Dear God,
I almost didn't go to church today. Almost. We didn't go last Sunday because we were on a drive and then a plane... and then another plane... and then another drive back from a wedding that was well worth the sleep deprivation.
And then Wednesday came... Wednesday night... and I missed our weekly small group meeting because the baby was teething and cranky and I wasn't feeling my best either. So I stayed home with her. I shouldn't have, but I did.
And then this morning rolled around... even with that extra hour... the baby was still teething and irritable. I might as well have been teething and irritable too-- there's a noticeable difference in your spirit when you stop pressing in. I was reading my devotionals... I was praying... but where was my heart in all of this? I was short with my husband. Sometimes losing patience with the girls after a long day. Going through the motions without calibration. I allowed myself to feel depressed and wallow in sadness instead of claiming victory over it. I wasn't digging in. I felt it. The weight on your shoulders gets heavier the longer you stay in mindsets that steal your joy.
So, how did I so easily talk myself out of going?
"Ooh... I just heard the baby sniffle... I should probably stay home with her. She might cry during service and be disruptive... yeah, for the benefit of everyone else there, I definitely need to stay back with her...plus, she just whined again. So that confirms it. I'll watch the live feed instead."
But as I put off getting ready, there was a single thought that broke through the myriad of excuses... "Wouldn't that be even more of a reason to go? ...to a place where there's healing... to a place where there's prayer?"
I've found that usually the times when I hear an internal barrage of reasons NOT to be somewhere... those are the times when I really NEED to make sure I'm there. I started getting ready. I wasn't going to let the excuses win. I thought we'd be late. I hate being late. Another excuse creeping in... "You're going to be late anyway, so you just might as well not go at all."
I picked up my phone and texted my friend to say we'd be there. She might have been confused as to why I would randomly announce my attendance, but it was for accountability. I said I would be there, so I needed to follow through and show up. Surprise, surprise... we were actually early. [If you know us, you realize how much of a big deal it is.]
I knew I made the right decision.
Today, I was forced to ask some tough questions. To confront myself on a deeper level. To face some uncomfortable realities. One of the biggest being, "If you really believed He changed your life, you'd live your life differently." It was said with love, not condemnation. Not as a scare tactic. Not as a guilt trip. Love.Conviction isn't meant to tear down, but to build up. (Proverbs 27:17 - "As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.")
I'd much prefer being confronted with an uncomfortable truth that sharpens my spirit than any amount of cozy untruths keeping me complacent in stagnancy.
I needed to be there today. I know that God meets us where we are [and doesn't leave us there], but today I also needed to get over myself and meet Him where He is, too.
Sincerely,
this lump of clay--a work in progress
Lord, help me to be someone who digs in and does something for You. ♡
Dear Mom,
It’s been a while since I’ve had so much to say to ‘you’ openly. Some might take it as a sign that I started to close off… to compartmentalize my grief. Others might assume it means I’ve reached a transition from sorrow to acceptance. The reality is that I haven’t started missing or thinking of you any less; I’ve just been talking to God more. Directly. We’ve been hashing it out.
He showed me that even though I kept saying I understood and wasn’t mad at Him for ‘taking you away’… it was all just words; I didn’t actually understand, and I was actually furious. First at God, then at me, then at God, then at God AND me… marinating in the guilt that maybe if I were a ‘more Christiany Christian’ at the time (whatever that means) … maybe if my prayers held more weight… if I pleaded more… if I were louder… then maybe you’d still be here. You’re not though. Nothing is changing that. And that was silly of me to think, but I’m also human.
Remember when I was a little girl and I used to take turns in the pages of my diary writing, “Dear God,” then the next one would start off with, “Dear Jesus,” cycling through the trinity ‘so no one would feel left out’? I did that more recently with my frustration too… except I didn’t have the endearing nature of childhood naivety to obscure my intent. It was adult immaturity… a pachyderm ‘hiding’ behind a bonsai. I was bitter towards Them ‘all’. Shaken, but not stirred.
I stopped writing for a while. Internal suffocation. I don’t know if I did it as a subconscious effort to ‘punish’ myself… to sever my passion, my habitual outlet, to ‘punish’ God by keeping it all in (which is futile, really, because none of our thoughts or actions are hidden: Psalm 139), or because I just felt like none of it really mattered anymore… the same emotions cycled on repeat… who would want to relive it all in words, too?
I need to start writing again. But not about the same things as before—not the cataclysmic spectrum of past relationships, or the woes of a broken heart: passive-aggressive verbal arson. I see now that it was all just self-gratifying hollow justification for plank-eyed indignation—no matter how eloquently penned. I’m not going to live there anymore. The pain. The sorrow. It shook me without harvest.
I have a new purpose—or perhaps, I’m finally discovering one that was there all along. It wasn’t writer’s block… it was an intentional shift of focus—I was looking down when what I really needed was to be reaching up.
Yesterday, I heard Pastor Art Thomas say something that resonated quite loudly: “There’s life wherever the rivers flow.” And it brought to mind the very last song I ever sang at your bedside:
All who are thirsty, all who are weak
Come to the fountainDip your heart in the streams of life
Let the pain and the sorrow be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep
We sing, come, Lord Jesus, come
Holy Spirit, come.
As I sing it again now, I realize that I was the one who was thirsty. I was the one who was weak. I was the one whose heart needed new life… a new purpose… all I needed to do was to let go of all the wrong things and fully embrace the right One.
You already figured it out.
I miss you, Mom… but we’re in good hands. And so are you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Diary,
One of my most favorite books to read as a child was, "The Secret Garden." I was even more excited when we got to read it in elementary school... and again, when I found out that we would be using class time to watch the video (yes, on VHS)... and even MORE excited to hear that included with the video was a dainty silver locket.
There was a catch, though... it only came with one locket, but there were more than twenty students in each class. The prize needed to be given away fairly, so one of the teachers mentioned writing names on slips of paper, leaving the outcome to chance. But my heart was set on that little necklace and I didn't like those odds. I had to do something about it.
So, generally-shy little me worked up the nerve to raise my hand and suggest a different idea: a trivia competition. We would all be quizzed about the book, and the winner would keep the locket. "Plus, it'll save paper from being wasted." I was determined.
The odds were much better now and I knew the book from cover to cover.
I also knew exactly what I wanted to do with the locket when I won it. Not "if"... "when".
And I did.
I remember racing home from the bus with my shiny new treasure, digging out photos I'd been collecting, measuring the space I needed to fill, and getting to work.
It was perfect. I wore it to school every day after that for the longest time.
Fast-forward more than twenty years... tonight, my oldest sister, Jenn, walked up to me with a smirk while I was rocking Norah to sleep.
"Close your eyes and open your hand..."
"Is it a bug? I swear Jenn, if it's something alive again, I'm going to get you back!"
"No, it's not... trust me. You'll like this one."
And I did.
I knew from first sight what it was because I remembered how hard I worked to get it. You don't easily forget something like that. And I knew what was inside because it took quite a while to find pictures with the proper cutable dimensions to fit ... this was back when you had to wait days or weeks for photos to be developed from rolls of film, back when the concept of "one-hour photo" was a myth for us common folk, and back when you couldn't just press a button to print whatever size image you needed.
I was sentimental even as a kid... and look where we are now... same boy, same girl... only now, with a family of our own.
Sincerely,
me.
Dear Mom,
We visited you today; it was my first time since the funeral... and Norah Jane's first ever... outside of the womb, at least. The girls would have loved to have been there too, but you know how summers go. They miss you a lot. We all do.
I know that we don't need to be at the cemetery to talk to you. But in a way, just being there makes you feel closer. Or maybe it makes me feel closer to you.
Could you hear your little namesake babbling half-words as she reached her hand toward the roses Dad lovingly arranged in front of your headstone? I could almost hear the wind carry your motherly whisper to caution her fragile fingertips away from the thorns. We had a moment... or few.
If I could've stayed longer, I'd have shared more... reminisced more... confided more... we have so much to talk about. A little girl never stops needing her Momma even when that girl stops being so little anymore.
It was nice to 'see' you... if only for a little while so the Janes could 'meet'. ♡
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I'm getting baptized tonight at the beach. I never really told anyone, but it's always been a special dream of mine... to get baptized in the ocean... it's happening!
I remember being baptized when I was 8... and although I meant it with my whole heart then, nervously pinching my nose in the pool-- anticipating Pastor Angelo tipping me back into the water... so much has happened since that day in my imperfect-but-perpetually-forgiven life...my skittish mind... my changeable heart... and while God has been with me every moment since... every step of the way... even the times I've strayed and put my trust in myself instead of Him, or in my own thoughts... my own understanding... my own strength... He's held onto me and never let me go... I need to show Him that I'm holding on this time too... all in. ♡
I know you'll be there. Thank you for teaching me how to talk to Jesus when I was a little girl. Both you and Dad. We have a lot to catch up on, but until then...
I still miss you so much, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The morning started off normal enough. Fed the baby, helped Aria get ready for school and to the bus on time, strapped Norah into her car seat, made sure Machaela didn't forget anything, and started the car.
Your Van Morrison CD had been playing for a while, so I switched albums to Lauren Daigle ... the one you introduced me to back in 2019 when I was struggling in the aftermath of life-altering chaos. I pressed shuffle.
"Still Rolling Stones" started playing as Machaela buckled her seat belt and made sure she had her mask. She said that she thought it would be a great song to sing for the next talent show at school. I asked her if she knew what "You're still rolling stones" meant... so we discussed lyrics as we waited for the light to turn green at the intersection. By then, the song "Rescue" came on:
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS"The light turned green and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal.
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
Except, there was a car coming from the other way that should've been slowing down; it wasn't. It was running the perpendicular red light while I was driving through the green one. The car stopped just in time. I don't know how it was able to do that as fast as it was charging through the intersection, but it did.
"It's true, I will rescue you" ... the song kept playing.
And I was reminded exactly how it happened.
When I pulled back into the driveway, I parked the car and tears started streaming down my face. I heard a sweet voice singing, "Look Up Child"... and when I did... I saw you there. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The check-in lines at CHS were so long today... the end of Spring Break... I should have realized. I walked through the door and was met with a mass of people seeping out past the outlined stanchions. I didn't have any bags to check since I wasn't catching a flight--I just had to get a gate pass to meet the girls at B4.
As I waited in the crowd, a frizzy-haired woman approached the group of us at the end of a clearly-marked line and asked the general public, "Is this line for Southwest?" Not being the one closest to her, I assumed someone else would answer, but when no one did, I chimed in with a simple "Yes" and a smile-- smiles are invisible under masks.
She mumbled something about needing to make sure first and, thinking she was going to join the line, I made room. Except, she moved to pass through instead, wheeling her bag behind. It seemed strange. I thought she was looking for this exact line. I shrugged it off-- until she spoke again.
As she walked through, without even making eye contact she said, "Cast your cares" and continued on her way. It was unmistakable.
My eyes welled with tears.
... Mom?
I still had to go through security even though I brought nothing with me... physically, at least. My mind was still cluttered, heavy, and now a bit confused... what was that? Why did she say that to me? There was no context for it... I hadn't said anything to her besides, "Yes." I took off my flip-flops and put them on the conveyor. I couldn't get the stranger's words out of my head... "cast your cares"... just like you'd always say.
I stepped through the checkpoint, put my shoes back on, and started walking to the gate where the plane would be letting the girls out shortly... and then I heard it... a very distinct voice singing out. Van Morrison. Your favorite. It was the song, "Jackie Wilson Said"--not one of his most popular ones, but I knew it... it was one you liked to sing while you watered your plants... and despite the airport noise pollution, the lyrics were clear:
Ding a ling a ling
Ding a ling a ling ding
I'm in heaven, I'm in heaven...
...
You must've heard my silent cries this morning wishing you were still here.
I definitely felt your presence today... and... I'll try... and I know.I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I didn't make Easter baskets this year. I didn't want to. The girls already have so much--so many lovely things... we've truly all been blessed in so many ways.
Aria even said to tell the Easter Bunny that he can skip over our house so that he has extra to share with other kids who might need the surprises more. You'd have been proud. I was.
She added that she didn't think Norah Jane would mind either since she's "too little to eat candy and doesn't have any teeth yet".
Speaking of the baby, I know there have been a lot of changes since she was born--and although the older two understand the need to share their time with me, I still want to make sure they know that their importance doesn't diminish... their place in my life isn't any less prominent because there's one more to share my triply-expanded heart with.
I remember the little notes you'd leave for Jenn, Tris, and I with "token gifts" as you'd call them... and how you always seemed to know how to make a single item mean so much more than any room filled with presents ever could. A musical snow globe... a stuffed giraffe plush that could fit into the palm of my hand... a hand-written letter, or a simple candy cane ornament.
It was your heart... the love woven into every aspect of you being our Mom.
I thought about it, but I didn't make any Easter baskets this year. Instead, I purchased 2 empty books with delicately decorated pages and penned a letter in each--hopefully the first of many.
The girls are growing up so fast and I never want to miss out on our time together... you've taught me how precious it truly is... and how fleeting.
I still cherish our letters to each other, me and you... except now, tears accompany the smiles as I read.I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
It's your birthday today. I remember singing to you last year and how happy I was to be able to spend the day with you. I also remember how nervous you were because you had to go to Philly to start the transplant early the next morning where I would be joining you a few days later for my part of it.
I was nervous too and didn't tell you... but also excited... to finally be able to do something big for you after all you had done for all of us for so many years.
I know that birthdays are supposed to be a celebration of life... and I am eternally grateful for yours... I just wish that we had more time.
I remember playing it off like you still had so many birthdays left to celebrate... purposely trying not to make a 'big deal' of it so you kept your spirits high instead of being afraid--not that you'd have ever let on that you were scared. I don't ever recall a moment when you weren't brave... always so brave.
But now, looking back... I wish that I'd have made a bigger deal out of your birthday last year anyway... because you're so important... always have been. I just didn't know it was the last one we'd ever spend together. No one did.
I know you wouldn't want me to be sad, but it's truly hard not to be today. I'm trying. We love you, Mom.
I still miss you. 🤟🏻
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I miss you.
We're in the hospital right now... the doctor said, "It's showtime."
I know you're here too... your youngest daughter giving birth to her youngest daughter... but I still wish you were here. I love this picture of us together right after I was born. ♡
They made me take off the necklace you gave me, but I still have it with me.
I love you Mom. I can't wait to tell you all about it.
We'll talk more later... but for now, it's showtime. ♡
Love always,
"Pookie"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 