Bees in My Bonnet

 Is it audacious to pretend that God has a birthday? Today the whole world seems to pause and recognize...some thing , if not, some ONE.   Those who come to adore the Christ-child and those who merely tip their hat in token reverence - most of the world will in some way commemorate the coming of this newborn baby, come to make all things new.   And how will we honour Him? In the markets we will purchase. In our homes we will decorate. Some will travel far and wide to gather together with family, whether natural or chosen. There will be food, feasting, desserts, fun, simple gifts, abundant gifts. We will honour the birth of the holy child by honouring each other.   Don't you think the God Who made us, delights in our  delight in good gifts - the gift of each other, yes, but also the new fluffy blanket, new notebook and pen, new robot vacuum, new piano books, new dollhouse, new art kit, new socks, new bouquet of flowers? Aren't these tangible pictures that hint to...

For Previous Post Click Here   Here's what I wrote last year:  I start to get up out of bed and grab a purple skirt, and throw a t-shirt on. A random thought hits me - 'glad I'll be home in a bit as I shouldn't really go out in public looking like a disheveled trash collector wearing whatever I gleaned from a dumpster dive' (no dig for dumpster divers here! They're probably my tribe!). Sam offers to go instead. I tell Sam he can go to bed since he's tired. Last minute before I leave I see Sam up - some random impulse compelled him to come with me. I let him drive. 'Just go to North Avenue. Then go north on Gary - that's what Timo said. He said we'd find him there a little way up.' And find him we did. First we saw some bright lights. We figured a cop car had likely stopped. But there were so many. We didn't count them all. The road was cordoned off. A cop was re-directing traffic - no cars could head north on this road. We pull up to the ...

For previous post, Click here    I already told about that 2nd night, how it was worse than the first. What I didn't mention was the anxiety storm I was in. I was awake all night imagining the worst - the mounting medical bills, the needs Timo would have for the coming months, my own inner world feeling like it was hanging by a thread. Was I prayerful? Kind of. More whiny, and perplexed, trying to figure out how we would manage. As the sun began to rise, and I was still panicky and fearful, I knew I couldn't carry that load anymore in my soul. It just wasn't sustainable. My prayer became different then. Instead of, "But God, what about this? What about that? What about my limited capacity? What about Timo in pain? What about bills? What about healing? What about hope? None of this seems hopeful. Oh, and by the way, thank you for sparing his life." Yeah, I caught myself on this last one. The storm I was in had overcome me. I could barely scratch the surface of grat...

For previous post, click here   The second night in hospital was worse than the first. The first night I was so shocked, stunned, almost disbelieving. It was a strange reality. The second night the anxiety storm kicked in and I was caught in the vortex. Not only was I up all night to keep him breathing, but fear overtook me. I worried about money - how we would cover all the medical bills we were racking up. I worried about Timo's recovery - his pain, his health, his rest, his soul. I worried about me. I run a depression-soul-fever in general; how could I possibly take on the round the clock care of a 17 year old who doesn't want help with anything?  As we encountered nurse after nurse and checked in with each doctor, they queried Timo about his life. Through a number of ups and downs, Timo had decided he would move on from high school and embark on working full-time and pursuing trade school, and possibly some community college classes in plumbing and welding. He had just fou...

  For previous post click here In May of 2023 we had our usual Church small group gathering and in the women's prayer gathering I unthinkingly blurted out (did I say I had no forethought of saying such a thing?!): "I think my prayer request is that God helps me to pay attention to taking care of my body. I'm overweight, and I don't exercise. Maybe you can pray God will help me be a better steward of this tent I dwell in." Seriously, this came out of nowhere. There is a whole long telling of why I hadn't and didn't and often don't take care of my body. But suffice to say, it was a random impulse that prompted me to ask for prayer around this. Thing is, if you ask your friends to pray, they will. And if they pray, they may be prompted to be the answer to your prayers...inadvertently. In the fall of 2023 I had begun to volunteer serving a friend in need who had small children and needed support - with her fourth baby on the way, and her body broken in way...

  Imagine if we had ears like dogs That can tell the world when we're afraid At ease  Safe Alert, angry, or  Disinterested.  And what if we had a tail,  A signpost to herald  Moments of shame,  Delight,  Joy,  Or hope?  If we could read the code - The ears, the tail,  The hair standing tall Or lying flat on the neck - Would we somehow offer A warmer welcome,  A gentler touch,  An uncritical gaze  To hold and cushion The curled-under tail,  The drooping ears,  The reluctant glance that says:  'I've failed!  I'm afraid!  You must not like me!' If we had ears like dogs,  And a tail,  Would the words soften its harsh blows?  Would we find respite from those who would Kick us to the curb?  Would the biting voice of disdain Break just a little,  Maybe even wither... into silence?  If you could read my shame on my face,  And know I cower in fear,  You might jus...

  Previous post: click here Let me back-track a bit. How far should I go? Should I go to the season of 9 months, waiting for our child to be born? About how that time of our lives, Sam was a full-time graduate student at Moody, and we had zero reliable income, while owning a house with a mortgage and raising our 2 young children? How we had to buy our own insurance, and maternity coverage would not begin until August 23, and how Timo's due-date was September 5? Should I go back to his birth, where I was so relieved to get past August 23 so our insurance would cover the birth, only to come down with fever and chills, and needing to be induced to bring him into the world, and going through labour and childbirth while running a fever of 102 degrees? Should I tell you about how 2 weeks later he began to vomit every feeding and exhibited all the signs of severe infant reflux? How he was not putting on weight because he vomited every feeding?  How it was like nursing twins because h...

  For Previous post, click here At this time last year I had sat up all night, driven the hour to Chicago, wondering if my child - man-child, but still child - would be alive to greet me on the other side. The moments in the E.R. were stunning, shocking, bewildering. I barely spoke a word. When it was almost time to move him to the helipad, I stood by Timo and stroked his head. In the previous few years he had not been very conversant with me. (Parents who have never had teenage boys: this is normal, not a sign of distress, but a development where they want to make their own way in life. This is not to say they don't need us, and our input - they do, but the dynamics change). I often overstepped bounds with him, and frustrated him. I tried to give him space, but there were times my fears took over. Our relationship was not strained - he knew I loved him, he knew my care for him. But Mothers are often not easy for teenage boys. There's hardly a way around that. We birthed them. ...

Click here for previous post (part 1)  Sam and I made our way to where we were supposed to find him. We noticed the roads were blocked off and there were lots of flashing lights. "Hmm, there must be an accident ahead - I wonder how we'll get through," I thought. I began to think that maybe there was something ahead, something I didn't know or wasn't ready for. "I'm not going to worry," I kept telling myself. "He sounded fine," I almost spoke the words aloud. The policeman tried waving us past, and we said, "Our son is back there." We were waved past the barriers. We pulled up to an intersection and parked by the roadside. As we got out of the van, Sam reached over and grabbed my hand. I still haven't talked to him about that night. A year has passed and we have hardly processed it. I don't know what he was thinking. I wasn't afraid, yet. I felt the world seemed to slow down. The night air was muggy, damp, and not too h...

 You can see that writing for me has ground to a screeching halt (probably literally, in the literal, not figurative, sense). It happened a year ago on this day, one day after Timo's 17th birthday. One year ago on this night, it was a night like any other. Routine. Normal. Kids doing kid things. Caleb and Priscilla back in their first couple weeks of college, away from us. Timo working his full-time tree-trimming job. He had just had a nasty incident with a wasps nest that had caused his entire arm to swell and had to spend a day in bed with fever and chills. He had so many stings we couldn't count them. He was on the mend from that. He had been back at work just a day or two, and the night before we had taken him to an all-you-can-eat dinner which he enjoyed with us - laughing and choosing his favorite foods - mostly meat. We were doing okay. I always carry my own melancholy, and hold a world within me, a reflective, prayerful, yearning. So a year ago, I suppose life was as st...

 I just began to journal...and it made me realize I never concluded the previous saga of the lost wallet. There is more  to that story, I tell you.  My journal began..."Sometimes I think my brain got fried. The ability - really, the capacity - of my soul to hold grief, pain, trauma, suffering, silencing - I'm guessing has been greater  than most. I used to think of myself differently; blaming myself for being weak, fragile, IN-capable. But if I honestly look at my life journey, I must arrive at a different conclusion than before.  I sacrificed myself on the altar of survival ." I stopped there.  Yes, that last line describes decades of my life. I needed to find a way through, a way to cope and survive as a mother of young children, in a struggling marriage, in a world that has normal everyday demands that a severely depressed person can barely hold up underneath. It's not the world's fault. It's not having children, or a husband, or any of these things that...

 This morning I was having tea with a friend and discussing a particular child's recent ADHD diagnosis - what that might mean for us - what it means for their future. And, as she was such a great listener, I began to tell all about my own and our various family members' experience with neurodiversity. I started to tell her about my experience raising kids and how different ones had different gifts - various blessings - bestowed on them during their early years. I told of how overwhelmed I was with young children and how when Mom Logan came to live with us, I was so grateful for her presence, I simply handed the youngest (then, Andrew, 11 months) off to her so I could get a good night's rest.  In my previous post ( here ), I mentioned near the end how Mom Logan has recently transitioned from this earthly life, to her heavenly home. And how my lost wallet had been hinting to me that life - our own very selves - hold gifts that are meant to be used. As I told my friend today a...