You Win Some and You Lose Some, and in the End…

It’s all GOOD.

We had a wedding this past weekend.  There were flowers. (Thank you, Casey.)

There was exhaustion, too.

There was quiet moment when the groom, newly-graduated with his music degree, played the bridal procession he had written especially for his bride.  Oh, what a glimpse of how Jesus loves His…

There was family.  Four of my sons are in this photo.  The other pronounced them husband and wife.

There was a lovely and fun reception, that flowed seemingly stress-free.

There was dancing.  First, the bride and groom to “Sentimental Reasons”, by Nat King Cole.

And then everyone, to Aretha demanding a little RESPECT.

Not to mention an enchanting variety of music on a playlist the groom put together personally.

And, there were goodbyes, as the bubbles floated away, and as the bride and groom flew off to a cabin in the snow.  (She told the Husband, “Goodbye, Daddy,” when he’s really just an in-law.  ♥)

Life is like that sometimes.  We start new, and we say goodbye.  Life and death, all on one platter.

On the very same day as the wedding, January 7, 2012, my former-classmate passed quietly from this life at the age of 52, surrounded by loved ones.  She was a victim of ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease).  She spent the last months with a healthy mind trapped in a paralyzed body.  In the end, only her eyes could move, and only just a little.

As I said in my previous post, I don’t ask the hard questions anymore.  This strategy helps me to keep my sanity.  I simply stand on what I know, which is precious little:

• God is real.
• He is good.
• He loves us.
• He has a plan.
• And I can trust Him.

And that’s enough for me, especially the He-loves-me part.  I had to fight an epic, post-salvation tug-of-war before I was able to say that.  But now that I can, I’m free.

To quote my favorite blogger, “His Love is the only thing that changes any of us and living loved–wouldn’t this change everything?”

It did for me.  And that’s how I can say that no matter what, it’s all (life, death, and everything in between)…GOOD.

Death at Christmas

Life, life, life goes on, but we had death this Christmas.

A golden, glass orb hanging from an evergreen bough mirrored our reflections, huddled and silent, on the front row.  The little church, whose exposed beams, stained glass and vintage charm could elicit delight under any other circumstance, glowed with the season’s trimmings.  But we were here for a funeral, and the proceedings moved forward, with or without us.

He died in his sleep, far too young.  He was my husband’s twin, and we will miss him.

As I sat thinking during the introductory music, I rewound backwards in time to the century’s turn, on my fall birthday, when we buried my only sister.   I remembered how on that Christmas, we planted a tree on her grave, and how God scolded me back into fellowship with Him, and drew me out of a furious pout that I called grief.

In the present, I clutch a wadded tissue and squeeze my husband’s hand.  A we-can-do-this smile passes between us.  We have shared much, this man and I, and we share pain this day.

Isn’t it strange how death is not enough?  It seems there must be peripheral drama to deepen the wounds.  This funeral, as with my sister’s, was no exception.  We all get stuck and wallow in the human dilemma from time to time, don’t we?  But we endured.  And we pressed on.

Afterwards, as family and friends trudged away from the graveside, my thoughts turned to a friend, also too young, trapped in a body paralyzed by ALS, in a hospital bed in her living room this Christmas. We were classmates, and I’m told the birds outside her window bring her joy.  I fear her time on this earth is also short.

Death at Christmas.  

Dear friends, I don’t understand these things, and I have no answers to the questions.  But I can share a personal decision that helped me make it through a string of illnesses, tragedies, and deaths.  After struggling with some “whys”, and growing frustrated and angry, I simply stopped asking. I knew that if I persisted in seeking those elusive answers, I would go crazy.  And I made the decision to trust God.

Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t easy.  He seemed to ask, “Stephanie, am I enough, even in this?”  Well, was He?  Could I say that  He was good, even in the bad things?   After a tug-of-war, I decided that the answer was yes.  And I put my hand in his, just like a little child.

That’s my story, and nothing more.

Now, I have hope.  I can rejoice, because of Him.  He’s been faithful, even when I doubted that He was.

Jesus was a baby born to die.  And because of His death, I live.

If I never receive another Christmas gift, in His birth and death, I have enough.  At Christmastime, and always.

From my heart to yours, Christmas love, and hope for a bright, New Year…

♥

What a Way to Spend a Summer

Well (in case you haven’t noticed), I’ve been a bit sparse on my blog posts.  Summer has been a whirlwind of activity, and I’ve done well to keep up my monthly Hope for Women post.  You can always read my writing once a month there.

The strobe light of busy-ness has blinked uninterrupted, and I’ve dashed here and there, and now, I’ll barely be ready for school to start in less than two weeks.  But I did get to go here this summer, thanks to the generosity of my wonderful dad:

Not bad, huh?

So, friends, thank you for stopping by when you do.  I really appreciate you.  So much has happened, and I have stories to tell.  Hopefully (some day), I’ll get a chance to tell you all about it.

♥

Sanity

Okay, this one is special to me, because it’s about sanity.  Please hop on over to Hope for Women online magazine and read the rest here:  My July Hope Post

And gosh…time has flown.  I have neglected this blog, I’m sorry to say.  But I’ve been busy, both outwardly and inwardly.  And a rest hiatus here is not a completely terrible thing.  I’ll be back at it some day.  But for now, blogging at Hope has kept me in the saddle, so to speak.

Thinking of so many of you, and seeing your faces, all so precious to me, I hope your summer months are going well, and that you are finding some time for rext, relaxation, and peace.

♥

R-E-S-PE-C-T (and the Scene at the Fence)

“I used to belt out the words to that Aretha Franklin classic in the pre-dawn while throwing a paper route for extra money. Little did I know how important the concept of respect would be in my family relationships.”

(From my Hope for Woman June post.  It applies to the rest of this post, so I hope you will read.)

Yes, little did I know, and wow.  This story was punctuated with a couple of explanation points yesterday, by a disturbing incident that I saw while waiting at my son’s baseball lesson:

There was a baseball team practicing on the field near where my son has a private lesson now and then.  The lesson was almost over, so I walked to the batting cage to wait, and hand a check to the instructor.  Suddenly, we all became aware of a raised voice coming nearer, and we looked up to see a man and a boy from the baseball team walking off of the field.  The man was walking beside the boy with clenched fists held at his sides, barely able to restrain himself, looking down at him and screaming (and f-bombing, among other choice words) about how the boy was DONE with baseball, DONE with football, DONE with anything further he wanted to do.  The rest was blurred out.

As we watched agape, the man fell in behind the boy, and spat through clenched teeth, “Walk.”  The boy walked, shoulders hunched.  Apparently he did not walk fast enough, as they approached an alley shielded from the view of the other team members (but not from us) by a wooden fence.  The man kept saying, “WALK,” and although the boy was walking, the man began to shove him from behind as he said it.  Now, the boy stumbled forward with each push.

When they got behind the fenced area, to our horror the man actually shoved the boy into the fence, and then got near his face and grabbed his jersey in a wad, and continued his screaming, cursing tirade.  At that point, our baseball instructor (thankfully) called the police.  An assistant coach of the team cleared out the other players from earshot of what was going on, and began to call to the man.  The man ignored him, and the seemingly endless tirade continued unabated as the man slammed the boy into the fence again and began dragging him away.

The assistant coach and a woman eventually went over to the man and boy, but did not try to stop the spectacle.  They coach attempted to mediate, apparently siding with the man, and the woman merely folded her hands across her chest and watched.  The boy tried to walk away several times.

Eventually, the police arrived, and the din subsided.  We discovered the boy was 14 years old.  We also discovered that the man was his father. Throughout this spectacle, we could hear the words the father said to his son, and we all flinched with each terrible, verbal blow.  The man repeatedly blamed his son for the whole incident.  The pain of simply watching this event was with us all for hours. I can’t imagine how long the pain of it will remain with that boy.

Our baseball instructor (a big, strong former college player) was shaking so badly he couldn’t continue our lesson.  My 13-year-old son, and some of the other players on the boy’s team, were near tears.

My son and his baseball instructor said the verbal barrage had been building throughout team’s practice.  They heard only the father’s words, yelling at the top of his lungs about things such as how the boy was not hustling enough, (jogging instead of running) and ordering the son off the field from time to time.  They never heard any words from the son. During the entire scene that followed, and the screaming and pushing at the fence, the issue at hand (according to the father) was the son’s lack of respect for him.

What do you think?

We all were left wondering what must happen between the man and the boy when no-one is watching.

When Swallowing is Hard

Once, there was a mom and her son. One bright day, they had a disagreement. And the disagreement turned out to be like manna from heaven…

This is a true story, and you can finish it here.  Hoping you will take a moment and drop in over at Hope for Women to read the rest.  Leave your thoughts, if you’re so inclined.

I count myself blessed in you.

♥

Needing Grace

Grace is something I desperately, deeply need.  So, I try to sprinkle it around.  I hope that the people in my life will return the favor.

I just got a bill (payable immediately) from my son’s university.  They didn’t offer me much grace.  In fact, they tacked on some finance charges, just to underscore their assertation that no more grace would be given out.  I’m sure you can think of some examples of needing grace in your life, can’t you? I can…

The rest of this post is published over at Hope for Women, and you can read it here.  It would cheer me if you would stop over, read, and offer your thoughts, if you’ve a notion.  Bless you, precious reader.