This has been my prayer journal/notebook since May 11, 2021, It only has about 18 blank pages left inside. But it's beautiful to me.
I know that I started it on May 11th, three years ago, because I remember when I got it. It was a Tuesday. I was going through something really rough in my life at the moment... a storm that I couldn't even specifically identify, but God could. And He did shortly afterwards.
I was confused. Hurting. I still wasn't driving very far because I hadn't fully surrendered that fear over to the Lord yet. But there's a park about a mile from our house. And a CVS on the way.
So I stopped at the CVS, remembering that I had a $10 gift coupon, and bought myself a journal to take with me.
One prior Sunday, our Pastor encouraged everyone to write on a piece of paper, asking the Lord what He wants to say to us, and start jotting down our thoughts to see if any of them stood out.
It was already dark, and there wasn't another soul in sight, so I sat down at one of the wooden benches, took out my new journal, and used the dim lighting from a street lamp some distance away to write: Dear Lord, What is it that You want to say to me?
I sat. And sat. And waited... and it seemed that all of the chaotic mental pinballing that was plaguing my mind just melted away. I couldn't come up with a single thought. So I put my pen back into my bag, closed the book, and got up to leave.
But then I stopped. My heart still felt so heavy even though the thoughts wouldn't come. I sat back down, reached into my bag for a pen (it ended up being a different one this time), and tried again... "Speak to me; I'm listening."
And that was it. The rest of the page is blank.
But I remember what happened. I got back into the car and drove home.
What I initially saw as an unanswered question, was actually just the introduction page for an entire book--a time-capsule testimony of all of the ways the Lord has been speaking to me over the years... through prayer, studying His Word, writing out scripture (it never returns void), church notes, thoughts... my question didn't go unanswered... God answered my prayers in the best possible way... He strengthened and comforted me through the storms.
When I flip back through the pages, I'm encouraged. I glance over my prayers, writings and song lyric snippets, struggles, joys... and I can see God's hand in it all now... Praise the Lord! He has done and is still doing everything He promised He would... I just had to get quiet and listen.
Start that prayer journal.
“Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.”
Dear diary,
A couple months ago, at a local farmer's market [I attended fully expecting to come home with fresh produce and maybe a chicken or two, but apparently a "farmer's market" isn't a market where farmers sell their harvests... who'd have thought?], I met a lovely couple who were on a mission to bring skin-healthy products to the community in innovative ways. They were awesome. And so friendly.
I left their stand with some homemade sleepytime massage oil for the baby, peppermint beard oil [I don't have a beard, but it just smelled soooo good], and a sample tin of customized powdered dry shampoo that was not yet on their website for purchase. It's tailored to blend in with your hair color and absorb excess oil from your roots/scalp while nourishing your follicles. However that works. 🤷♀️ Dry shampoo has always been a mystery to me, but I was excited to try it.
Except I ended up forgetting that I had it.
Now, rewind... or fast forward... [whichever came first or last, I can't remember]...
For Christmas, my sister Tris put together thoughtful care packages for our oldest sister Jenn, and me. It had chapstick, sentimental jewelry, necessities, all sorts of things she knew we each liked, and a new kind of charcoal toothpaste that wasn't paste at all... it was more like black tooth dust. I was intrigued. What you do is, you moisten your toothbrush, coating it with some of the dust, and then brush your teeth as usual; the end result: a whiter, brighter, healthier smile.
No one prepared me for the 'during' result though. The dark dust turns into a ghastly liquid coating on your teeth that doesn't go away until you thoroughly brush and rinse. [I like to scare my husband sometimes and smile at him with my black-tar-looking teeth when he least expects it. It's hilarious. You should try it sometime.]
Fast-forward to this morning.
I saw a matte black unlabeled tin on our dresser and suddenly remembered what was in it... Oh, no! I never tried the dry shampoo powder! I didn't know if my hair really needed it, but I was determined to gather some feedback for the generous woman (Ashley? Lauren? Rachael? I can't remember her first name, unfortunately) who trusted me to supply her with an honest review and had already been waiting a long time for it.
The problem was... I didn't know how I was meant to apply it. I tried dabbing my fingertip into the mixture to see if my skin would be able to act as a transfer... nope. Then, I tried to tilt and tap some of it into my cupped hand to sprinkle over my head... but as soon as I did, an impressively large smoky cloud expanded into the air and all over my face... like you'd see in a cartoon where Wile E. Coyote waited just a little too long before throwing the stick of dynamite.
So, with hair-colored powder all over my face, I found my way to the bathroom, setting the tin down near the sink to search for a makeup powder-brush instead (I have no idea why that wasn't my initial course of action to begin with). As I reached down into the drawer, my "Look, if you don't get all of your butts out the door and into the car within the next 15 minutes (including the baby's), you'll have to duck under the live stream camera to get to your seats and potentially get called out by Pastor Trent for being late" alarm went off.
Shoot! I still had to brush my teeth, somehow get all of this dust off of my face, make a fresh bottle, and get the baby dressed...
Mom-mode kicked in. Multitasking upon multitasking. I set everything down and took care of the baby, reminding the girls not to forget their Bibles and to make sure they're dressed appropriately for the chilly weather, made a bottle with one hand while pouring cereal with another and balancing the baby on my hip while using the other one to close the pantry door. It was empowering. [In hindsight, I should've just asked my husband for help, who would have gladly lent a hand, but it's so easy to get into the misplaced mindset of "I've got this" for everything that sometimes we forget that we've got help.]
I set the baby down and rushed off to brush my teeth, turned on the faucet, ran the bristles under, and caught my reflection... UGH, powdered dry shampoo all over my face like a poorly-done spray tan... I forgot all about it! So I took my glasses off, picked up the powder brush with my other hand, and started gently coaxing the particles off my skin while dipping my toothbrush into the charcoal tin to start brushing my teeth.
... Except... it wasn't the charcoal toothpaste container I'd dipped my toothbrush into. It was the dry shampoo tin right beside it... simultaneously, what I was now brushing into my scalp was powdered toothpaste.
They are NOT interchangeable.
So, we were a few minutes late to church today and my hair was a bit darker in a patch on top... and my mouth tasted like my hair was supposed to feel... but we showed up. And I didn't even mind ducking underneath the live feed camera... because we were surrounded by family and exactly where we were meant to be. No judgement, just love.
As Pastor Trent says, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly."
I don't think he means to purposely mess up or to not put forth a genuine effort... but rather, that if something is worth doing, it's worth it to take the first steps to get there... even if they're wobbly, imperfect, or nothing like you'd imagined... they're still steps in the right direction.
I'm not quite sure what the takeaway is... there were so many:
Wake up earlier and you'll have more time to get ready, ask for help instead of being pig-headed in thinking you can do it all yourself, make sure you know the accurate location of similarly-shaped containers before you take your glasses off, or even that right before church isn't a good time for experimenting with cosmetic samples...
But whatever it may be, we'll definitely be on time next Sunday and you're invited too.
Sincerely,
a perpetual work in progress,
me.
Dear Mom,
I haven't stopped wishing you were here. And I know that's selfish, but looking back through our last messages has me feeling like I lost you all over again. Except the grief isn't the same. It's still raw, but without the denial.
I should probably take comfort in knowing I can talk to God about all of the things I still want to tell you... I feel like I'm in a conference call with Him when I write to you... He knows it all... down to how many tears I've cried missing you and the ones that were over other things. I'm just a person... one who cries a lot, apparently. You didn't though. Cry a lot, I mean... at least not that I ever saw.
I couldn't sleep... there's too much on my mind... and I know you'd tell me first to cast my cares... and I do, mostly... but sometimes a stray one slips through... and sometimes my fickle heart reels a few back. I'm a person.
I hadn't looked at our conversations here in a while... or maybe not as far back as I did today... and I just felt so ashamed. I was so wrapped up in something I was going through back then that seemed so hopeless at the time that I didn't even notice the change in your replies.
Your usual lengthy, thorough responses dwindling down to sentence fragments and stray emojis as the days went on... and I just kept going on about my problems... oblivious to yours... and that huge situation in my life... the one I was messaging about so much during your last weeks... it doesn't even matter anymore. It's irrelevant... I didn't know I was wasting our time together because I didn't think we were going to lose you. I trusted that we had more of it together.
...and then I get to thinking that if I'd have just listened and casted my cares from the start, I wouldn't have been too blinded by the overwhelm of my own life to ask you more about yours. And we'd have fonder conversations to remember... but that's selfish, too... because you don't need to remember them... I do.
I know I can't change it. The outcome. And I know that I should learn from it... but here I am again... wishing I could talk to you about my life. Not that I'd have called you at 1 in the morning anyway... but somehow just knowing I had the option to was reassurance enough.
So I'll close my eyes, work harder on casting my cares (1 Peter 5:7) without reeling them back in, and wake up with more answers than I had when I fell asleep.
I'm sorry for the times I took you for granted... I don't anymore... because I can't.
I miss you something terrible, Mom.
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,
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,
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,
It’s pouring outside again. We’ve been getting flash flood alerts off and on for weeks… the rain hasn’t eased up much in between either. You’d probably hate it here. I don’t usually mind it, though. I used to love the rain.
I feel sad a lot… and hate trying to come up with reasons that ‘make more sense’ for people to hear… ones that are also true... dreary weather… pregnancy blues… the overwhelming discomfort of these last weeks before the baby is here… lack of sleep… all more palatable than, “I just really miss my Mom and don’t always know how to compartmentalize the emotions in a way that keeps me behaving sociably”. It’s not even one of those things that you can just ‘talk out’. There’s only so much someone can say—and even then, it doesn’t really help.
I wouldn’t know what to say to me either… so I try not to put other people into the situation where they have to try to figure out what to say to make it seem better… which leads to self-isolation… and the resulting guilt from inadvertently distancing myself from everyone in an effort to spare them from grief… “it’s probably just the pregnancy hormones” … I try to convince myself, too.
“Rainy Days and Mondays” came on. You loved this song. The Carpenters. It fits. I used to think your singing voice sounded a lot like hers. You were just more self-conscious. I blame the nuns.
This morning marked Aria’s 100th day of school for this year. Her teacher said they could dress up like they’re 100 years old. You remember her outfit last year… the flowery/lace-collared mustard-colored dress with matching white sweater, big pearls, powder-haired bun, babushka, clip-on earrings, and round tortoise-shell glasses… She didn’t want to do that this year. She was going to wear a dress, the necklace, and the costume glasses, but she opted out of them saying, “I know Nonnie wasn’t 100 years old, but she didn’t wear glasses except for reading, so I’m not going to wear them today either.” They think about you a lot.
Nothing is the same anymore... not even the rain. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Mom,
I understand now how much our little creations meant to you.
Aria made this precious tree for me at school, not knowing that it was just the encouragement I needed.
I love her sense of perceptive compassion.
Thank you for being a shining example of how to be a Mom worth loving.
I guess I must be doing it right after all. ♡
I miss you.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 