Tag: prayer

Posted in dear wisdom

30 September 2024: Start that Journal.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace 
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.”

Psalm 107:28-29
Posted in Dear Mom

9 January 2022: I took you for granted.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
narration
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"
Posted in Dear Mom

18 December 2021: It’s happening.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
narration
Dear Mom,

I'm actually doing it. I've been a bit nervous to share this with anyone because I wasn't sure I was going to go through with it, but I am. It's confirmed. 

A couple months ago, I went to open up a document in Microsoft Word... and it wouldn't work. Something about needing to be licensed and yadda yadda... and when I looked up how to go about renewing it, I saw a promotion about enrolled students being able to have free access to Microsoft Office. "Heh, wouldn't that be nice!"

A seed was planted in such a silly way
...but nonetheless, it grew.

I thought about it. And then I thought about it again. And then I saw an ad for a university days later that sounded like exactly what I'd be looking for... IF I were actually looking... even though I wasn't.

It went from, "Well, there's no harm in applying, right?" to "Okay, well I was accepted into the program, but that doesn't mean I have to do it..." to, "I can fill out the FAFSA just to see how it pans out... but that doesn't mean anything..." to "I'll hypothetically budget for it...time-wise, too" to, "let's see how many credits would transfer" to, "hmm... I'll map out class requirements... just to see" to, "okay...this is actually doable!" to, "Wow, I'm back to being a full-time student again... let's do this!" 

If anyone would have asked me months ago if I'd be going back to finish my English degree, I'd have brushed them off with reason after reason about how I'm needed more in my other roles and that maybe one day, I'd pursue the dreams I had for myself before life unfolded otherwise, but who knows when. 

And then I'd have been thinking about it wistfully for hours afterwards-- the subtle heartache of wanting more, but not feeling like those wants are justified... or even that they're selfish. So they get buried again. And again. And again. You know how I am.

I prayed about it, though. I didn't realize how long I actually had been praying over it... the silent kind of heartbeat prayer that only God can hear... but He does hear them. 

I brought it up to Nathan when the idea was just a little sproutling. He encouraged me to go for it... just the nudge I needed. 

So I start in January. Already sent in the photo for my ID and all. 💜

I know you'd be happy for me, Mom. You'd say you always knew I had it in me and you'd be there for the times it might feel overwhelming or I start to doubt. And then you'd make some joke about the time I had to get an ID photo taken... in PA... the DMV. Hah! Yeah, I remember it. And I'll cast my cares.

I miss you, Mom.

Love always,
"Pookie"
Posted in Dear Mom

23 February 2021: “It’s showtime.”

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace 
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"
Posted in Dear Mom

11 October 2020: I overstayed my welcome.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace 
Dear Mom,

You know how I am. Not everything I write is flowery or tickled with flecks of sunshine. Sometimes it can be downright hurtful to digest. But that doesn’t make the words any less significant. When it comes to healing, subduing thorns tends to be more constructive than embracing petals.

I needed some time after the last letter. It was packed with confrontation of human frailties that stung to admit. I had to reevaluate the “why". Why am I writing these letters… why am I sharing them publicly if you don’t even need to read them anymore to know how I feel? I didn’t want to be sharing for the wrong reasons.

But writing is the way I process everything going on around and within me. Some people can process emotions by talking them out. Others by simply thinking them over. My thought processes are somehow tethered to the tangible byproduct of written language. To this day, I’m unsure as to whether the clarity of understanding comes more so from the actual process of documentation, or from hindsight analysis of penned introspection. Perhaps a bit of both. 

I know you don’t log into social media anymore to read my letters or posts. You can’t. But you also don’t need to. So why share them? It’s not for you… you aren’t in need of anything anymore. You’re being well taken care of by the One who made you … who made us all. No pain. No suffering. No tears. So why? For me? If that were the case, they wouldn’t need to be shared at all—let alone with the world, or at least whoever might stumble upon them from time to time. So why? A cry for attention? I don’t believe so. You know how I squirm and fidget when I know eyes or ears are on me. 

While some can speak their emotions to offer a voice to their psyche and others can organize themselves through other outlets, such as art, music, or writing… there are still those who have trouble untangling themselves at all… or even who simply haven’t discovered their how. I think that my hope is that by sharing the deepest struggles and vulnerabilities of my heart and of my mind, it might help others find pieces of themselves along the way, too. No one likes feeling alone. And see… I didn’t even realize the answer to my own questions until I spelled them out for myself with words… what a strange little idiosyncrasy to have. I don’t even understand myself until I read my own scribbles.
 
This letter won’t be any easier. I noticed I’m still wearing the orange “VISITOR" bracelet from the night of September 24th. The one that had to be renewed every day just to pass through security. I couldn’t tell you how many times it’s been through the shower, washed along with my hands, or gotten inadvertently soapy from the dish sponge. But it’s still there… worn and faded, with “71384” printed on the side like a reg number for an inmate. When it caught my eye earlier, I realized I’m still there too—even though you're not… at the hospital, chained to those moments by your bedside… reliving the loop because I can’t seem to let go even though you already have. Who am I visiting now? Guilt? Hypotheticals? Irreversible outcomes? I need to write it out. All of it… before a different type of sentence tries to consume me. But first, I need to gather my thoughts. 

I miss you.

Love always,
“Pookie"
My Mom loves the Carpenters. I always think of us listening to this song whenever it’s rainy… or a Monday… and especially when it’s both.
Posted in Dear Mom

7 October 2020: I took a baby-bump selfie.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
Narration
Dear Mom,

She can hear me now. I can feel her moving around throughout the day like a reassuring hug as if to say, "I'm here, too."

Life. 
Hers. 
Not even born yet, but still very much alive.
We both stayed by your bedside for those final hours on this side of eternity. 
Room 1414.

I wonder if she heard the resonance of the songs we sang to you.
I wonder if you heard me whisper her name in your ear. "Norah Jane".

Norah ... "full of light and wisdom". Brightness in the middle of darkness. And she is.
Jane means "God is merciful and gracious". And He is... even when the reasoning surpasses my own understanding. But to me, "Jane" also represents the strongest most selfless woman I've ever known. You.

I can't help but to feel the gravity.

She isn't born yet but was still by your side when you were called away. I wonder if she felt my heart sink as I watched yours beat its last. Did she hear the echoes of mourning as the doctor came into the room to announce your time of death? Could she sense the angels rejoicing at your Heavenly birth?
Light in the presence of darkness.


I know that you loved her already, but your absence from the rest of this journey still aches. 

We miss you, Mom. 

Love always,
"Pookie"
One of my Mom’s favorite songs to sing on a sunny day. George was always her favorite Beatle.
Posted in Dear Mom

5 October 2020: I cried a few times

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
Narration
Dear Mom,

This morning started off rough. I was feeling discouraged about trying to get the girls up, dressed, fed, and ready for their classes for the day. You know how Aria isn’t a morning person at all… and Machaela sometimes needs to be reminded repeatedly before remembering the basics… like brushing her hair out of its perpetual Merida-look… and lately I feel like I’ve been forgetting everything… 

When Nate went to hug me before leaving for work, he saw the frown I was trying to hide and wanted to cheer me up… so he pouted and lightly pinched my cheeks (the ones on my face, mind you… I already know what you were going to say if I didn’t specify), saying, “Don’t be sad, Pookie Pie… it’ll be okay” and then pulled me in for a hug. 

Well, somewhere between “Pookie Pie…” and the hug, I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I could hear your voice in my head singing the lullaby you made up for me when I was a baby and have since adapted for each grandchild. “Pookie pie lullaby, little one don’t you cry…"

I know I’m 32 now, but I’d still have given anything in those moments to have been rocked back and forth to your voice singing to me again. And then, as if that wasn’t enough … my mind connected that thought to knowing that you won’t be able to sing our lullaby to Norah… or swaddle her… or rock her to sleep… and even as I’m writing this, the tears are coming back. I can’t even imagine one of my children not getting the chance to know you the way the rest of us do. 

Sometimes I’m okay. Today hasn’t really been one of those sometimeses though. I’m keeping it together well enough though. Functioning. Autopilot override when necessary. If it weren’t for the girls mentioning about being hungry (like 527,391 times a day… you know how kids are), I might forget to eat. 

Someone asked me today how I feel. I replied, “bland.” 

I didn’t even think about it until after I hit send, but it’s about as accurate of a word as any. 

Bland… 

That’s not to say that I don’t have so many things to be thankful for. That’s not to say that I don’t have anything to look forward to or any joys in life anymore. I do. I have so many wonderful people in my life and so much to look forward to… but for now it all just feels bland without you. 

I wanted to call you today… because you’re the one I’d always call when I was sad… but not being able to call you anymore to hear your voice is the reason why I’m sad… I still haven’t listened to that twelve second voicemail you left on August 22nd. I don’t think I’m ready to yet. I feel like I have to ration my thoughts about you, so I don’t fall apart. 

Writing to you helps. I think. I don’t know how I’d be if I didn’t write it out though. You always encouraged me to write my heart no matter what anyone else said or thought about it. So, I will. Sharing helps. 

I feel bad for not being ready to really talk about it too much in individual conversation with people though. Everyone has been so encouraging and all I can seem to muster up in response are ‘care’ emojis. I’ve started trying to type out how much the outpouring of love means to me… how my heart warms just to read the comments, advice, and personal stories… but it just sounds so robotic of me to say even though I mean it genuinely. So, I deleted them… my replies. I think that people understand. I don’t know what to say. I just don’t have the words right now. And I think that’s okay. I’ll get there. 

I’m fairly certain it was Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel who mentioned something profound in her book, “Treasures in Tragedy” about grief not being linear… I wish I could remember the exact quote… whatever it was, I understand it now. 

I think I’ll make spaghetti for dinner. I should write it on a post-it note so I don’t forget. 

I miss you, Mom.  


Love always,
“Pookie”
My Mom’s favorite song that was featured on her favorite movie, “Somewhere in Time”
Posted in Dear Mom

2 October 2020: I remembered my prayer.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
Narration
Dear Mom,

You didn’t know this, but on September 20th… around 3 A.M., I couldn’t sleep. I was upset about something personal and didn’t know how to work it out in my mind. So, I started writing again… for the first time in a while. You were in the hospital at the time. Bilateral pneumonia… and then they found bacterial infections in your blood. They couldn’t identify all the different strains. The doctors were scrambling trying to figure out the best course of action. 

When I sat down to write, there hadn’t been any update in a while. I thought, “Okay, well no news is good news, so I’ll wait as patiently as possible.” [You know how well that works out in our family though… do we get that from the Slovak side? Probably.] 
	
My journal entry started out with updates from the months I hadn’t written… then turned into unburdening my heart of all of the thoughts weighing it down… but somehow on the lines of page 4, my unburdening started turning into a prayer. It’s been on my heart again today. 

I’m so thankful for your examples of humility. For teaching us that it’s okay to be human. It’s okay to be imperfect. It’s okay not to have it all figured out. Because I’m undoubtedly imperfect. And I certainly don’t have it all figured out. 

So around 3 A.M. on September 20th, I poured my thoughts out into my journal… and somewhere in the midst of page four, I started to pray:

“Please help us, God. I know you have a purpose for us… I know and trust that You want what is best for our lives—even when we don’t know what that is ourselves… maybe even especially then. I’m sorry for all the times I fail. I’m sorry for all of the times “meaning well” didn’t translate to “doing well”. Thank You for loving me even when I fall short. Heal my heart & make it more Yours than ever before. Revive my spirit with Your holy breath of life & recalibrate my focus to align with Your will. Mold our lives into testaments of Your glory & knit our family together with the strength of Your love. Holy Spirit be my conscience… be my compass… Lord, help me lead by Your example & be the woman of God my family needs. Help me to resist temptation to falter, be discouraged, or guilted out of Your mercy. I want to love my family with the love You have for us. Thank You for even the things I haven’t seen… the times You’ve upheld us & have kept Your angels watching over us. Thank You for being a God who answers prayer. Help me to worship You selflessly & live my life the same way… to glorify You in everything I do. Thank You for giving us the fruits of the spirit & the armor of God… help us to use our gifts wisely. Thank You for providing for us & for our loved ones & healing our bodies, hearts, minds, & spirits. I know I didn’t start writing in here at 3 AM expecting it to turn into a prayer, but I’m thankful it did. Thank You for hearing me, loving me, understanding me, and always being there for me—even when I’m stubborn & prideful & get things all wrong… and thank you for putting it in my heart to write. Help me learn to use my gifts in a way that brings glory to You. Help me love You more. That is the first step… and lots of patience… for myself & others. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.” 

Right after I signed my name, my phone rang. It was Dad. He called me to say that they had to connect more tubes and machines to you. I tried to be encouraging… “That’s good news in a way, isn’t it? It means they have a plan of action to start getting the fluid out of her lungs.” I choked back tears, hoping he didn’t hear the unsteadiness in my voice. It was a test. It just had to be. What is the likelihood of signing off on a written prayer and—within seconds—getting a call that early in the morning?   

I still don’t know “Why?” or what it all means. But even though there is still confusion, there is also clarity. It’s okay for the concepts to coexist…just like grief, acceptance, and joy. I feel them all. 

Mom, you taught me to cast my cares. You taught me to look up. You taught me to trust in God and you tried so hard to break me from my stubborn perfectionism getting in the way—and hopefully, it’s finally starting to sink in. What can I say… I’m still a perpetual work in progress.

The girls miss you a lot. Aria prays for you every night still. Since September 25, though, instead of praying for your healing, she prays for you to have good adventures in Heaven. She wants to know if you’ve found Eliot there yet and if he’s behaving himself. She said it’s okay if he’s your pet now. 
I know that some days will be harder than others, but today I’m okay. 

I miss you, Mom.

Love always,
“Pookie”
One of my Mom’s favorite songs that has always made me cry… ever since I was a little girl.
Posted in Dear Mom

19 April 2020: It’s been 1 month since the transplant.

Posted on by Kaleidoscopic Grace
Narration.
It has been 1 month since my Mom's Bone Marrow Transplant. 1 month since the date of her 'rebirth'. ❤ 

I remember the whole family had to resort to talking to her on a group video chat during the procedure since the visitor lock down/ban had us unable to be physically there with her. 

It was a rough few weeks for my parents--not being able to be near each other--having to communicate only over flip-phone and texting (before I taught them how to video chat via laptop)... the misunderstandings in tone... the feeling of long-distance 'not enoughness'... the ache of desperately wanting to be with someone currently unreachable. It took its toll but didn't defeat them.

My Dad called me today because he needed help connecting to the WiFi at the place where they're staying for the week down in Philly (she still needs to be close to her specialists and monitored, etc.)... so they could watch Pastor's live church service together... and as I was trying to walk him through how to access the network, I heard my Mom in the background, "Keith, you have to find the one the says the WiFi network name! You can't just use that password for any of them!" to which my Dad replied, "Patty, if you knew that this whole time, why didn't YOU say anything until just now?"

Hahaha.... I've missed hearing them occupy the same space. It made me smile. They really are so much better together than they are apart. 

For a moment, it reminded me that it's been over 3 months since I've been able to hug MY special someone or make goofy faces at him from across the room. What a strange emotion... to feel elation, hope, discouragement, and melancholy all at the same time. We're so much better together than we are apart, too.


I hate that my parents had to be away from each other as long as they did... I know that my Dad wanted nothing more than to be there for my Mom as she was (and still is) going through the trials of the early stages of adaptation and recovery... but through it all, I think that it might have offered a morsel of perspective of the struggles and ache of loving someone from a distance.

Sometimes understanding only comes through experience.

My Mom celebrates 1 month post-transplant today... prayed up and getting stronger every day... she is the bravest and most resilient woman I've ever known and it brings me so much hope that despite the hurdles, obstacles, and trials over the past year+, there's a fresh chapter waiting for me somewhere in the midst of it all too. 

Happy 1 Month Rebirthday, Mom. 

I love you to the edge of the Universe and back.