Bees in My Bonnet

  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...

  I can't believe September is done. It feels like a gap in my year - that a whole 30 days was swallowed into some black hole or vortex of suffering. I don't know how all those days went by when I wasn't paying attention. On October 3, I usually remember the line in the sand of my life - that fateful day when I witnessed violence and fear like nothing I'd known before or since. (Link to that saga here)  It is one of those days - a before and after, where my life is forever marked as having crossed a bridge that can never be reversed. In other words, I can't unsee that.  This September feels strangely similar. Timo's motorcycle accident has thrown me face to face with the unpredictableness of all of life.  One moment I was heading to bed, the next, I'm riding an ambulance...it's still so surreal that I actually lived through this, and even more, that Timo did! And then two all-nighters, back to back. And to sit dazed in a hospital room, stunned, numb, and...

 Let me tell you what prayer looks like for me: it involves all the feels, if I have any, and often I feel nothing. Absolutely flat. Unfeeling. Blank. Numb. Even in those states, I pray. Sometimes my words are more thoughtful, sometimes they're a jumbled mess. I don't think it really matters to God - THAT  I pray, I am convinced, delights His heart. These days my head hits the pillow and my whole body slows down and then the feelings come. "I don't want this, God. I feel like You, in a single instant, handed me a pathway of suffering, of pain, of regret, of darkness. I know You were there, protecting my boy. I know You spared Him. I'm grateful, I'm SO grateful." Then I pause. I think about gratitude. What does it mean that I'm grateful? I open my heart before God and say, "You have been good to me, to him. I know it. His suffering is great - and ours, watching him suffer, is great too. I know it could have been worse. But in this moment, I want to...

 I know the words in me have dried up. But they're in there, and somehow, in someway, maybe they'll seep out of me, albeit slowly. I go through my days and many times it feels like I'm floating, with my feet not quite on the ground. It isn't only grief, coming into the reality that my Mom left this earth over 6 months ago. It is all the many changes and challenges that a life holds - a life that is mine somehow, the life I live as mother, wife, friend, and neighbor.  The traumas of my life have seemed to break me. And it is reasonable to think that. But I don't say that to engender pity or even awe. I simply state it as fact. I'm not quite all here, and I trust God allowed even my own responses to trauma to protect me...somehow.  And yet, adaptive strategies like floating through life without really feeling everything that can be felt, or even the natural normal things that would bring others - unbroken others - joy or sorrow, these are not helpful in the long r...

 It has been over a week since my Mom took her last breath on this earth and her first one in Glory. As if the grief of my life has not filled my cup to the brim, God seems to step in and say, 'Your cup is bigger than you knew...' I don't know if this thought is supposed to be encouraging or what. Maybe more of the 'what' in my case. And maybe God doesn't say that at all. Maybe that is my mind playing tricks on me. How does one actually  hear from God? I will not presume to answer this question, though it can be explored through the pages of Holy Writ (which I hold to be the Holy Bible). Beyond that, we do have historical church figures who give us perspective based on their own reading of Scripture and a lifetime of following after Jesus, albeit, imperfectly. I wonder if anyone will come along after me on their journey of faith and take clues from my experience? No matter, I will journey just the same. Not for their sake, but for mine. (Call me ego-centric if y...

These days of Quarantine have been refining for us as a family, as I'm sure you can imagine.  Just keep 9 people cooped up in a 4 bedroom house for 3 months and see what happens. We are by no means your 'model' family, even if you like to imagine us as such. Just ask any of our friends who stop by - sometimes things are calm and happy, and even quiet (like, rarely).  Other times certain kids are having a rough day and it shows.  And even if it's not just moodiness, crankiness, annoyingness or whiney-ness, it is simply the friction of being near each other - near enough to make annoying sounds, expressing frustration with grunts and sighs, or, if you're like me, simply announcing to everyone in sight exactly what seems to be the problem.  Loudly.  "IT SEEMS TO ME I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO NOTICES THE TRASH ON THE FLOOR NEXT TO THE OVERFLOWING RECYCLE BIN. HMMM, I Wonder,  WHY IS THAT ??!?!"  Some would call this passive-aggressive.  But I think it is s...

So, yesterday I posted about the kind of interactions I sometimes have regarding the state of affairs, especially regarding clutter in our home. (If you missed part 1,  click  Here ) It didn't end there. Like I said, I do need a Lot of help and thankfully Jena came to my rescue. Not only did she write the funny response - but she was as much a friend in deed (out deeds, depending), to meet me in my need. Today I am reminded though that Sam also came to my rescue, as it was a relative of his, he felt the need to also respond. As I look back at that, I am again so very thankful for the loving man God dropped in my lap (well, more like, in my house, but that's a long story you can read about  Here ). Here is how he addressed this situation (this is long, but I put it here with only minor edits that may be too personal, because I think his words are worth sharing with a broader audience - we are surely not the only couple to struggle with household order!): Dear --...

I had a rough morning...Hannah's one and only school dress was no-where to be found.  I had stayed up late doing extra laundry in case it was in there, and couldn't find it.  I didn't want to dig around in the room where they were sleeping so it needed to wait until this morning (yes, you can point out I should have thought of this before they were in bed, but I was focussed on getting them to bed!  Of course you could point out that I could have thought of this before the bedtime routine!  But I was trying to get supper on!  And you could point out I could have thought of this before supper prep, but...okay, you win). So this morning I look high and low.  I search everywhere.  I look under her bed three times!  I look under everything!  Couches, beds, hidden corners, dressers, cubbies, nooks - you name it, I looked.  I prayed - out loud, "Lord, please help us find Hannah's dress!"  I hear the thoughts in my head (could it be div...