Twenty three years ago today

Twenty-three years ago today I arrived in Tennessee in my shiny, bright, blue Toyota Tercel, loaded with most of my worldly goods.

I drove up a big hill and unpacked my belongings into Jill & Jane's place, where I lived for my first month in Tennessee. I secured an apartment for Tammy & I; we had mutual friends and had spoken on the phone. Our mutual friends said we had met at a retreat during college, but on that July summer day when Tammy opened the door to our apartment, we both agreed that we had never seen each other before that moment. A month later, Suzanne would join our apartment, making it a trio.

A year after I arrived in Tennessee, both Tammy & Suzanne had moved back to the Upper Midwest and I would be married to 'my friend, Kip.'  When I think of those early days of Tennessee, many, if not most, of those friends have moved away.

Growing up in Minnesota, I had always wanted to move South, where it was warmer. I had wanted adventures, to see places, to live overseas. After college I began my quest for adventure by applying for jobs outside of my home state. I interviewed in California and Michigan. I landed the Michigan job, where I spent my first year out of college. It was a trying, difficult year, but it honed my desires, specifically I realized that I didn't care as much what I would do for a career or what kind of adventures that I would have or where I would live but I definitely knew who I wanted to be with: Kip.

So I swallowed my feminine pride that wanted him to chase me, took a risk, and moved across the country to see if this friendship with Kip Jaeger might work out. And work out it did! We'll be celebrating our 22nd anniversary next month.

I needed to fly away from the home and family that I love dearly to find my own wings and to become my own person. I had no idea all that the journey would entail. Of course, none of us know that when we begin any journey or adventure. The unknown is part of the thrill & the excitement.

During these twenty three years, I have grown roots here in Tennessee and call it home. I have two homes now: Minnesota and Tennessee. Although the picture book Grandfather's Journey by Allen Say depicts a man torn between his two homes of Japan and the U.S.A, it accurately describes the emotional part of my story: both places are home, yet neither place is fully home.

Yet, perhaps that is as it should be. I am an alien and stranger on this earth waiting for my heavenly home, my true home. Although I have never been there, it is more home than any place I have ever been.

Twenty-three years ago today, this Minnesota lake girl landed in Music City to be near the love of my life. My journey here has been so much more but that's how it began and I'm celebrating that beginning today. 
 

How a song reminded me of the beauty in release

On Saturday, my oldest daughter's choir sang a haunting melody about giving a loved one the freedom to fly away from you and to trust that they will, in the end, come home to you somehow.

It seems that just yesterday I was the eighth grader struggling against the cocoon to become my own person. Now, I am part of the cocoon that my young adults must struggle against to become who they are.

Some days I just want to close my eyes and wake up in the middle of their adult lives and breathe a sigh of "Whew! We made it"

But, before I can even finish that thought I practically hyperventilate at the thought of my children gone from home. How can this be happening already?  Gone from home? Not yet!

As they sang their choir song, a memory came to me.

Once upon a time in college, I was broken-hearted, lonely, and sad. I had friends but our schedules no longer easily overlapped. It was tough to even make them touch occasionally. I was quite lonely. Then, I met a kind boy. He befriended me. He pursued me. His friendship brought healing to my heart.

Over time, I began to flourish. I wasn't needy in the same overt ways.

I had changed but he didn't know what to do.

He began to smother me. He put me in a box. He wanted me to be the person he'd first met: needy and overly dependent. He couldn't let me be the true me because it wasn't the me he'd known. I no longer fit in the box of who he thought I was.

The weight of this box stifled me. I couldn't breathe. Something had to break: the box, the relationship, or me.

I didn't want the relationship to break because I was quite grateful for his friendship that had given my lonely heart hope. But eventually, though, the relationship broke.

That experience created a strong resolve within me to never confine or stifle anyone like that. It is better to let them be who they are even if it means they can't be with me.

The beautiful, haunting melody of Saturday filled my ears and my heart. As the choir sang, I thought of stifling, confining boxes. I thought of how much I hated them.

Then, I thought of emerging butterflies and the beauty of watching them fly.

I need to let my children become the people that they are even if they are not the people I knew before or who I think they are.

This is the way of letting my children unfold before me even though it means they will fly away from me someday soon.

It would be much better to merely watch the beauty of the butterfly flit around me for a few moments on its journey rather than to crush it in my hands because I so desperately want to keep it for myself.

It means there is struggle in the cocoon of home as they discover who they are. There is struggle as I discover my different role as I begin to release them to the world, careful not to crush their emerging wings, careful not to keep them to myself.

Their beauty is to be shared.

A quiet wave of peace settled over me as I thought of my young adults that need to fly from me. I became transformed from either holding my breath or hyper-ventilating to being able to delight in these remaining flitting moments of these butterflies as they practice their nearby soaring before they take off on their own.

And I can trust that they will find their way back to me somehow.

Have you ever had a similar experience either being stifled, or being released to become your beautiful self or been inspired through a beautiful song? Music inspires writing for me, how about you? Click here if you would like to comment in the blog community.

 

Linking with Jen at SDG.

For days we feel like crying...

Today my heart has been raw again. I have felt like crying almost all day long. My heart is tender. Another layer has been unwrapped. This hope. This nervousness. The anxiety. The gratitude. It is all mixed up together.

This stripping away of what is important and what isn't. I am so thankful for lollipops. He can have lollipops. Flavor in his mouth. A few months ago he was begging just for an ice chip and to go home. He could have neither.

Now, he can have ice chips. Lollipops and popsicles. And he is content. And I am so thankful that he is alive. He is breathing. His mind is with us. It is him. And yet, all he can have is an ice chip here and there. He can't even swallow his own saliva. And I am grateful. And yet, there is nothing easy about that.

I am not ungrateful. He is breathing his own oxygen. He is pushing air out of his lungs and the mark goes up. Two months ago, "it was stuck." But he didn't have the lung strength to even move it.

There was the middle of the night phone call. Being put back on the ventilator. The middle of the night phone call. The light on. Intubated five times. Finally moving from one hospital to the next. Wanting to hope that they could help. But...but...but...it was hard to keep hoping.

Hard to keep hoping when he would improve and then get worse. Hard to keep on hoping. And yet here we are still hoping. He is still here with us. And we are so grateful.

Yet, what a hard road. Intubated five times. MRSA. Pnuemonia. Tracheostomy. Wanting to die. Wanting him to wake up. Wanting him to speak. He speaks. He has woken up. He sends me email. He laughs at our jokes. And tries to do the chicken dance with us.

And today. I feel like crying. And crying. Perhaps it is for all the tears that my husband hasn't cried. We talk about how I cry for him. It is for the days when he thought he was dying. And the day he wanted to die because it was just too much. And it is crying because God has spared his life. And we can talk to him. And he can talk to us. And God has helped him be content. I've watched a man willing submit to what God has for him.

I thought we were submitting and the Lord would take him to his heavenly home. But that has  not been the road. So far. Not yet. As I read in Beowulf, "Death awaits us all." Not exactly comforting words but true. None of us know how many days that we have. And really we don't know how many more days he will have.

My father-in-law would type that he was ready to have coffee with Jesus.

He is improving. He is walking. He is working an exercise bike. He is breathing without oxygen. So why do I want to cry all day? He is moving to the next step of rehab. He is getting closer every day to going home.

Maybe I cry because he spent his birthday and Thanksgiving in the hospital. And Saturday is his 50th wedding anniversary. They were suppose to polka together. He is close. Maybe he will polka again. Maybe it is because he has suffered greatly. Maybe it's because he tells his granddaughter I love you.

I don't know exactly why I cry. Except that God is at work. He is making my heart much more tender. I am not bitter. I am tired. I am thankful for even this trial. God has worked so mightily. And I am overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed.

So overwhelmed that my heart can barely even comprehend the tragedy in Connecticut. I have a 7 year old boy in the first grade here in TN. And I can't even imagine the grief that is overtaking. My heart was already full right here. In my own world. I just can't even imagine the stunned, overwhelming grief that is being experienced there. My heart aches for them, too.

And so I cry.

* * * 

I wrote this post last December. It is 8 months later today when I post this. My father-in-law was recovering from brain surgery at the time. Three hospitals, one rehab center and four months after the intial surgery (and about a month after I wrote the original post) he went home. He still has trouble swallowing his saliva but he eats on his own! Plus he's been directing an addition that is being put on their home.

I still have days where I struggle with sadness which I believe is left-over from the last few years. Today is one of those days. But this post was much better written than what I can compose today.

* * *

May it encourage someone else that they are not alone. There are days when we all feel like crying. Perhaps it is just left-over sadness. Thanks for letting me share some of it today with you.
Love, Kathleen

Linking with Jen & Emily this week.

Seven minutes ago OR lots of change around here lately

Son, 13, runs half-marathon (13.1 miles) with dad

One year later, son almost meets dad eye-to-eye

My, oh my, how much things can change in a year. I don't think so much physical change has happened in my children since they went from newborn to one year old as it has this past year. Sometimes my children wake up in the morning and I think, "You look like you've grown." And now I realize, "They have!"  My young boy has turned the corner to young man. I wouldn't trade it but it still takes me by surprise when I hear his voice or his steps around the house and think that it's my husband. Nope, my son.

These two pictures were taken almost exactly one year apart. Do you see how my son is well-under my husband's arm? And now their shoulders are almost even? ?

Every time I think I have embraced the change fully; I notice something new. His changes startle me. Wow! How did this happen? Years ago I was standing in line at the post office with my newborn son. It was a loooong line. A woman said to me, "It seems like 7 minutes ago that my children were that young." I had had a lot of people remark how quickly the time goes, but 7 minutes? Seven minutes ago she had been standindg where I had been in line at the post office. I thought her exaggeration was a bit ridiculous.

But now, I think, 7 minutes ago my children were little.

Over the weekend we hosted a teen night at our house. We made over 10 homemade pizzas. As I was making those pizzas I reflected on a shopping trip that I had at the grocery store with three under three. A woman at the store commented about how she missed those times with her little ones. We kept bumping into one another throughout the store and even ended up loading our groceries into our cars side-by-side. I was an exhausted young mother, tired of people saying enjoy this while it lasts, so I asked her what she missed. She said, "the hugs and kisses and snuggles. Don't get me wrong. It's still fun. We're having a bunch of friends over tonight for a soccer party. But I miss those days." As I was making ten home-made pizzas, it reminded me of all those hotdog buns into the car. Holy Smokes! They weren't kidding when they said it would feel like just seven minutes ago they were snuggling on my lap begging for me to read them one more story. Now, I'm hosting bunches of their friends over to my house just like that lady at the grocery store.

Now it seems like just 7 minutes ago, I was holding them in the post office line or at the grocery store with three littles. If the last 14 years are any indication of how quickly time flies, I can only imagine how the next 4 years will go by. And then the first one will fly the nest. Just as they came quickly, they will fly out of my nest one, two, three. My heart can hardly stand it....so since I cannot slow down time. I must try & savor the here and now.

Levi & Kip, two of my favorite men!

Linking with Jen .

How looking outside my kitchen window taught me something about faith

A few weeks ago just outside my kitchen window, the bright pink blossoms of the Japanese Magnolias sang the song of eternal hope, swaying to the rhythm that soon all will be beautiful, and glorious -- just like them. I  welcomed the song because grayness was settling ever deeper into my soul after a long journey of unique circumstances. Each time I looked outside the window, I delighted in the cheerful blooms and my heart became lighter.

This lasted only a few days.

A late spring frost descended. At first, the flowers survived. But after a second frost and more cold days, the beautiful pink blossoms died an early death. They sang their song of hope for less than a week.

Drab, dreary brown, crumpled blossoms took their place. This was much worse than the winter gray that had stared at me for months. The crumpled brown mocked my hope in the glorious, eternal spring song that the pink had just begun to sing.

The new view depressed me.

Just as the pink declared hope; the crumpled brown yelled, "Don't get your hopes up.You'll never find a new normal. It will never get better." 

Pink tree blossoms of hope crashed down into a flurry of crumpled brown before I could even write a blog post about it! 

Then, I looked at the tree with dead flowers. It looked bleak but the truth is that I knew that the tree wasn't dead.

The buds were turning into green leaves. Only the over-the-top flowers were dead. The tree itself was alive. I can't always judge the real work that is happening by only observing the outside of the tree.

A lesson of faith was just outside my kitchen window. I need to walk by faith, not by sight. Though it looks dead because of the dead flowers, the tree itself is still alive.


After a little time, green began to grow -- the steady green of late spring. It is not as glorious as unique, pink blossoms but certainly way better than crumpled brown.

Now when I look outside my kitchen window I see mostly green even though the crumpled brown is still there.  With the eyes of faith, I'm learning to trust that there is life even when I can't see it.

 Deep, true growth is hard to see. That is why I must walk by faith, not by sight.Walk steadily in the days of green while I continue to trust that in due time, the pink will come again with its glorious song of hope..

"We live by faith, not by sight." II Corinthians 5:7

Linking with Jen & Emily.

When you need encouragement for the everyday

I have been cocooning lately, wrapped up mostly in my home. Our homeschooling actually reflects that we've been home, which means better school days.

I'm thankful for these slow days. It means it's been awhile since the last crisis. I think February was void of them. How nice. Except that I've forgotten how to function without crisis after the 'year of nutzo on steroids." (Which was 2012). I keep thinking, "This shouldn't be that hard."  And yet these normal gray February days have been hard.

I'm thankful to be running again after a one-year hiatus. Last year at this time I wasn't running. I was learning to walk without a limp due to tearing the MCL in my left knee. It is sweet to be able to train with my 13-year-old daughter for a half-marathon especially because I had to drop-out of training with my then thirteen-year-old son.

I'm thankful to be able to move. I'm thankful to train again for a half-marathon with one of my children. And I'm thankful that we have felt the need to train because of these hard, gray February --and now March-- days. The running has helped ward off the blues.

And the whisper in my ear has also helped. The whisper of the small, still voice inside of me that has reminded me that I need Him on all kinds of days. Not just crisis days. But also ordinary, every-day days. I need Him all of the time even when I think I should be able to do this in my own strength.

"..apart from me you can do nothing..." John 15:5 NIV

He didn't just mean that I could only do bigger-than-me tasks -- like take in four extra kids on a moment's notice. He means that apart from Him, I can do nothing.

It is okay that I need Him to do the every day small tasks. I am learning to be content with that. I am learning again how to walk with Him in the everyday.

  *  *  *

Here are some other voices that have encouraged me lately:

Edie's words in her blog at Life in Gracetoday, that are also in her e-book, about raising gracious kids just really tugged at my heart today. Read it here

I needed to hear Elizabeth's voice on treating herself more compassionately, too. I could relate all too well. Read about that here.

Also linking with Michelle and Emily today.

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 Have you been in need of encouragement lately? 

Where have you been finding it? 

The End of An Era

Tubing this past summer, one of the van's last great adventures.

The Era of  the Big Purple Jaeger Adventure Van  has officially ended.  Did you feel the world shift a bit last week when we finally sold our 12 passenger  van?

Now that I am no longer driving my living-room around town can you even recognize me? I'm in a normal, everyday, same as everyone else mini-van. Look for the curly hair. But wait, my friend, who also has curly hair and who looks more like my sister than my sisters, has the exact same car (except for the big dent in her hood, but that's another story.) So you might have to call me on my cell phone to know if it's me. I do have one now that everyone else has a smart phone. Don't worry. I'm catching up but I'm not passing anyone on the road to technology.

In honor of this passing era, I am hosting a guest blogger, my oldest daughter, Sophie. Here are her words about the van.

An Ode to the Brown Purple Van

We have had the purple van as long as I can remember. It has driven us to many, many places: the park, Baskin Robbins, Minnesota, more than I could list. We have dirtied it and cleaned it again, scraped ice off its windows, and sprayed it clean on hot summer days.

It is big enough to give our friends rides. The Moodys, the Haleys and the Jaeger cousins are only a few that have adventured in our egg plant colored car. Songs have been sung, stories made up, jokes cracked, pictures drawn, games played, and lots and lots of talking and chatter in that van. It has carried baseball, basketball, and soccer players, been muddied by laughing tubers and singing waterfall visitors. It has visited warm beaches, snowy roads, orange pumpkins and a hot day at a giant tree house. It has carried us well and been trustworthy.

We love it.

Big purple van:
I salute you.

Sophie

Our last moments quite literally in the van as the buyers walked up during this photo!

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How about you? Have you had any shifts in your demographics lately?