Bees in My Bonnet

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 foun

  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 just extend a hand of mercy,  And walk with me on my journey To find a settled place To curl up on a well-loved, worn

  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 he thr

  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.