lifted Jenson again from his highchair. He walked with my mom towards the door. Then, I looked down at the sleeve of my new PF Chang’s server shirt and saw it. More poop. You have got to be kidding me…am I being punk’d?
My dad had a light bulb moment. He hurriedly sped after Jenson who was making his way out of the restaurant, grabbed the back of Jenson’s pants to peek inside his diaper, and let’s just say dad got a little more than he bargained for. As we walked down the steps of PF Chang’s racing to meet Santa, I realized … I am the disgusting person who leaves poop all over the bathroom stall.
Life is full of surprises. Sometimes entirely different storylines are happening that we can’t see on the surface. Things aren’t always as they seem. We all could use a little less judgment and a lot more grace.
After all, the gift of grace is what Christmas is all about. A free gift we can all receive.
But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift. – Ephesians 4:7
May your Christmas be filled with grace and love.
PS: Pray for me as I swallow my pride and head to PF Chang’s on Dec 23 and re-live the annual story of Poopgate 🙂
PSS: Click here to never miss a post. Feel free to share this post with anyone in need of a good laugh or a little grace.
I still remember the day my husband Doug broached the topic.
“I really want to get a fast sports car.”
Doug has always been a bit car obsessed, but a two-seater for a family needing at least three seats? We were definitely outside the practical zone.
I had just come back from a meeting where a psychologist talked about how our brain works in our teens, 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, 50’s. And on the list for men in their forties, mid-life crisis zone: fast sports car.
“Babe, I don’t think a 2-seater sports car is right for us. We’ve got college to be saving for and other expenses right now,” I replied in a firm tone still trying to figure out if he was testing the waters or whether it had turned into a full blown obsession.
“But I really want this car,” he countered back. It was definitely an obsession.
“You know what… I’ll make you a deal. If you can make enough outside of our normal monthly income after tithing and taxes to buy the car outright, you can get any car you want.”
He agreed. Decision made. Big relief. No chance of a flashy sports car entering our future.
Nine months passed. I remember sitting at the desk in our home office when Doug came in the room.
“So what color do you want to get?”
I looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we can get the car babe! I had an investment come through, and we can get the car. What color do you want?”
I sat shocked. This couldn’t be happening. It was the impossible challenge. The one that could NEVER be achieved. But we had made an agreement. And he achieved the impossible. There was no going back now. A super charged sports car would soon be in our garage.
He picked a red convertible. Oh my.
“The Cat” as Doug liked to call it started with a roar followed by a purr. I had to contain my eye rolls and head shaking in disbelief each time he started it up. I had only driven it a couple times so when our friend Therese from Australia visited, she and I decided to take it out for a spin on a perfect Sunday afternoon.
I put the convertible top down, and we headed out. Our hair blew in the wind giving that carefree feeling as we cruised down the road in this powerful machine. We decided to get on the freeway and head to Costco for a $1.50 hot dog.
I was driving in the center lane cruising close to the speed limit. As I glanced down for a split second at the radio and pushed a button to turn the station, Therese said, “Mate, look up.”
A sheet of plywood the size of the entire car was moving at 65 mph and coming right for us. The car hauling a trailer in front of us hadn’t tied down their load. The wood caught air and in seconds would be landing directly on top of our heads.
There was no going forward.
I did the only thing one can do when faced with decapitation by a flying wood board the size of a queen size mattress. I swerved abruptly to the left lane marveling at the quick maneuverability of a car that never should have been a part of our life.
The sheet of wood missed the car by less than 2 inches as it slammed to the ground. If I’d have been driving our SUV, we wouldn’t have made it to the next lane in time. “The Cat” saved our lives.
A song about God’s amazing grace played on the radio as I said, “Isn’t that the truth?”. My friend and I looked at each other shocked replaying the unexpected minute our lives almost ended forever. It wasn’t our time to go.
That car came and went in our life in less than a year – whew! prolonged mid-life crisis averted – but the memory of that day remains. You never know when your time may be up. Only God knows. It could be after a long battle with an illness. It could be at the end of a long and well lived life. Or everything can change in a split second.
“When it’s time to die, let us not discover that we have never lived.” – Henry David Thoreau
How would you live differently if you knew today would be your last day?
The picture hangs prominently displayed in our master bathroom. On it, a word I need to remember before the start of each day.
Many of the words come more naturally: love, dream, create.
Yet one highlighted word stands out in a sea of action oriented verbs – be.
It’s an unnatural word in a world where hustle and achievement are heralded. Get that project completed. Coordinate kids schedules and drop-off/pick-up. Make plans for next week. Try to stay connected by scrolling through social media in any spare moment. Do more.
In this fast paced and action oriented culture, we’ve become more like “human doings” rather than “human beings”.
You may have reached the tipping point if:
Your to-do list is as long as your social media feed.
Your only alone time is when you’re in the shower or bathroom.
You have stopped spending time with friends because you’re just “too busy”.
Feelings of resentment are bubbling over about so many demands and so little time.
You’re becoming more forgetful and can’t remember the last time you felt peace and quiet.
The great thing about “being” is it doesn’t require a soul-crushing to-do list. It just means carving out time for the productivity machine to come to a halt. And giving yourself permission to step away from the rush. Breathe in the stillness like life-saving oxygen for a tired heart.
Center your soul before the rush of the day begins. And surrender your day, your plans, your life before the one who created it all.
PS: Enjoy this post? Click here to subscribe for future blog posts.
Hello friends! Today I’m excited to introduce you to my amazing writer and speaker friend Jennifer Goebbel. She is a mama of three girls and one boy, married for 19+ years, and has a God-given gift to teach (I love listening to her speak and marvel as she brings the Bible to life in new ways) . She is guest posting today on the blog, and I just know you’re going to love her as much as I do. Enjoy today’s post and check out more on her website and blog.
Have you ever heard a child crying from inside a public restroom? Well, truth be told, I or some other Mom or Dad might have been on the inside…whispering loudly, “Please stop crying, please?!” horrified that our child was so upset about using a self-flushing toilet.
So, I’m actually speaking from experience here…my sweet, kind hearted daughter has been afraid of self-flushing toilets ever since she was old enough to go potty in public restrooms. And since she is so very afraid, she cries as if you are trying to hurt her! Oh. My. Word. Lol.
Honestly, I felt like I had tried everything. I had tried covering the sensor with my hand, covering the sensor with a piece of toilet paper, physically hovering her over the toilet while I held her!…and I tried rationalizing, with a 4 year old – guess how that went?! Nothing worked. She would either hold it for hours on end…or she would cry very loudly and say “No, I can’t do it!” all because she was afraid it might suck her down with the water or even worse, splash her. [Can you feel my pain here?!]
Until the day I realized I was approaching it all wrong.
Literally standing there in the restroom stall that day…the Holy Spirit reminded me what the Bible has to say about fear: 2 Timothy 1:7a “For God did not give us a spirit of fear…”
And I stood there in that stall that day and had a conversation about fear with my sweet, crying, then 7 year old. “If God says in His Word that He doesn’t give us the spirit of fear…then do you know who that spirit is from?” She quietly answered “the enemy?”. “Yep, fear is from satan.”
She thought about that for a little while and then I asked her, “So, do you know what God does give to you?!” “No, what?” She was pouting a bit now…arms crossed and dancing a bit, because she REALLY had to go to the bathroom! Lol. Oh. My. Heavens.
So I finished the scripture for her… “Sweet girl, God gives you the spirit of power, of love and a sound mind! You have God’s power working on the inside of you. He makes you strong, He gives you peace…you can do this!!”
She did go on that self-flushing potty that day, but it took a lot of time. And I’ll be honest, it has been a journey for her. As of today, she is finally able to use them without being afraid, but not without hesitation. BUT, you guys, it brings her such JOY every time she conquers that fear!!! Once fear was exposed as NOT being from God, she was able to process her emotions differently. She was able to…little by little…start making decisions to trust God instead of letting fear control her.
And this is SO much more than a story about a little girl being afraid of self-flushers. It’s really for all of us. I don’t know about you, but fear tries it’s hardest to sneak into my life. It has been there when God asked me to do something new [fear of failure], it has showed up in my relationships [fear of not being good enough], and it even shows up sometimes when I try to talk with people about Christ…[fear of rejection]. BUT, once it’s called out for what it is…that it’s not something from God, but from the enemy…then, you can deal with it. Then you can rely on scripture and speak to fear! You can say, out loud if you want to, “I am filled with Jesus. And He gives me power, He gives me a sound mind, He gives me peace…I am filled with His love.” 2 Timothy 1:7
Faith over fear. Sometimes it’s a journey, sometimes it’s instant. But I want to encourage you, give your fear to Jesus, let Him replace it with peace…just like my daughter decided to do. Remember this story, of a scared, sweet little girl who was paralyzed with fear and anything but peace. And remember God’s very same promise is for you too!
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Tuck in. Talk. Pray. And make sure to say the “signature phrase”.
Bedtime is rapidly evolving with a 12 year-old daughter in the midst of puberty. It used to involve story time, holding her hand and lying next to her in her bed until she fell asleep. But it’s always included that one thing I never want her to forget.
“You are loved & special,” I recently told my daughter Sydney from the door as she turned out her light.
“I know,” she replied.
My face lit up with a giant smile… It’s sticking!
“Don’t ever forget it,” I added. With peer pressure, puberty and people who can sometimes be downright mean, this truth needs to play like a record on repeat for her and for us too.
Because the world has a way of trying to convince us otherwise.
You’re not thin enough or pretty enough.
Why would anyone like someone as imperfect as you?
Who do you think you are? You’re not anything special.
But don’t believe the lies.
“For You created my inmost being. You knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:13-14
You are special from the start. Created uniquely and designed wonderfully…
(Read more of this post here on my friend Jennifer’s blog where I am “guest posting” today. And check out her blog too while you’re there!)
Your belly became the place I first got to know you. The thump of your heartbeat, your beautiful voice, the rhythm of your soul. You made me feel safe and gave me a place to grow. You were there.
I made my way into this brave new world. Wide eyed and uncertain. Bright lights, big smiling faces, and cool crisp air. You were there.
I began toddling around. Curiosity reigned. Exploring every drawer and floor. Drawn to electrical sockets as a bug is to the light. You stuck to me like glue. You were there.
Carpool lanes, backpacks, and school bells came next. I learned how to make friends. Got bullied. And learned which friends to keep. You were there.
Puberty hit along with hormones and zits. I threw fits of different sorts. Somehow you transformed overnight from someone who knew everything to someone who knew nothing. You were there.
As young adulthood approached, I exercised my freedom. Navigating the precarious line sometimes a bit too close to the edge. You always said call if I needed you, “No questions asked”. One night I called for a ride. You were there.
My first place on my own. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You hauled carloads of clothes and stuff. Here and there. Up and down stairs. You were there.
I called to let you know the news. It finally happened … I met “the one”! We planned and you ran around town helping make it a day I’d never forget. As I walked down the aisle, your smile radiated at who I’d become and would become in the future. You were there.
Life came full circle as my belly grew. We welcomed the new additions with open arms just like you did so many years ago. Dirty diapers, tired happy hearts, and lots of questions. You were there.
Through all of life’s stages and pages, you’ve always been there. Pouring everything out with a tender and forgiving heart. I’ve always known you cared because you were there.
Whatever comes next, I’ll never face it alone because your spirit lives inside me. You filled me with the best gift of all – YOU. You are there.
I love you mom. Happy Mother’s Day!
Enjoy this post? Click here to subscribe for future blog posts. xo Kristin
It started off as a typical Thursday afternoon after a week of business travel.
Turn in rental car. Schlep barefoot through security checkpoint. Bra wire pat down by female TSA agent. Board returning flight. Stow bag. Insert purple earbuds. Listen to chill music while gazing out airplane window. Land at DFW airport and taxi 15 minutes to gate. Grab carry on bag. Head up exit ramp. Stop in airport bathroom before picking up car (because everyone knows rush hour traffic plus no bathroom break equals no bueno).
My black Samsonite bag glided on the speckled tile floors as I made my way through the crowd to the bathroom. Surprisingly no line. I headed into the first open stall.
As I exited the stall, I saw her. Her eyes darting around in a panic. The look of complete emotional despair bubbling like a volcano about to erupt. The line had grown a couple people deep. She shuffled back and forth trying to keep her composure for just a few more minutes.
I rolled my black suitcase by her towards the sink and soap.
Then, I heard an abrupt rattling of each bathroom stall door. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Her brain desperately in search of a bit of privacy so she could let herself fall apart.
With each rattle, rejection. This stall is taken.
It couldn’t be contained any longer. She hurled herself in the back corner of the bathroom and let out a wail of despair. Sobbing echoed throughout the entire bathroom coupled with an eerie, reverent quiet.
As I washed my hands with warm water and soap, I prayed God would have mercy on her. God, I don’t know what this woman is facing today, but I pray you will comfort her. Help her to remember she is loved and not alone.
That’s when an impression so strong emerged, I knew it could only be from God. Go tell her she is loved and not alone.
Uhhh…God, can’t you see this woman wants to be alone – hence the rattling stalls and attempt for some privacy? I’m not sure some stranger delivering a message right now is a good idea. You sure about this?
Go tell her she is loved and not alone.
I finished rinsing the soap off my hands and headed towards the automatic paper towel dispenser with uncertainty in my spirit. Who wants to be the crazy lady in the airport bathroom who invades a stranger’s semi-private corner meltdown moment?
So I did what any God honoring somewhat hesitant person would do and headed towards… the exit door. Times when I’ve heard God and ignored it flashed through my brain in a matter of seconds. Regret. I still wonder what could have happened if I’d listened and followed through.
After several steps towards the exit, I found myself in the midst of a huge pivot back into the restroom. Courage started to fill me up from the inside out as I headed for the corner. What do I say??? I prayed God would give me the words.
“Can I give you a hug?” came out of my mouth.
She nodded yes and sunk into my arms weeping. She held on tight as she cried for over 30 seconds. Then, I looked into her eyes and delivered the message, “God wants you to know you are loved, and that you’re not alone. He sent me over here with that message for you.”
Her eyes filled with more tears, and she began crying again. She took a deep breathe, grabbed hold of my hands, and started to speak.
“My mom died this year. It’s been really hard. We were really close. And I just got off the phone with my dad who is sick and is refusing to go to the doctor. He’s so stubborn… and I’m … I’m so frustrated. I can’t lose both my parents this year. I feel so alone.” The tears welled up again.
Suddenly the words God gave made so much sense. I repeated them to her. You are loved, and you’re not alone. You are loved, and you’re not alone.
She held my hands tight as we talked more about her family. I assured her God hasn’t forgotten about her – as evidenced by him sending a complete stranger in an airport restroom with a special message just for her. I gave her one last hug and headed out to pick up my car in awe of getting to be a part of something so special -> a God-moment.
Moments like these can arise in the most seemingly mundane of times: at home doing laundry and speaking with your child when the conversation turns deep, in the car running errands when you feel a prompting to call a friend, or even with a stranger in an airport restroom.
Because God is in our everyday moments. And sometimes He gives us the privilege of getting to be a special part of his divine plan.
It only requires tuning-in and acting (and a bit of courage to listen to that little voice… you know the one that you can’t shake even when it may not make logical sense or might make you look like a crazy person).
“Therefore encourage one another and build each other up.” 1 Thessalonians 5:1
You’ll never regret listening to God’s voice, getting to be a part of His plan, and getting to lift others up.
Who is God impressing on your heart today? Make that phone call. Say those encouraging words. Be part of that God-moment.
Receiving Grace (Part 3 of “Grace for the Holiday Griever” blog series)
No amount of presents under the tree or holiday glad tidings could fill the void. Everything seemed immaterial. It was our first Christmas without our son, and life felt empty and hallow.
During this time, God revealed his deep love for the grieving heart.
It showed up in special cards from people who hadn’t forgotten. In nurses who had cared for Jenson calling to let us know they miss him and love our family. In family members who honored our son with donations to organizations committed to finding a cure for the disease that took his life. In friends reaching out to say, “We love you and are praying for you this holiday season.”
These seemingly small gestures made a world of difference because they represented something every griever needs to remember: You’re not alone on this journey.
God sees you. He hears your cry for mercy. And He wants to comfort your hurting heart.
Grace breathes light and life into darkness. Birthed out of unconditional love on Christmas day many years ago, this gift forever changed the course of life.
“In this world there will be trouble but do not fear for I have overcome the world.” – Jesus
As you grieve your loved one this holiday season, lean into the only one who can provide lasting light and life. A Savior who wants to wrap his arms around you and gently whisper, “I know your pain. I love you and your broken heart.”
Receive this unconditional gift, and let it breathe life into your heart this holiday season.
We got the Christmas boxes down from the attic and started unpacking. A surge of emotion hit as I pulled out our four stockings (Doug, Kristin, Sydney, and Jenson).
It was our first Christmas without our son Jenson, and it flashed me back to our first dinner out after he passed away.
“How many in your party?” the hostess innocently asked.
I felt a huge lump in my throat as I quietly said, “Three.” I couldn’t stop thinking, “It’s supposed to be four. We are a family of four.”
I sat staring at our four stockings trying to decide what to do next. I couldn’t spend the next month looking at three stockings on the mantel – the grief felt far too raw. I decided to hang all four (at least for this first year).
But what should I do with Jenson’s stocking on Christmas morning? An empty stocking would give the emptiness of grief a stronger foothold.
Grief paralysis started to set in.
I took a deep breathe and decided this whole stocking dilemma needed a re-frame. A way to turn something negative into a bright spot. But how?
By honoring his memory and allowing it to live on.
We placed several monkeys in Jenson’s stocking that Christmas morning. Monkeys always held a special place in Jenson’s heart. Before he passed away, we started sending monkeys and smiles to other Histiocytosis families (Jenson’s idea which we could call Monkey Grins).
Jenson’s stocking would be filled with monkeys that year and in the years to come. Monkeys with a purpose of brightening other people’s lives the way he brightened ours.
Navigating the grief of losing your loved one during the holidays is challenging on a good day and downright all consuming on a bad one.
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
– Quote from an Irish headstone
So how can you honor your departed loved one this holiday season?
Allow their memory to live on.
Find that personal thing that uniquely honors them. And then keep it alive. Allow it to warm other people’s hearts too.
Maybe your loved one loved coffee, and you surprise the person behind you in the drive thru line by paying it forward. Or maybe it’s a donation to their favorite non-profit that cares for rescued animals since they always had an avid love for animals. Or perhaps it’s going as a family to volunteer at a retirement home because your loved one cared deeply about the elderly.
Whatever that thing is, just do it (as Nike would say). Swoosh.
You’ll be pleasantly surprised at how honoring their memory soothes your grieving heart too.
PS: Don’t miss Part 3 of 3 in this series “Grace for the Holiday Griever” on receiving grace this holiday season. Subscribe here.
How do you navigate when grief rears its ugly head and threatens to steal your holiday cheer? If you’re feeling the sting of grief this holiday season, this three-part series “grace for the holiday griever” is for you.
Part 1: Grace & Space
When grief pounced its way into our lives five years ago, I had no idea how suffocating and all consuming it would be. Our world shattered when our three year old boy Jenson left this world far too early.
Nothing prepares you for the avalanche of grief that follows losing a loved one.
The first year proved to be a haze of survival with an acute rawness during the holiday season. It took everything we had to get up and keep walking through that first year. And I hoped eventually grief leaves you alone. But the pain of losing someone you love never fully goes away.
The holidays are a mix of family, fun, and frantic exciting times. Add grief and its icy entrance to the equation, and you may wonder how you went from holiday happy to holiday horror in less than 10 seconds.
Grief has a mind of its own. It shows up unannounced, banging at the door, demanding attention, and it won’t leave until it’s acknowledged. It has no respect for Thanksgiving dinner or other holiday plans.
The holidays will trigger some sort of grief. Be gentle with yourself. Extend the same grace to yourself that you would to a fellow griever traveling down this long hard road.
A piece of your holiday picture is forever altered. And it’s okay to miss your loved one and long for their laughter, warm hug, or big smile. It’s only natural to feel sadness at the loss of someone who shaped and molded your life in ways you can’t even describe.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” Psalm 34:18
Grief, sadness, and tears often come wrapped up together. And to get through these emotions, you have to let them out. Let it flow.
Let those emotions out in your own way – it may be crying in a giant bear hug from another family member OR maybe you need a good meltdown in the safety of the bathroom. However you choose, let it out. Think of tears as your body’s way of releasing and cleansing. Let it flow so you can go forward.
When tempted to skip the “let it flow” step as the surge of emotions build, just sing a reminder to the melody of the song “Let it Snow” changing up the words to “let it flow, let it flow, let it flow”. You can do this in your head (or out-loud in the aisles of Target as you shop for Thanksgiving dinner or holiday gifts – I won’t judge).
Also remember, grief takes space and time. Big sigh.
I’ve learned this lesson the hard way through the years trying to squeeze in too much activity for a perfectly planned Christmas with velvety hot chocolate or apple cider with homemade whipped cream, parties with friends and family, and holiday shopping all crammed into too little space. The lack of margin sent everything spilling over (and oh how I wish it was just a little apple cider).
For my fellow grieving friends whose schedule is already overflowing, head this warning: You will need extra margin and space this holiday season. Figure out what can be canceled or postponed. You’ll thank me later.
You can find grace for the holiday griever starting with an extra dose of grace and space for yourself.
Don’t miss Part 2 of 3 in this series “Grace for the Holiday Griever” on honoring your loved one with grace filled memories. Subscribe here.
“Why do you have a weird rock in your drawer?” my eleven year old daughter Sydney asked.
Oh, the mysterious rock. I’ve been holding onto that rock for several years now.
This rock birthed itself at a writing and speaking conference called She Speaks. At the end of the last session, they asked us to still our spirit and listen for one word from God to write on a rock.
Joy has been my theme word for years. I’ve been on a journey towards joy to keep a promise I made to our 3 yr-old son Jenson before he passed. A promise that I’d be okay and would figure out how to live joyfully like he did.
I felt confident about my word for that rock. Simple. Easy to write. Three letters.
I opened my hands and shut my eyes more out of respect than anything. And then it came…
Holy static.
The wires must be crossed. Maybe I’m picking up the word for the person next to me. This is not my word.
I quieted my spirit again and opened my hands ready to receive the “right word”.
Again the same 13 letter clumsy word I almost never say, rarely think about, and for years have run from impressed itself. I closed my eyes one last time to triple check. Come on JOY.
I reached for a Sharpie in the middle of the table and started writing my word on the rock. The first letter looked like an awkward “w” or a beginner trying to write a cursive “m”. The pen dipped into creases and crevasses I didn’t see on the surface. And there it was staring back at me…that word I love to hate.
vulnerability (or wlnerability or mlnerability 🙂 )
I started to chuckle. The rough edges of the rock took my normally neat handwriting and made it far from perfect. It looked amateur-esque like someone struggling to find their way. Just looking at it made me feel uncomfortable. Somewhat embarrassed. A bit exposed.
Vulnerability is like that – it requires putting ourselves out there. It’s through our imperfections and broken places that God reveals his strength and glory. And as we take the risk to be vulnerable, we experience life, relationships, and joy on a deeper level. Yes it can be scary. But the downside of potential hurt sure beats a life of loneliness in a tower of isolation.
As Brene’ Brown shares in her Ted Talk ‘The Power of Vulnerability’, people who connect most deeply with others do so as a result of authenticity. They “let go of who they should be for who they are.” They “believe what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful”.
Think of all the friends and people in your life you feel closest to. People who touched your heart in profound ways. The friends you want to grab coffee with and share the really-reallys of life.
Did little Miss Perfect come to mind? More likely you thought of your friend telling a story about how she lost it with her husband and kids or the friend who laughed as she shared one of her most embarrassing moments like when she fell down the escalator at work face first (…more on this story in a future blog entry).
We connect deepest with people who aren’t afraid to open up as the relationship progresses. People who share their real struggles and events that have deeply impacted them.
So get ready to unlock a new level of strength and connection through vulnerability. Who is that friend you can open up more with? What is that crazy, embarrassing story you can share to help someone else know they aren’t alone?
The woman directly in front of me in aerobics class collapsed to the ground. I stood motionless in my white Reebok high tops shocked and conflicted – wishing I could help but knowing I’d do more harm than good. Another woman in our class moved with command towards the woman on the floor. She began giving CPR. If only I’d paid more attention in the lifeguard training class I took years before. The ambulance would arrive five minutes later, and the paramedics would comment the woman who administered CPR saved a life that day.
This event would become my college speech class topic. I started out a bundle of nerves but once I got beyond myself, I passionately shared how normal moments can flip upside down in an instant. We either stand helpless as I did that day or we can step in and save a life. Over half the class would get CPR certified.
Recently I got to speak to a group of 550 children’s healthcare providers to encourage them to be a bright spot in the lives of their patients. As I stood on that stage sharing our story, that amazing feeling of “I’m doing EXACTLY what I was created to do” overwhelmed my spirit again.
And to make things even sweeter, on the same day I made that speech my husband Douglas also got a job offer that is a perfect fit for his passion.
Have you ever experienced knowing you’re doing exactly what God designed you for? It’s the elusive feeling many long for but often fear moving towards. Status quo feels safer and at times seems easier.
Here are 3 key ingredients for anyone thinking about making a big, bold life change:
01. Clarity
Before you take a huge leap, you need some clarity to “find your why”. I’m not talking every single detail spelled out in Times New Roman bold font on a perfectly pulled together frame-able powerpoint file.
What you’re looking for is something much simpler: high level clarity on your natural strengths, passions, and interests. Shoot for a goal of spending 80%+ of your future time doing things you enjoy.
For me, getting clarity on my “why” started several years ago with some “what” questions:
At the end of my life, what do I want to be remembered for?
What are my unique God given gifts?
What gives me energy and what drains me?
Inspiring growth through words is my personal mission. Once I had that statement written down, the future started to get clearer as writing, speaking, and encouraging others to grow naturally fit into it. Friends and family who know me best confirmed… yes, that sounds like you.
For my husband Douglas, he loves cars. He enjoys anything with an international vibe. He’s a good listener and likes helping people. For years he’s struggled to figure out what to do career wise. Nothing seemed like the right fit.
Then one random day nine months ago he said, “I think I might enjoy selling European cars.” The light bulb went off. Of course! How had we not seen this ten years earlier? We would mention it to friends and family and one consistent line keep coming back – “That is a great fit.”
Like a pair of well tailored pants, you look and feel your best when you’re wearing something that fits you properly.
02. Courage
For my fellow planners out there, this word can stir up the heebie jeebies. We plan, contingency plan, and then develop contingency plan B, C, and D. But you can’t be courageous if you spend all your time planning behind a desk and never move.
“Beyond the fear lies everything we want.” — Benno Dorer
Real courage comes from resting in the confidence where God guides, He will provide. Stepping out without all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Moving towards the future.
You’ll never get to a new destination with your feet super-glued to the ground. At some point you have to jump.
Phil Knight founder of Nike put it this way in his book “Shoe Dog”: “I was following a path that felt like my path, and though I wasn’t sure where it would lead, I was ready to find out.”
Even though we rarely know exactly where the path will take us, unless you step out you’ll never be on your way to a different future.
03. Community
As you move towards something new, you’ll be best served to become a student again. Learn, learn, learn. Mastery comes from new knowledge and lots and lots and lots of practice (did I mention practice?).
Who can become a new mentor or guide on your journey? Who can become a new friend pursuing something similar that you can connect with monthly to share ideas, lighten the learning curve, get feedback?
“Two are better than one, for they have good return for their labor.” Ecclesiastes 4:9
You can make a change with some clarity, courage, and community to support you along the way. Find your why.
“The cave you fear to enter holds the treasures you seek.” — Joseph Campbell
Fear can hold us back from some of the most exhilarating joy we’ll ever experience. Fear whispers lies at us:
“You can’t do that.”
“Who do you think you are?”
“Don’t even bother. You’ll just fail.”
Like a bully at the playground, fear pounces just as we get the courage to try something new like the monkey bars. Fear taunts reminding us we feel uncomfortable. Out of control. Inexperienced. It tries to bind us up like a steer roped in a rodeo and hold us back from doing things we really love.
One thing I’ve always loved is music. Powerful music cuts straight through to the heart. My brain stores lyrics like novels of poetry. Songs bring out the emotions of different seasons of life like a rallying cry to persevere when facing adversity, stay strong when feeling beaten down, or breakthrough on the journey to freedom.
I’d sing in the shower, the car, in the aisles of Target, but definitely NOT in front of a group of people. Maybe with a choir where I could hide out in the background. But definitely not solo. I’m no “Voice” contestant. And who wants a spotlight highlighting your every vulnerable note as bunch of people stare you down and make you feel naked?
I’d always admired people who had the courage to get up on a stage and pour out their heart through music. I even gave it a brief try in a work band when we lived in Australia. Then I got scared again.
Fast forward eight years.
A couple months after our son Jenson passed away, I decided enough is enough with the fear factor. What’s the worst that could happen? Massive embarrassment or failure? While not pleasant, not life threatening either.
So my daughter Sydney and I joined the kids worship team at our church. I started in the background, and now can lead a weekend service for the kids. Dancing, singing, and helping kids worship God. A powerful, purposeful rush and something I’m honored to be a part of. But it never would have happened without a courage pill.
What is that thing you’ve always wanted to do or try?
Maybe you’ve dreamed of owning your own business. Maybe you’ve always wanted to travel abroad. Or coach your child’s sports team. Or start a blog. Or speak in front of a group. Or start a non-profit.
Whatever “that thing” is for you, take that first step. Do it scared. Body slam that fear to the ground. Don’t let fear win. Claim victory and discover a hidden treasure on the other side of fear.
Today is a hard day. It is the five year anniversary of the death of our sweet boy Jenson.
Two words … Monkeys and Montenegro … are helping me remember what we leave behind can far outlive our time on this earth.
Last week multiple requests for Monkey Grins* came in.
*For those new to the blog, you may be wondering what is a Monkey Grin? It’s a care package for Histiocytosis families battling the awful disease that took Jenson’s life. Inside this care package are stuffed monkeys for Histio Warriors & their siblings and lolli-pops for the entire family. You can read more at www.monkeygrins.org or see more pictures on our Monkey Grins Facebook page.
I wish I could claim credit for this brilliant idea of sending smiles, but it wasn’t mine. While in the hospital recovering from a bone marrow transplant and having just lost all his hair, Jenson felt sad. I showed him a picture of another little boy named Marcus who also was recovering from a transplant. That’s when Jenson said six simple words that have brought smiles across the world to families in need.
“I need send him a monkey,” Jenson declared.
“You want to send Marcus a stuffed monkey?” I asked curiously.
“Yes!” he replied with a rare smile during his transplant recovery period.
The next day I brought three stuffed monkey options and a box for his care package for Marcus to the hospital. Jenson hugged all three monkeys and then picked the one he wanted to send.
Sister Sydney wanted in on the action too adding monkeys for siblings to the care packages and lolli-pops because “kids love lollies”. And the rest is history.
For over five years now, requests have come from Histio families all over the US and across the world. And last week one came in from Montenegro (a small country in Southeastern Europe with an estimated population of 622,358).
I had my husband Doug look it up on the map so I could see exactly where Montenegro is located. And then I started to cry.
“Why are you crying babe?” Doug asked curiously.
“Because Jenson’s impact is being felt all over the world … all the way to Montenegro. It blows me away how something so small can make such a big impact. Jenson’s memory lives on with each Monkey Grin sent,” I replied.
While we can’t cure the world of all it’s troubles, we can be a bright spot in people’s lives through simple acts of generosity.
So today I ask you: What simple act can you do to brighten someone’s day? Maybe it’s a phone call. Or flowers. Or a prayer. Or a donation. Or a monkey :-). Whatever it is, simple acts can have big impacts both today and in the future. Give generously.
From the board outside my daughter’s school with her name flashing in recognition for the leadership award she’d won, my car was drawn like a magnet to the last place I saw my other child Jenson. His gravesite.
I sat on the ground next to his tombstone, my way in this world of being as close to him as possible, feeling torn between the dichotomies love brings your way: the joy of seeing your child excel, the sadness of watching them stumble, the thrill of small parenthood victories like getting them to eat any vegetable, and the agony of defeat when despite every effort you can’t always shield them from the harsh realities of this world.
Jenson was only three when he passed away. Nothing could stop the horrible disease eating away at his body. And nothing could stop the love oozing from his soul. A love so appreciative, so expressive, so pure that not even the nastiest of diseases could dim its glow. He constantly expressed it through hugs, kisses, and the sweetest words of all – “I love you!”.
I remember at Jenson’s funeral just before they lowered his tombstone into the ground. My friend Tammy gave me a tube of lipstick. “This is so you can give him one more kiss,” my friend Tammy said. Someone had given her a tube of lipstick also at her son’s funeral.
I replayed the memory of putting on that lipstick, kissing his casket, and marking my love for him on the most difficult of days. The emotions of grief are always close to the surface, and they flooded back. Emptiness. Sadness. Being ripped apart. A heart so broken I wondered how it would ever heal or even keep beating.
While the memory of Jenson’s love is alive and well, in that moment yesterday I longed to FEEL it again… to experience it without the barrier of distance.
I lifted up my head and saw a red heart balloon rising from the ground 100 feet in front of me. It seemed to appear from out of nowhere. A red heart balloon. I see you. I love you.
I was so in awe, it took me a while before I realized I had to get a picture of it. If you look closely, you can see it in the middle above the bright beam of sunlight.
Perhaps this balloon isn’t just for me. Perhaps it’s also for you too. A “LOVE” message from a loved one who has gone before you as we approach this Valentine’s Day.
Today is our 13th wedding anniversary. I still remember the excitement of first meeting Doug. I spotted him at church with a friend of mine. “Who’s that cute new guy?” I curiously asked my friend Patti.
I remember the first time he told me he loved me. The excitement of seeing his phone number light up on my phone. The moment I finally understood what married friends meant when I’d ask how you know if you’ve met the one, and they’d say “You just know”.
You have grand, idealistic plans about your “perfect wedding day”. And our desire was similar with one minor difference – we had 2 months to pull it off. I had accepted a new role working in Australia, and we’d be starting our lives together down under.
With my mom’s help, it all came together. And it seemed like the perfect day with just one exception.
Recently I was looking through all our wedding pictures, invitations, and other things from our special day. I came across our wedding program. It’s something I wanted to throw away and forget it ever happened. I made an innocent but major mistake on the cover. Details have never been my strength, but this one (oh boy). See if you can spot it.
Yep. I miss-spelled our last name.
Despite all our planning and effort, weddings like marriages are never perfect. They are full of mistakes. Misunderstandings. Mirrors of truth about yourself that require change and growth as two become one.
It’s not about having the perfect fairytale wedding and life together. It’s about loving each other through all the imperfections of life.
Thanks Doug for warmly welcoming me into the “ARRON” family (ha! ha!), for being patient with my imperfections, and for loving me through all the ups and downs of life here on earth. You’re my love and friend. I’m thankful for 13 years and many more to come.
It was red for over two hours. Screaming teens and tweens. The sound of loud music ripping throughout the arena as Taylor Swift performed song after song on her “Red” concert tour.
We had decided on a whim that day to try and score tickets (or should I say Doug scored tickets and dropped my daughter Sydney and me off at the stadium while he went to get a tattoo). You could feel the energy, excitement, and enhanced estrogen level as we walked through the doors of Cowboy stadium. Sydney looked at me with a huge grin revealing the open gap in the front of her mouth where she had recently lost a tooth.
With 100,000 others fans, we watched both the stage and the world’s largest jumbotron tv as Taylor Swift sang, danced, and entertained. Sydney soaked in every minute at her first concert. “Wow! Look at all the red lights. Look mommy she’s wearing a different outfit again.” We sang along belting out lyrics like human radios to songs like “I Knew You Were Trouble”, “Fifteen”, and “We Are Never Getting Back Together”.
Taylor shifted the mood to a quiet reflective song I’d never heard before. I wrapped my arm around Sydney’s shoulders and grabbed her hand. She snuggled in and looked lovingly at me, her blue eyes filled with gratitude. We both smiled.
A few minutes after, I could sense someone staring. It’s just in my head, I thought. But the staring continued. Finally I glanced to the right and saw a woman in her 50’s looking at us with a closed mouth smile. Several tears slowly made their way down each cheek, her mind flashing back to a very personal memory. Maybe it was a memory of her with her now grown daughter. Or maybe it was a memory of enjoying a concert with her own mother who had passed away. Whatever she was thinking, one thing was clear – this was a moment to remember. One that matters.
I nestled in closer to Sydney and gave her a kiss on the cheek while doing my best to capture the details of this special time like photographs in my mind.
“Remember, this moment is really all that matters. Live fully in it.” — Unknown
Several years later, I’m still thankful for the stare of a stranger helping remind me that moments matter.
I remember the day the doctor told us more about the surgery. He would go in through the front of the neck cutting a two inch incision.
The front. A two inch incision. Would it look like someone slit my neck? Would the scar become the new focal point of my appearance? Fears swirled around in my head.
The doctor answered the questions before I had time to ask them. “I’ll cut along the natural crease on your neck. Overtime you’ll barely see it,” he assured me.
I’ve had “natural creases” on my neck for many years. They were something in college I wished I could wave a wand (or apply some powerful cream) and like magic they would disappear. Poof! They’re gone.
Fast forward many years into the future. The lines I once longed to make disappear will instead serve as a great magician. The scar from the neck incision will vanish into those lines.
Something I once hated have become something I am thankful for.
It’s just like God to take something that once brought sadness and transform it into a gift. He often turns the broken, hurting parts of our lives into something beautiful. He re-shapes. He transforms. He gives new meaning and life.
“If anyone is in Christ, that one is a new creature; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”
“Mommy will be ok. I’ll figure out how to live joyfully like Jenson.”
It’s a promise to my sweet boy that is always harder to keep on May 8 (the day he passed away). And on Mother’s Day. This year May 8 is Mother’s Day … a perfect collision of every dichotomy. A day to celebrate. A day to grieve. A day to be thankful for moms. A day moms mourn the loss of a precious child. A day filled with immense beauty and depths of sorrow.
My daughter Sydney gave me a Mother’s Day gift this morning. It’s a picture of two words. Two words that are simple to say but hard to live out. It was like God sent a lightning rod straight through to my grieving heart.
Choose joy.
A reminder from my God.
A reminder from my girl.
A reminder from my boy.
A reminder to anyone who has loved and lost this Mother’s Day to choose joy.
The doctor told us I’d only be in the hospital one night assuming no complications.
My nine year old daughter Sydney was adamant. She would be the one who stayed the night. “I’m your daughter, so I should get to stay even though I’m a kid.”
I let her know the first night might be rough, and she’d probably be really bored.
“That’s okay mommy. You’ll need my help. I can answer any text messages for you too.”
In addition to the neck surgery, they needed to take bone from my hip to use with the neck fusion procedure. The physical therapist stopped by about three hours after I came out of surgery. “I’m here to teach you your physical therapy exercises. And get you up walking.”
Oh boy. I was still in full on groggy state from the anesthesia/pain medicine. He started teaching me the exercises I’d need to do every hour all day so I wouldn’t get blood clots in my legs and would make sure I kept my strength up. He showed me how to properly push myself up from the bed while keeping my neck in alignment with my spine. Then he strapped a thick cloth belt around my hospital gown. And much to my surprise, the physical therapist had me walking down the hall as he held on to the back of my belt with his hand.
Sydney watched attentively.
When we returned to the room. The physical therapist gave specific instructions and a reminder sheet showing the six PT exercises I’d need to do every hour. He also instructed me I would need to blow into a spiral meter to prevent pneumonia.
I laid back down exhausted and ready to push the black button on my pain pump for some relief.
One hour later, I heard an alarm going off. “Ok mommy, it’s time to do your exercises. And then you need to blow ten times into the air thingy.”
She grabbed the piece of paper with the PT instructions and took me through the exercises one by one. Then she handed me the blowing meter (which left to my own devices would be done at best every two hours). She cheered me on to get to 10 reps at the 2000 height on the spiral meter. “Good job mommy. I’ve got your next alarm set in one hour.”
“You’re really determined to help me get better Sydney aren’t you,” I said to her.
“You always take care of me, now it’s my turn to take care of you.” Awh – what a sweetheart.
A few hours later Sydney said, “Are you ready to eat something?”
She grabbed a pack of the applesauce she had packed in her hospital bag and patiently fed me tiny little bites. As I struggled to get used to swallowing with the new metal plate and screws in the front of my neck, she made me a make-shift bib with paper towels over my neck brace. We laughed about the role reversal of me in a bib being fed by her.
“Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.”. — Phillipians 4:2
Love to see a nine year old living out this verse. We’re home now. It’s going to be a long, slow road back to health, but I’m in good hands.
The waiting is the hardest part. I’m better once I know …
It started Christmas Day with a seemingly innocent movement. Hanging the stocking on the mantel had never been an issue before, but this time it triggered a consequence that far outweighed the simple action. A total neck and back lock-up. Guess I’m just getting old.
Then other strange symptoms came from out of nowhere as my hands and arms started tingling and going numb. A MRI and ortho-surgeon would reveal several bulging discs (and bone spurs) in my neck.
Within a few weeks, things had rapidly escalated. The tingling spread like wildfire sparking electrical currents throughout my body. The tingling in my brain became so intense, it felt as if two live wires crossed. Shocking. My face, legs, and hands took turns going numbness. I started slurring my words. Hearing four doctors suspect MS will send your mind spinning.
Amidst all the uncertainty and the latest symptom where my brain struggled to tell my legs to move forward and walk, I laid in bed curled up in fetal position fearing the worst. My husband Doug snuggled up next to me and whispered in my ear, “I love you… I love you … I love you … I love you … I love you …I’ll take care of you.”
I broke down. In the midst of the worry, his love and promise stood as a beacon of hope.
“You’ll still love me even if I wind up crippled, can’t speak, and in a wheelchair?”
“Yes, because you’ll still be you.”
We’re walking together through medical uncertainty once again. Doug has been by my side as we figured out a B12 vitamin deficiency was causing MS like symptoms. He’ll be there as I have neck surgery this Friday. He’ll be there just like he has been from the beginning – for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until we are parted by death.
My head felt like a fifty pound weight balancing precariously on a toothpick. At any moment, it might snap. It hurt to ride in a car. It hurt to sit in a chair. It hurt to turn my head from side to side.
My husband Doug affectionately referred to me as his “china doll”. Fragile. Handle with care.
The MRI would reveal a bulging disc in the neck. Ouch. The headaches and neck pain left me crippled. I begged God for mercy. After two months of intense pain, sadness was no longer knocking at the door. It had broken in and showed no signs of leaving.
Finally, a steroid injection delivered some pain relief. But I longed for my normal state of mind.
I needed help so went to see my wise counselor Mary.
“I have a little relief from the injection, but how do I get rid of this sadness?” I asked Mary.
“Thankfulness.”
It can’t be that simple. I gave Mary a skeptical “really??” look.
“Try it out,” Mary said. “I’m thankful for ______.”
“I’m thankful I can ride in the car for 10 minutes without my neck hurting, but I really hope sometime soon I’ll be able to go longer.”
“Try it again – this time without the “but”.”
“I’m thankful I can ride in the car for 10 minutes without my neck hurting.”
Mary was right. It did feel different. Removing the “but” changed the whole intent of the sentence. It caused a focus on the present. A focus on blessings versus issues. She told me to try a few more.
“I’m thankful for my husband taking care of me even though I wish I could take care of myself,” I rattled off.
Mary called me on it quickly, “You’re substituting “even though” for “but”. They are really the same. Try again.”
“I’m thankful for my husband taking care of me. I’m thankful for steroid injections. I’m thankful I can drive again.”
I could feel the weight of sadness lifting – it was slowly but surely being kicked to the curb. It would take time (and more thankfulness) to take full effect.
I’m thankful I don’t feel dizzy anymore when I walk. I’m thankful for my friend Heather making us dinner. I’m thankful I don’t have excruciating head pain.
If you’re wrestling with pain or sadness, remember thankfulness is the best medicine for your mind.
We are good for each other and to each other. A friend of mine recently texted me this message. We both lost our sons, we both have dealt with health related issues affecting our families for years, and we both have a tendency in friendships to default to giving rather than receiving.
Giving comes naturally to me. Whether it’s encouraging a friend, mentoring someone in need, or supporting people through their darkest moments, it’s such a gift to be able to help others.
But sometimes life strips you to the core. It leaves you on empty with nothing left to pour out.
“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the sun.” – Ecclesiastes 3:1
When a season of brokenness hits, that’s when true friends pour into you expecting nothing in return. They are there to pray. To cry. To laugh. To listen. To be.
As my friend and I received each other’s support through these times, we experienced the natural ebb and flow of giving AND receiving that occurs in healthy relationships.
And we learned an important life lesson – it’s just as important to receive as it is to give.
When one person does all the giving, guess who you tend to attract as friends? Takers. With takers, any good deed always comes with strings. Takers don’t do relationships, because they’re only interested in what is best for them. There is one word for these types of friendships. Toxic.
But friendships built on a natural flow of give and take can become safe havens. A place where we can experience community. A place of trust and mutual respect. Friendships deepen as you walk together through whatever life brings.
“Close friends are truly life’s treasures. Sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves. With gentle honesty, they are there to guide and support us, to share our laughter and our tears. Their presence reminds us that we are never really alone.” ― Vincent van Gogh
I’m thankful for deep friendships where “we are good to each other and good for each other”.
This year I’m on a mission to embrace a new equation.
– = +
Less is more.
It won’t be easy. It involves breaking years of engrained habits – habits that started out with positive intent. But too much of a good thing became like an anchor to my soul.
“Sure, I can do it.”
“No problem, happy to help.”
“Ok. I’ll find the time.”
Add more. Take on more. Do more.
+ + +
More was better until:
Life became more about powering through the day than being in it.
Life became a series of tasks to check off the list versus a series of moments to enjoy.
Life became so full that I felt empty.
God never intended us to live life so full that it weighs us down. “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” – Matthew 11:30
Life can be lighter when we shed the load that was never ours to carry in the first place.
This is the year of the minus sign for me. It means greater use of a simple two letter word that begins with a “N” and ends with an “O”. It means focusing on being fully present in fewer things.
The Christmas tree was up and “fluffed”. Ornament hanging is my 9 year old daughter Sydney’s favorite part of decorating for Christmas. But before we could get to the fun part, something else needed to happen. My least favorite part of the whole process. Stringing the lights.
I pulled multiple strands of lights out of the Christmas boxes. Every year I vow to take more care and time when taking the lights off the tree, but patience has never been my strong suit. The lights are a little less jumbled together than in years past, but I know I’m in for several hours of wrestling with lights.
I plug in the lights to make sure I don’t have a strand that’s out. I’ve made that mistake numerous Christmas’s before when you think you’re done stringing the tree only to feel the agony of defeat as a strand with a loose bulb steals your Christmas cheer. Not this year though. I toss the three strands of lights that have somehow malfunctioned while hanging out in a box in the attic for the past 11 months.
I start in with the special technique my dad taught me years back about stringing lights from the edge of the tree to the center and back out again to give the tree more depth. It makes for a gorgeous tree when done but adds about triple the time.
“Mommy, remember it’s my job to help with the lights. I’m old enough now,” Sydney said. “I used to get them more tangled, but now I can help untangle them.”
Sydney worked to untangle the lights, and I started stringing. As I wove the lights throughout the tree, Sydney sat on the floor patiently untangling the light strands and laid them out so I could easily string them. And together we got the lights done in record time.
It made me realize I sometimes make life harder than it needs to be. Things in life can get tangled up. Sometimes we try to face the jumbled mess all alone. Rather than struggling through it alone, a little help can speed us through in record time.
Ecclesiastes 4:9
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor.”
Good return indeed. I’m thankful for “two” working together and a beautiful daughter high-lighting an important reminder this Christmas season.
“Has anyone ever said you look like Linda Carter with your glasses on?”
Uh … no. But my co-worker had unknowingly paid me the biggest compliment. My mind flashed back to one of my favorite childhood memories. Linda Carter played my childhood hero … Wonder Woman.
She is the ultimate woman. Binding up criminals with her golden rope. Protecting and saving innocent people with her golden bullet-proof cuffs (which were not only life-saving but stylish). Strong. Magical. Beautiful.
When I was seven, my creative mom helped make my childhood obsession a reality with a hand-made, dreamy costume – a red top with golden eagle crest, a blue bottom with white stars, super hero cape, golden cuffs & crown, and a golden rope. A definite winner for Halloween costume of the century!
I can still remember the feelings of beauty and strength this Wonder Woman costume evoked. With my amazing costume and Wonder Woman power stance, I got to become her for a day … and it felt AMAZING.
If only I could be her every day.
Helping others escape harm. Protecting those I love with magical bracelets where bullets bounce off like ping-pong balls. Winning others over with my super-human powers.
But trying to be Wonder Woman is like trying to become a flying unicorn that poops rainbows. It’s chasing the impossible dream.
“She’s divine. She’s magic. And she didn’t have to wait on anyone to tell her in order for her to believe that about herself. And that’s what made her so magically beautiful.” – R. Bittar
So while being compared to Linda Carter may be my most flattering celebrity look-a-like comment EVER, I’ll stick to embracing imperfect me.
And keep remembering an important truth: God can use our human imperfections in magically beautiful ways.
Tossed off a cliff into the abyss. Shattered in a million pieces. The pit of despair tugging you down like quicksand. No light, only darkness.
Surrounded by pitch-black darkness and stripped down to nothing, the journey begins blind and broken. Barely breathing. Grief growls like a grizzly bear in your ear. Fear howls like wind blowing through a wind tunnel – merciless and unrelenting. Your entire being crushed and questioning whether it’s possible to even get up let alone move forward. Some days only bring the strength to curl up in fetal position, shiver, and fight off the feelings of doubt that you’ll ever walk again.
In this place hopelessness starts to take over.
A friend of mine who lost a child said, “Grieving is the hardest work you’ll ever do”. But nothing could have prepared me for this — walking through the valley of the shadow of death.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me…” Psalm 23:4
I thought this verse was meant to comfort the sick in the hospital as they prepared for their journey to heaven. Now I understand its profound meaning for those left behind.
Those left behind must journey through the valley. You can’t go around it or airlift over it. You have to walk through it. And the walk through is the most bone-chilling, lonely, lifeless place I’ve ever experienced.
It’s a place I never want to go back.
Yet numerous times each year, I’m tossed back down into the valley like a ragdoll. Sometimes I see it coming (like today which would have been Jenson’s 7th birthday). Other days, it happens unexpectedly like in the car drop off lane at Sydney’s school as I’m reminded of a conversation years ago with Jenson about how he’ll get to go to school and be dropped off too.
Today I sit again at the bottom of the valley knowing the only way out is to get up and begin the journey out. My soul is overwhelmed with depression and a desperate longing to see my boy and wrap him in my arms. Yet I take comfort in knowing he is wrapped in the arms of everlasting love.
For all those journeying along this long and lonely road too, take heart. The journey feels never-ending, but there will be light again. You are not alone. God is with us even when we can’t see Him. Step forward in faith. Refuse to let darkness and fear consume your soul.
“Valleys also have signposts. All along the way God provides winks of reassurance for you to see. Just like on the darkest interstate, a signpost every once in a while is a welcome message of reassurance – a reminder that you’re on track, to keep going.” – Squire Rushnell
Today my signpost is a beautiful orange monarch butterfly circling our backyard as I sit outside writing this blog post. Its beautiful orange and black wings playfully glide through the air. It’s my sign to get up and continue the journey even though today it would be easier to wrap myself in a cocoon and never emerge.
Walk through the valley trusting there is light on the other side.
The day was finally here – a day I’ve been eagerly looking forward to and scared silly about for months. I would be sharing our story with the ladies of Life Fellowship (my home church). Our story is heartbreaking yet inspiring in how Jenson lived with such joy despite so much pain. Even in his darkest hour in the hospital, he was thinking of others and wanted to send another little boy going through a bone marrow transplant a monkey to cheer him up. His simple statement “I need send him a monkey” inspired us to start sending smiles to other Histio families in need through Monkey Grins.
The question lingered in my mind: Would I be able to share our story, have moments of tears, and recover to continue telling our story? Or would the pain of grief leave me crippled?
I knew I couldn’t do this in my own strength.
As I entered the room, I was surrounded by monkey centerpieces on each table, balloons (orange, blue, and white), lolli-pops, handmade monkey cookies, and a group of over ten women (and countless behind the scenes men) serving and setting everything up for a fabulous evening. I could feel a sense of peace and Jenson’s generous spirit throughout the room. I hugged my friend Tatum who planned the event and started crying. “This room is filled with Jenson.” Tears rolled down her cheeks too.
Our worship pastor Nathan opened with a song “Forever Reign”. It was the same song Doug and I picked to be played at Jenson’s funeral. This song seems to show up whenever I really need an encouraging word.
It first made a big appearance when we were living in California. We were driving into San Francisco for Jenson’s chemo appointments. We would cross the bay bridge on our way to and from our home in Oakland. As we journeyed home one day after a particularly troubling chemo appointment, a song played in the car. The lyrics talk about how God is good, love, light, hope, peace, joy, and life.
As the song played, Jenson sat strapped in his black Britax car seat singing a few of the key words. Good… love… light… hope… peace… joy… life. I would blog later that day about our appointment that morning where the doctors found the first tumor in Jenson’s skull, and how Jenson inspired me that day:
November 9, 2010 (on www.jensonsjourney.blogspot.com)
…”We go to UCSF in the city to see his oncologist, so we have to cross the bay bridge on the way there and back. I’ve noticed I always cry on the way home as we cross the bridge. Yesterday was no exception as the tears rolled down my face. We had a song by Hillsong on (I’ve added it to my playlist) and Jenson was back there singing the last word of most of the lyrics (good … see … hope). One of the lines is “You are peace, you are peace, when my fear is crippling. You are joy, you are joy, you’re the reason that I sing.” Once again, God is using my little boy to teach me about life. How to let the pain and worry go and appreciate the incredible blessings he’s given us.”
Pastor Nathan had no idea this was the song we had played at Jenson’s funeral. Or that this song reminded me of an important truth in 2010 at a time when I desperately needed it.
But God knew. He knew I needed a reminder five years ago when we found the first tumor in Jenson’s skull. He knew I needed a reminder three years ago when Jenson passed away. And He knew I would need a reminder again on the night of “Inspire” to “let the pain and worry go and appreciate the incredible blessings he’s given us”.
Jenson’s spirit continues to inspire, and God continues to give me the strength to face things I never dreamed possible with an unwavering belief in his truth.
It was a celebration … a golden celebration. A milestone most never reach. Fifty years of marriage.
“What kind of party do you want?” I asked my mom.
“I just want my family to be together,” she answered.
And together we were. We hosted at our house. Sydney loves a party, so we went into serious party planning mode. Balloons, cake, decorations. A gourmet meal by my husband “Chef Doug”.
But most importantly, our whole family was together. Siblings, spouses, and grandchildren (who are always the life of the party!). My mom cried tears of joy that she could celebrate 50 years with her husband, kids, and extended family.
Through the years, my parents have operated as a great team – my dad the steady engineer (more reserved with nerves of steel) and my mom the creative teacher (and the life of the party). They have poured their love into each other and our family. They have been committed to love through the laughter and tears. Life brings ups and downs.
“What’s your secret to making it 50 years together?” I asked curiously.
My parent’s both had the same response.
“One day at a time,” they agreed.
You make it to 50 years together one day at a time. Not judging what your spouse is struggling with each day – simply by loving them where they are. Not worrying about tomorrow. Not worrying about yesterday. Just taking life one day at a time.
“One day becomes two days, and two days becomes three, and over time days become years. One day at a time. Next thing you know you’ve made it to 50 years,” my mom continued.
One day became 18,250 days of marriage on Sept 5, 2015 for my parents. Thank you mom and dad for making it to 50 years – one day at a time.
Laptop removed? Check. Shoes off? Check. Bag of liquids in bin? Check.
It’s an airport security ritual. I got everything into the grey bins, hoisted my carry-on bag onto the belt at the security checkpoint and walked through the sensor without anything going off. Whew.
“Ma’am, I need to inspect your bag”.
Oh no. I could tell this bag inspector meant business as she rifled through the contents of my suitcase. After about five minutes of searching through all my clothes, underwear, and make-up bag, she found the item.
“This tube of toothpaste is a problem,” she declared.
Oops. I had forgotten to put my tube of toothpaste in the quart size bag with my other liquids. I offered to add it to the liquids bag and run it through again.
“That’s not possible because this tube of toothpaste exceeds the 3.4 oz limit,” she said firmly.
Now I’ll confess, I’m not the most precise of individuals. But my best estimation was the toothpaste left in this tube was MAYBE 4 oz. And while I didn’t used to travel with large tubes of toothpaste, a few years ago I had to convert to cinnamon toothpaste after my dentist discovered I had a mint allergy. Close-up toothpaste has become my brand of choice. Close-up had it’s glory days back in the 80’s when “Big Red” chewing gum was popular but nowadays … not so much. It’s more “retro” (which in this example is code for “bottom shelf in the corner, large size, and only used by people with mint allergies or cinnamon obsesssions”).
My mint allergy doesn’t often come up in conversation (especially with TSA agents), but I decided the truth was probably the best answer in this circumstance.
“I have a mint allergy and haven’t been able to find small tubes of cinnamon toothpaste. I’m happy to squeeze out whatever amount you’d like,” I offered as a creative solution.
“Ma’am you can either turn over the toothpaste tube or check your bag,” she raised her voice as she delivered this news to me.
I could feel the annoyance stirring and other passengers staring. Checking a bag would make me late for my meeting when I arrived. And confiscating my toothpaste meant an automatic trip to multiple stores on the road to try to find cinnamon toothpaste. I tried one last minor negotiation tactic which was immediately shut down as she raised her voice (for all who weren’t already looking) to either “surrender the toothpaste or check my bag”.
Did she really just use the word “surrender” to describe a toothpaste tube?
Full blown annoyance hit as I reluctantly turned over my toothpaste hoping that a TSA supervisor would see this whole thing going down and step in resolve. But no. Toothpaste tube tossed to trash.
I walked towards the gate ticked off – my scowl visible to anyone within 20 feet with decent vision. God had been speaking to me about feeling his peace in times of stress or when things stir me up emotionally, but on this day I was anything but peaceful over something so small.
As I made my way towards the gate, I felt convicted for my bad attitude. I wish this was the first time I felt airport annoyance. But it wasn’t. Just several months before after long lines and a pat down at security, I left feeling a similar annoyance. On that day, I saw an airport worker flash an electric grin as he greeted his co-worker to purchase a bottle of water. He smiled a double row smile at me as well and wished me a “happy day”. It stopped me in my annoyed tracks.
And his big smile inspired this poem as a reminder emotions are contagious … what do you want to spread?
Once a year Sydney and I re-visit our favorite California spots and re-connect with old friends. It’s hanging with her friends Olivia and Hailey. Grabbing pizza at Pizza My Heart. Drinks at the “boat” Starbucks that overlooks the bay. Eating yummy chicken tikka masala at Khana Peña Indian restaurant. Pure bliss.
But this year, Sydney made the trip even more memorable with a kind gesture.
We were in the grocery store when Sydney saw a balloon that made her face light up … a gigantic, colorful, mylar butterfly. I silenced my practical side (which was whispering to me “Say no – you won’t get your money’s worth out of it”) and instead purchased the overpriced magical creation. Joy filled Sydney’s face. Against all odds, this balloon just became hers.
“I can’t believe you bought that balloon for me!” Sydney exclaimed.
She bear hugged the giant butterfly, it’s wings pouring over the outside of her arms. We would transport the balloon up the elevator to our hotel room. As the air conditioner would turn on, the butterfly balloon would dance around our hotel room.
As we were packing our bags to catch our flight home, Sydney said, “Since I can’t take my balloon with me, I want to give it to someone else to make their day”. We took the elevator to the lobby level and walked over to the front desk. Sydney and I let the front desk employees know she wanted to find a new home for her butterfly balloon.
The kind workers at the front desk said they would help out! Here they are about to make a little girl’s day one to remember.
The hotel manager was at the desk and over-heard what Sydney was doing. So he gave us free parking. FREE PARKING (which just so happened to cover the cost of the balloon). You see when you give generously and freely, goodness comes back your way.
In the midst of our grief when Jenson passed away, something new started showing up constantly. Butterflies. I’d never really paid much attention to butterflies before the rainstorm of crushing grief saturated our life. But they started to become a theme even a mom knee deep in grief couldn’t ignore.
One day as I was working through the grief with my counselor Mary, I shared with her my new found fascination with butterflies.
“Well you know the story of the butterfly right?” she asked.
“I know they start as caterpillars and then build cocoons and are transformed into butterflies, is that what you mean?” I asked curiously.
“No, I mean the story of the butterfly and how it gets strong enough to fly,” she responded.
Now this session just got interesting.
Mary would go on to share the story of the butterfly. Most of us learned in biology class the butterfly starts as a caterpillar crawling on the ground, builds a cocoon and then goes through the metamorphosis. But what many people don’t know is to emerge from the cocoon, the butterfly has to go through the struggle.
“The struggle? Say more,” I listened intently as Mary continued to share. I knew in my heart God wanted me to hear something on this lesson so grabbed my small pink notebook out of my purse ready to take notes.
Mary continued with the story of the butterfly. The butterfly has to struggle to get out of the cocoon. In fact, if someone tries to help the butterfly out early, it will never fly because it’s wings aren’t strong enough and it’s body isn’t slim enough to be airborne. The struggle to be freed from the cocoon is what makes the butterfly’s wings strong and helps it’s body transform into it’s new shape. Without the struggle, it could never fly.
Tears flooded over me. Without the struggle, it could never fly. The struggle (which often seems like pain without purpose) is the very thing that once we break through allows us to soar to new heights.
“But we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope …” Romans 5:3
In that moment, I thought back to so many times in life where I’d struggled. And let’s be honest – I wasn’t doing much rejoicing. More like impatience to move to the next phase. But while incredibly painful to struggle through tough times, working through the struggles was the very thing that produced the most growth.
You see just like the butterfly, without the struggle we could never fly. So don’t be afraid to struggle … you may be about to take flight.
Welcome friend! Thanks for checking out my new blog… I’m excited to connect with YOU.
I want this site to be a place that inspires, connects, and creates transformation. And it starts with being real. There is nothing better than being with real friends. Not friends where you pretend like you’re both perfect and never share what is really going on inside. It’s taken me a while to figure it out, but it takes a leap of faith to make real friends.
Throughout my 20s, the lies of perfectionism controlled me. If people know all your imperfections, they won’t like you. Cover up those blemishes – a little concealer here, a little cover-up there. Hide the baggage and ugly black circles. Don’t let even your closest friends see those ugly places.
It sent me into hiding.
One day a close friend lovingly said something I’ll never forget, “Sometimes I don’t feel like I know you.”
Ouch.I don’t feel like I know you.Who wants to be friends with someone they don’t know?
My friend was right. All my hiding hadn’t worked – it only created distance. It created a perfect wall to deeper friendships.
Deeper friendships can be scary. They require exposing parts of ourselves most people haven’t seen. But it’s a fear worth facing.
Our closest friends have seen our zits, blackheads, and scars. They have seen us make-up free – and they love us anyway. In fact, they love us even more because they know us. By removing the concealer and being real, we can really connect, learn, and grow. We can see each other’s true beauty.
God uses real friendships to transform us into the people He wants us to be.Let’s be real together friend!
This car was never supposed to happen.
Tossed off a cliff into the abyss. Shattered in a million pieces. The pit of despair tugging you down like quicksand. No light, only darkness.
Laptop removed? Check. Shoes off? Check. Bag of liquids in bin? Check.
In the midst of our grief when Jenson passed away, something new started showing up constantly. Butterflies. I’d never really paid much attention to butterflies before the rainstorm of crushing grief saturated our life. But they started to become a theme even a mom knee deep in grief couldn’t ignore.
Welcome friend! Thanks for checking out my new blog… I’m excited to connect with YOU.