Celebrating a man deeply admired

 

Happy Birthday to my Father-in-law, Clarence. October 22, 2014, would have been his 81st birthday. He was a man who worked hard, played hard, and loved deep. He had a twinkle in his eye, an easy laugh, and a hankering for sweets.

For a little over twenty-one years, I have lived near my father-in-law. Yet, I learned more about the depth of his character during the last 13 months of his life than all the years before. Oh, his character was there all along but the depth of it was revealed through a long trial of watching him struggle to breathe in the hospital for months. It is hard to remember those days of suffering – it was equally hard to see his wife so distraught at his distress. And yet, it was in the suffering, that I saw a man worthy of my deep admiration.

He left a strong legacy in his daughter and five sons. This year he celebrates his birthday with Jesus.

In a few days from now, we will remember the last day we saw him alive. Then, a few more days and we will remember the day he went to be with Jesus. We miss you Clarence!

 

 

Some links to the other part of the story:

An answered prayer just for her 

A cheerful heart is good medicine

Walking in the shadow of death

When Coca-cola made me cry

and one of my favorites from this season:

Remembering Right Things

We grieve with hope, as it says in I Thessalonians 4:13-14:

"But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus."

Endurance takes a long time to learn

You would think that as a distance runner I would have understood better the need for time in building endurance. I have run a full 26.2 marathon and will soon run my fourth half-marthon.

I know that endurance is not gained quickly. My daughter and I started training months ago in preparation for our event. Slowly but surely we have increased our runs from two miles to twelve miles. Even though I ran this same half-marathon event a year ago. I must still keep training or I will not be able to do it.

So why did I expect anything different in my spiritual life? Quick endurance does not exist. So, why am I surprised to still need the spiritual pluck to keep moving on in this season of non-crisis?

James 1:2-4 says, " Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,  because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."

When we had bonus children come and stay with us for 9 weeks back in the spring of 2012, I recited these verses as often as I could in the few isolated moments that I could find. I focused on considering it pure joy by saying the phrase over and over. "Consider it pure joy...."

A few months later, after the kids returned to their families, my father-in-law went into the hospital and stayed for almost 5 months. My husband and I lived close so we were part of the hands-on care. While it was a privelege to serve family, care-taking is exhausting.

During this season, I began to recite James 1:2-4 again. This time the focus was on the perservance. 

It has been two years since I first clung to these verses and, honestly, I am tired of clinging. I would like the lesson to be learned so that I can check it off my list. Perhaps even sing of the joy of the lesson learned. Instead, I am still here putting one step in front of the other, wishing that the feelings of joy came more often.

And today, just a few moments ago, I realized that endurance is not quickly learned. 

"Stop being surprised, Kathleen, that endurance takes time!" I almost laughed out loud at this revelation.  I need to keep on, keeping on in my considerations of joy.

I need to consider even these days of non-crisis but full of chaotic life-that-I-can-hardly-keep-up-with-three-teenagers all joy.

If one can only learn to run for hours by running for hours, it should come as no surprise that endurance in the spiritual life can only come through enduring trials for a long time.

A lesson learned walking in the shadows of post-crisis

Although I've been heard saying 2012 was one of -- if not the -- hardest year of my life, now that I have endured 2013, I change my answer. 2013 was harder. It was a year of living in the gray shadows of the drama of 2012.

In 2012, I felt pulled and tugged in many different directions. The two major events were four bonus kids for nine weeks and Kip's dad being in the hospital for 5 months. During these times, I have never felt more exhausted in my life. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Responsibility-wise.

Yet during this time, people surrounded us. People noticed us. Hauling eight children around is quite noticeable. Having four children in hospital waiting rooms is also quite noticeable. In addition, the family of God surrounded us with prayers, cards, gifts, and hands-on-support. It was beautiful.

Many memorable moments of deliverance were woven into our lives.

Then in 2013, things quieted down. Quite thankfully! I no longer wrote daily on the Caring Bridge website. I no longer texted desperate pleas for immediate prayer. I had time to sleep. I had time to cry. 

Yet, it felt harder than it had before. 

That was so strange to me.

Was it because I like being center stage? Was it that people prayed more during that time? Was I more spiritual then? Did I have my focus in a better place?

Or perhaps it was something else.

Not that I had sinned. Not that I had fallen from grace. Not that I needed attention.  

Instead I am re-learning to walk by faith after a long season of flying on eagle's wings.

Isaiah 40:31 says, "Yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength. They will mount up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weary."

It feels strange. As though I am walking on land after riding on a boat or a roller coaster for a long time. Familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. I have walked on land most of my life. As most of my life has also been non-crisis.

But what is truly different is that I haven't walked in daily life after crisis before.  I am walking in the land of shadows, both in the shadow of the drama of 2012 and in the shadow of the valley of death.

It has felt strange this walking in the strange, gray shadows. He is still sustaining. Still giving grace. Still making me aware of how much I need him.

But now I am learning to walk in this new place. Not a place of grieving from far away, as it was with my brother-in-law's death. But this time a place of grieving from nearby and up-close and personal. And from a responsible human being perspective.

He is still sustaining. But I don't need wings anymore so I'm relearning the walk of faith from here on this side of the strange, gray shadow lands. A needed walk, step-by-step.

Walking in the land of gray shadows. Learning what it means to walk by faith after having been mounted on eagle's wings.

What lessons have you learned walking in the shadows of difficult seasons?

 

Also linking with Jen at SDG. 

{day 13} 'Not my will but Yours be done' Part 3 of 3

Around the bend we have come, from DNR* to morning exercises, Kip's dad had made a turn-around in the span of 24 hours. Another answered prayer. Joy came to us that morning after the night's weeping but we still didn't have all the answers.

Kip stayed at the hospital most of the day on Saturday, talking with therapists and doctors. It seemed like more than the usual amount of activity for a weekend. Yet, the family waited for the results of the biopsy and whether or not 'the game changer' had arrived.

On Sunday night at our family prayer time, I heard my husband pray, "Father, we desire Grandpa to be healed. My father is willing to submit to you, O Lord, and so I must follow in his example." A silent tear slowly crossed my daughter Meagan's cheek.

What I didn't know when I  saw that tear falling across my merciful-hearted one was that she had been a witness. Grandpa, who couldn't speak due to the trach** in his throat, had typed on his iPad during Meagan & Kip's visit earlier in the day, "I always pray 'Not my will but Yours be done.'"

It was a gift: this call to submit to God's ways. Sometimes He just acts, whether or not we like it. He doesn't ask our permission or explain His ways. But in this case, He gave us time to unclench our fists and release Clarence into His hands. He gave us time to finally pray, "Not our will but Yours be done."
.
I thought we were releasing him. I thought God, in His kindness, was calling Clarence home and preparing our hearts.

Yet, God's ways are not our ways. I was ready for what I thought God was doing. Instead, God was calling me to walk by faith, not by sight. The path remained the same, with its unexpected twists and turns.

Peace wasn't in smooth circumstances or a clearly defined path; it was in Him.

 That was the gift that He delivered that weekend: peace. Himself. Not a miracle. Not instant healing. Not a way out of suffering. He gave us Himself. "He Himself is our peace," Ephesians 2:14.

It is in the reflecting and recounting that I see this now -- the deep peace, the communion with Him -- was enough when the circumstances were dire.  I don't know if we recognized it then but that's okay. That day's charge was to walk the path in front of us. We did. Part of this day's charge is to remember that gift of peace when I submit fully to God. And submit this day like I did that day.

The path stayed uncertain for quite sometime. Yet, we were more okay with it. I see that now. We submitted to the Prince of Peace and received a peace that the world does not give.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

*DNR means Do Not Resuscitate **trach means tracheostomy
 

Click here to read Part I of The Call to Deep Submission or here for Part II

Click here to read all the posts from the beginning.

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This is part of the 31 Day series: 
The Clarence Chronicles: Lessons of Faith from the ICU

Click HERE to read Day 1, which links to all the posts in this series.

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(day 12} The Gift of Deep Submission part 2

If you missed part I, you may want to read here first.

And so, we discovered that after 51 days in the hospital, Clarence had given up and was done trying. It was too much.

The medical roller coaster is tough -- ups and downs -- unexpected twists and turns. The waiting. All along there are questions of what to do. Each of us wants to do more -- the wife, the kids, the friends. Yet, no matter what we do, we still feel powerless because what he really needs is help breathing.

It seems like you should be at the hospital more. Ask more questions. Do something. But how long can you ask the children to stay in the lobby 'trying' to do their school work? Laundry needs doing. Bills need to be paid. And honestly, we all just need a break from the hospital scenery.

But, truly, the one in the crucible -- in this story it is Clarence -- doesn't get a break. Nor does his spouse. Because they are, after all,  "one flesh" of almost 50 years.

Still, we wonder if we could do something more. Did we give permission at the right time? We knew that if he lived, the interventions were all worth it. But what if we gave permission for all these interventions, and he didn't live? Questions lingered. Hope was walking a tightrope. It hadn't fallen, yet.

But this request from Clarence to no longer be resuscitated caused the hope to wobble hard. Did he have some inner knowing sign in his body that it was time? Time to face the inevitable? 

And so on this hardest of days and nights, we asked again for prayer. We received it, just like in the beginning when we truly began to intercede and also asked others to intercede on Clarence's behalf. As soon as we asked others to pray, more peace arrived in the midst of the up and downs. There was the anointing oil and the healing prayers.

This night we needed it, especially my husband Kip because he was sent to stay with Papa. Kay spent the night with their mom. I with my children. No one was alone.

Kip had never seen his  tough, determined father this discouraged before. Kip spent time straightening out details, such as the fact that Clarence had only been in the hospital for seven weeks and not six months. He showed him how much he had improved and how much he had to live for. I don't know what else he said to him or how the conversation went down.

But I know that in the morning Kip awoke between 4 and 5 a.m. to the sound of his dad doing exercises in his bed. "Weeping may last for the night but joy comes in the morning" was witnessed. He was such a different man that next day. So different that I felt a little crazy like I had dreamed up the drama of the day before.

 Weeping may last for the night but joy comes in the morning.

This was so true in this case. We rejoiced. We were a long ways from home, hope still felt fragile. But the sun was shining and our hearts were no longer quite as heavy as they had been the day before. The gift of deep submission was still around the bend. The best was yet to come. The path wasn't easy but it was worth it.

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Part 3 will be continued on Day 13. 

Click here to read Part I or 

Click here to read all the posts.

* * *

This is part of the 31 Day series: 
The Clarence Chronicles: Lessons of Faith from the ICU

Click HERE to read Day 1, which links to all the posts in this series.

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The Hardest Day or the Gift of Deep Submission (Part I) {day 11}

It was a gift. A gift of deep submission. "Not my will but yours be done."

Now, gift & submission do not normally go together in my book. Yet, today as I went on a thirty-minute walk and reflected on our family's journey last year, specifically my father-in-law being in the hospital for 128 days when we thought he would be in & out in two days, now I saw the call to deep submission as a gift.

Not everyone is given time to submit. Sometimes the trial is thrust upon you whether you submit to it or not. Ready or not, here it comes.

The gift of submission was given to us on The Hardest Day. Well, that makes sense, doesn't it? Because submission is never easy. We had been in the trial -- on the crucible -- for quite some time.

It was late enough into the Trial of Hospital Visits that the car could've driven to the hospital by itself. I was comfortable with my way around the hospital. So much so that one day two different people asked me if I worked there.  They didn't believe me when I said no. So obviously, I looked comfortable around those parts.

When I walked into my father-in-law's room that day, there was evidence of blood in his lungs and in his urine.My mother-in-law always had the doctor's talk to one of 'us kids.' Today it was my turn.. The doctor was concerned that,  in addition to the complications of his surgery, he might also have lung cancer.

"This is a game changer." It was also Friday. The earliest we would know the results of the biopsy would be Monday. 

My mother-in-law had just sat down in the lobby. I was opening my mouth to tell her what the doctor had told me about the potential lung cancer when Clarence's nurse walked up. He told us that Clarence had repeatedly requested to not be resuscitated today. The nurse told us that he had reassured Clarence that that is exactly what he would do, but to us he said, "Clarence has a full code on his chart. Legally, I am bound to resuscitate him."

He encouraged us to have a family discussion.

My mother-in-law and I looked at one another. I told her about the potential of lung cancer. The two of us went into his room to ask the dreaded question. The bright sunshine filling the room contrasted with the heaviness we felt in our hearts.

She paced awhile. He looked like he was asleep. She spoke, "You awake?" He communicated that he was.

She paced some more. "Kathleen, I don't know how to do this."

"Tell him what the nurse told us. Ask him if it's true."

She sat down. She took his hand and finally asked him if he'd asked not to be resuscitated. He vigorously shook his head, "Yes." She collapsed her head on his chest and wailed, "Oh Clarence, how can I?"

Tears streamed down my face. I don't remember much more of what we did after she asked the question. I do know that eventually we got up, left the room, and made a game plan. She wanted to call her only daughter, Kay, and asked me to call her five sons, including my husband.

This was My Hardest Day. It would be my husband's Hardest Night. And it would eventually lead us all to the deep gift of submission and the best gift of all in the mighty sea of medical unknowns.

 (Story is continued on Day 12). 

 "Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning. "

Psalm 30:5

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This is part of the 31 Day series: 
The Clarence Chronicles: Lessons of Faith from the ICU

Click HERE to read Day 1, which links to all the posts in this series.

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He stood for the Star Spangled Banner {day 6}

He stood up for the Star Spangled Banner. I looked around. Nobody noticed. I wanted to shout and draw attention to the man who was standing for the Star Spangled Banner. Yes, everyone was standing. But there should have been a standing ovation for this man.

Something significant was happening in the midst of this concert crowd. I wanted to dance. To cry. To applaud. To point.

Instead, I simply stood.

This was his first outing in five months. After four months in the hospital and one month home. At this point, he had only been out of the house for doctor's visits. His first social outing was a choir concert of his granddaughter who was singing in the Nashville Children's Choir.

He stood up from the wheelchair in his vest and with a smile. He steadied himself on the arms of his wife and daughter. He stood. Evidence that God does answer prayer. Not the path we asked for but thankful for the mercy received.

I wonder how many times we miss the greatness in our midst. The truly heroic vicotries in the lives of people around us. What a victory for him to be standing in the midst of the crowd as just another audience member instead of the central focus of an ICU room. Instead of being center stage of a Caring Bridge website. Here he was just another proud grandparent in a sea of proud grandparents.

I wanted to mark time. I wanted to announce to the room filled with people that there they were, experiencing a miracle, an answer to prayer right here, right here in their midst.

Yet, I didn't do that. But there was One who saw. And that is what matters. I didn't need the world to see. We had needed God to see in the middle of the night when the hospital would call to say they put him back on the ventilator. Again. Or that they needed to give him blood. Or when we gathered around his bed to pray before we left the room. Or when we asked the doctor another question. The God who sees.

That is the main lesson that I've been learning this season. He is a God Who Sees in order to provide our needs. That same God who sees our needs sees a man standing up from his wheelchair, steadying himself on the arms of his wife and daughter.

And I am learning to be content that He sees. I don't need to announce it to the world. To the concert-goers around him. He is the God who Sees him stand, and sees me take note.

May the Glory all go to Him. Amen.

Click here to read {Day 7}

 

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This is part of the 31 Day series: 
The Clarence Chronicles: Lessons of Faith from the ICU

Click HERE to read Day 1, which links to all the posts in this series.

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 Want to comment, but you're reading in an email? Click HERE.

Want to read other 31 Day collections? Click HERE . 

Want some other encouragement? Join the SDG party by clicking HERE.

Jumping off a cliff

When I began our journey of homeschooling, I felt like I was jumping off a cliff. Before I jumped, I spent time reading, researching, and finding a plan. Then I jumped.

That was 9 years ago. We are beginning our 10th year of home schooling and also our first year in high school.

It feels a bit like jumping off a cliff again.

It doesn't feel like the first time I ever jumped off a cliff. Nor does it feel quite like beginning to homeschool. But it seems similar. I remember jumping off the cliff. I remember the uncertainty. I remember the rush of jumping, falling, and then hitting the water. Once I was down in the water, I thought, "That wasn't so bad. It was fun!"

But tell that to the person on the top of the cliff (or the high diving board) who is trying to get up enough nerve to jump off. The emotions, the nerve, the perspective at the top of the cliff is very different than your perspective from the water after you have jumped.

"It's not that bad."

"You're making a bigger deal than it needs to be."

Both of which may be true. But neither of those statements  help get my feet off the ground.

Perhaps it would be better to say, "I know it's hard but you can do it."

At some point, you must simply decide to do it and jump in.

And so, I have been making plans, charting courses, checking out college requirements, and state high school requirements.  At some point, I just need to trust my gut. Set aside the concerns about the risks, the worry about not being prepared enough. Sometimes people get hurt when they jump. True. Yet sometimes they have fun when they do it again and again and again. (Just ask my kids. The weekend we camped with the cliffs that are pictured; they jumped off the cliffs again and again and again. No one got hurt that weekend. And it is a favorite camping weekend memory.)

So, go ahead and jump. Really it's okay.

And so I -- we --will

jump

 

 on into

We really did jump off these cliffs!

..  this thing called homeschooling high school. 

Woo-hoo.  

Ready or not. Here we come.

Trusting that it will be fun. Can't wait to be down in the water encouraging others to jump in. It's much easier from down there. Don't ya' think?

Anyone else joining me? Anyone else in a season of jumping into something new? What encouragement do we have for one another?

Love, Kathleen

"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another -- and all the more as you see the Day approaching." Hebrews 10:24-25. 

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.

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.

A sacrifice of praise

"Through Jesus, therefore, 

let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise-- 

the fruit of lips that confess his name." 

Hebrews 13:15

The way of grandchildren with their grandparents

These four grandchildren at Mt. Vernon in September.

Today marks seven weeks that my father-in-law has been in the hospital. Twelve or so years ago my mom was in the hospital for seven weeks. It is a really long time to be in the hospital. This time, seven weeks has touched three months -- September, all of October, and November. It was about twelve years ago that my mom spent seven weeks in the hospital. Now, we know that she was done at seven weeks. We don't know when my father-in-law will be done.

My mom had walked around with a ruptured appendix for 10 days and then went to the hospital. My mom and my dad were 'snowbirding' in Florida when it happened. Thousands of miles from their support center. I had two kids -- a 1 year old and a baby. Once my mom was on a rehab floor and out of the restricted floors, I fly down to see my mom with my baby. With my Sophie Sunshine. My dad really wanted us to come down because he needed a distraction for my mom because she was getting depressed being in the hospital so long.

Once again, I see the grandchildren having a wonderful effect on a grandparent, just as Baby Sophie had on my mom all those years ago. Grandpa brightens up so much when he sees the children. He smiles big and laughs and enjoys hearing about their lives. It is a beautiful gift to watch.

Though I have four children, and he is glad to see all of them, my Sophie Sunshine is the one who chatters and chatters and interacts the most. Her job to bring sunshine to the world.

Grandpa loves seeing the youngest, the one who shares his middle name, especially because he has only been able to see him a couple of times. 

My oldest is sensitive and kind. He has had a hard time seeing his Papa, but he is brave and continue to come and see his grandfather.

Meagan always says I love you Grandpa. He always responds with "I love you, too" even if his voice has been muffled behind a breathing mask or silent with a trach tube. She clings to the gift of his love.  It is beautiful and benefits  me, too.

This way of my children bringing sunshine to their grandparents, it is a glimpse of the intangible legacy. It is a gift to see the delight of a legacy.

Have you found a gift in a surprising place lately?

On holding hands and telling stories

They sat together today. He in the chair. She on the bed. She held his hand. She told him about the grandchildren opening the trunk of costumes out in the barn. And the hours of fun the children had trying on costumes and looking at the mirror. And he smiled and laughed (a silent laugh but a laugh none-the-less). She told him how they caught a mole. And how Sophie held it. And how it had paws like shovels and silky fur. And he smiled and laughed some more.

 She asked him if he'll be able to polka in November when the kids come for Thanksgiving to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. He shrugged his shoulders.

We cheered when he sat in a chair today because it has been days and days and days since he sat in a chair. And the Occupational Therapist had him shrug his shoulders today. Perhaps that's why he was good at that.

He asked her to massage his arms. And she did. So lovingly. Together almost fifty years. Their oneness evidenced by me in the hospital today. Invited and welcomed to be there.

And we are thankful that he breathes today. Better than yesterday.

Thankful for today.
Thankful that he breathes.
Thankful that he communicates.
Thankful she held his hand and they shared life together today.
Thankful for a story about costumes and moles during a long hospital ICU stay.

Maybe more of my time should be spent holding hands and telling stories.
Creating more margin for the real space of real life to take place.

I am thankful for today, even though he is still in ICU, even though it has been longer than 30 days.
Amen.

* * *

What are you thankful for today?

Linking with Ann, Jen and Emily this week.

A 30 Day Prayer

art by Kathleen Jaeger

For 30 days my father-in-law has been in the hospital. For half of those days, he has needed help to breathe with a ventilator. For 21 of those days, he has been in ICU. For the last week, he has been in a regular room with no major set-backs. This week has been slow & steady progress, much better than the drastic up & down roller-coaster we had been on.

A week with no major set-backs has meant that I have cleaned the bathrooms, straightened the house, made a meal plan for the first time in awhile. My daughter was able to practice the piano every day.

The past thirty days -- though filled with crisis, pain, tears, confusion, and a lot of driving. They have also been filled with time spent with friends and family around the table sharing stories. Lots of prayers and hugs. Lots of out of town family coming into town.

Today I felt very, very drained. In my devotional the verses said, "Consider it all joy when you encounter trials of various kinds..." and "bring the sacrifice of thank offerings..." Though the week itself was lighter, I think the stress & difficulty of the past 3 weeks caught up and came crashing down upon me.

At just the right time, a friend sent a note with a Starbuck's gift card and a verse about the soul being weary...at just the right time there was spiritual encouragement at a Bible study and a very real meal delivered to me & my family.

It is easy to think of how tired I am. How hard it has been. It takes effort to focus on the amazing timing of events displaying God's love and care in the midst of great strain. But I do want to focus on that. This post is part of that...but know there is struggle and there is life. And there is  a God who cares about us all.

Thank you, God for breath. Thank for the progress of my father-in-law this week.
Amen.

Also linking with Jen, click here for more encouragement.

* * * 

How about you? Has there been a season of trial in which you could still see God working and displaying His loving-kindness?

On tears

The pages are wrinkled
In that spot

In that spot where
The tears that have fallen
So many times

Were they the tears during the hardest nine months?
Were they the tears for the one we lost?
Were they the tears from the lonely nights?
Tears from the times I'd blown it again?
Were they the tears from the years we ached for children?
Were they  the tears of sadness for my sister, her husband, and daughter
Who lost him to a battle of cancer

Are they for the child who wishes he knew
Where his mother was when he woke up

I opened the book
My eyes saw it again
The wrinkled spot on the page

In that wrinkled spot
It is...written

He hears my cry
He counts my tears
And captures them in a bottle
Mourning may last for the night
But a shout of joy comes in the morning

And so I wait for the morning

With my tears
And the pages
Written by my God

Who will rescue us from here.
One day.
And wipe away those tears
One
Last
Time
* * *
Linking with Jen and with Emily.

When red becomes your blue

Who knew that  a pot of flowers could be so persuasive?

Usually my favorite color is blue. Me, the one who hails from the land of 10,000 lakes, am in love with the many nuances of water. Therefore, my favorite color is blue. 

But not this summer.

This summer, my favorite color is red. 

It's not that I don't like red. I just love blue, yellow, and purple so much more. Usually.  But not right now. 

Red petunias chosen and planted by Grandma and the kids while I was away tending to the needs of other children are half the reason red is my favorite color this season.

I wouldn't have picked them. And, truth be told, I later went and picked purple and white petunias. To add to the red flowers. 

The Chosen By Others Flowers (or the red petunias) are growing abundantly on the front porch, back porch, and at the side of our house. They have continued to flourish in spite of 100 degree days. (We did water in healthy amounts!)

Not so the purple and white petunias I picked. We watered them the same, so perhaps it was the squirrels that destroyed them with their nut plantings. Either way, only the red survive.

 

Flowers I didn't choose have made me happy and thankful. I am also happy and thankful for the two new lawn chairs in the backyard. I did pick those. But not the color. Because, they are, you guessed it -- red.

Remember, I love blue, not red. You see, I was waiting for the blue chairs to go on sale. While I waited, all the black ones sold out except one. But I wanted two. The blue chairs were not yet on sale with only a few red ones left. I had to buy the red ones or perhaps forgo getting any this season. 

So I did. 

I bought two red lawn chairs. 

Yep. Red. A color I wouldn't normally pick. Yet, they look perfect on our back porch. See: 

 .

Not only did I have two new lawn chairs. I had a new favorite color of the season -- red

Who knew? Who knew that this season red would be my favorite color? I had no idea and this just falls in line with my year so far, except in a much more delightful way. 

This year has been filled with surprises that I did not expect, much less plan. First, a twisted knee that required crutches, help, and physical therapy for several months. Next, there were the children God sent to live with us for three weeks and nine weeks, even though we weren't registered foster parents or relatives.

 

Proverbs 16:9 says 

(as my friend Steph reminded me)

 "A man's heart plans his ways, But the Lord directs His steps."

I have made plans. God has directed my steps. This year I have been able to see it more clearly than usual.  

And sometimes, God even directs your steps and your favorite color choice. 

* * *

How about you? 

Have you been delighted by any twists and turns in your life lately?

 Linking with Jen and Rachel.

Camp, Glorious Camp

I just love camp!

And it turns out the my children do too.

 But, why oh why, would this night owl love camp when it means I need to be in the kitchen by 6:30 a.m. cooking breakfast for 150 with two other cooks (one of whom is the head cook; I only assist.)? We work until 7 p.m. with a quick morning break, a lingering meal (after others have been served), and a two-hour break in the afternoon. Who signs up for this and likes it? Me! (And the others I was working with.)

This is not the lodge, nor the camper's lodgings.

To work alongside a group of people who all want to be there is encouraging. To mix up some muffins, cut fruit, bake cookies, and simmer some spaghetti sauce for the cause of Christ.Whatever you do, you can do it all for the glory of God.

In a rare find, I am the youngest and the tallest (I'm in the middle in purple.)

 To be around other believers all day. Coming back each year to see these women who I see once a year at camp is so fun, reminds of my camper/counseling days to have camp friends again. But now, we share bigger issues that we've been through -- job loss, losing the farm, losing a parent and a brother-in-law, children that we desire to see grow, becoming a grandma, watching our parents get older. Different issues. Same God. It is encouraging to see others still growing in Christ. I have seen the other women once a year for this week at camp. But this being the third year, we are talking about what the Lord has been doing in our lives the past three years.

Mixing up the yummy cheese muffins.

 I will also tell you this. There is something about having meaningful work. To work with our hands. These cheese muffins that one of the other chefs made were homemade, from scratch, and were just delicious. She even brought the recipe home.

It really is a gift to have meaningful work to do.

That people appreciate and need -- food!

It is also about seeing the body of Christ in action. It took us all day to fix three meals for all those people. I find it fascinating to learn how to cook in a commercial kitchen and to get big batches ready and hot all the same time for everyone.

We would hear of the maintenance's call to unclog the bathrooms. We would say to them, wow, you have a hard job. And they would shrug their shoulders and say it is not that bad. They enjoyed working shoulder-to-shoulder with their team. They also get to mow, to fill water balloons, and to participate in a Bible study and hang with their friends.

Others would look at us and say, you have a hard job. I would shrug my shoulders and say. "It's not that bad." And certainly not as hard as washing pots and pans!

Each cog in the wheel. In its own place doing their own job made the wheels run around. The directors directing. The teachers teaching. The cabin counselors leading their campers, being mom & dad for a week. Being fun, listening, leading devotions, swimming in the pool and being dunked, leading activities. I look at them and think they have a hard job, especially sleeping in un-air-conditioned buildings for a week at a time. All summer long for some of them.

But each of us loves our job. I loved being a cabin counselor when I was in high-school and college. It would be a bit harder for me now.

And the really cool thing about having high school students and college students leading the kids, is that the kids see that following their faith, and being in love with Jesus isn't just reserved for the adults. It is for anybody. It is for these fun, cool people who lead music and tell lame jokes (and occasionally a good one) People who will play Ga-Ga ball with them, and make them sing for a package. These people who will stay behind and take you to the nurse. Who will listen to you cry when your dad has lost his job and your uncle died a couple months ago. Who will reassure you about your faith in Christ. Who will rejoice with you when you shot the arrow onto the target for the first time today. Who will talk with you about that day's chapel lesson. Who will spray shaving cream on their head and let people throw cheese puffs at them.

These people love the Lord. And the kids can think, "And they're just like me. They're just a little bit older than me. How cool for the Cool People to be loving the Lord."

Each cog in the wheel. Doing their part. Each of us waking up early. Sleeping soundly at night (unless of course a thunderstorm is crashing through your special tenting night.). It is the body of Christ. Encouragaing one another. Working through conflict. Loving the Lord. Having meaningful work.

Did you ever consider this as part of your meaningful work?

I am so glad to be able to be a part of it. Even if it means a very grumpy week this week as we all re-acclimate to home life with each other (or re-entry as my friends & I call it.)

It is worth it!


I just love camp! And it turns out that my kids do, too.

* * *

So that's what we've been doing this July. How about you? Is there some meaningful work in your life that surprises you how much you like it? Even if it means a week of the grumpies -- or some equivalent cost --around your place?

Love, Kathleen

Linking up with Jen.

Empty room. Empty heart.

There is an empty place on the floor of my bedroom. A week ago it had the sum of the world's possessions for a young boy, minus the bed and the bike at his grandma's house. Three boxes. Two held his clothes, socks, underwear, shirts, pants and shorts. Some were given to me by his mom. Some had belonged to his cousin. Some had belonged to my sons. One box had his pictures from the airshow, the drawings, the AWANA store.

But there are no boxes on the floor of my room anymore. There is no boy, saying, "Mrs. Jaeger." in his 5-year-old slur that could not pronounce Rs or Ls. No one has awakened me in the night with a bad dream this past week. No one has enticed my youngest into pouring soap all over the counter of the  pink bathroom. My 6 year old has not enticed anyone to throw wet chalk at the back door this week. There's been no biting or wrestling or sandbox playing.

It is cleaner in my room. And in the boys room where the sleeping bag has been put away. My house is cleaner. More convenient. Easier. This week.

I can clean the floor of my room and the boys room. But what do I do with this place in my heart? Do I clean that, too? But how? Because having him here was cleaning my heart: revealing my selfishness, requiring me to think beyond my own inconvenience.

What do you do when you don't want to go back? But you weren't sure how you would keep going forward? What do you do when life has changed and it wasn't your decision for him to come or to go?

I didn't like having nothing left of me. It felt terribly uncomfortable to only be able to rely on the grace of God. But yet I don't really want to go back to relying on me and my strength.

How do I live like I need Jesus all the time when it doesn't feel like it quite so much?

Nine weeks he came to live with us. One day we did not know him. The next he was here sharing our lives whether we liked it or not. He shared our airshow, our cousins, our clothes, our food, our grandparents, our bathroom, our tree house, our sandbox, our swimming excursions, our excitement of riding in the new 'swagger-wagon'.

Sometimes we didn't mind.

Sometimes we did.

Now, there is no one sleeping in the bag in the middle of the boy's room. There are no boxes in my room.

And there's a big gaping hole in my heart left by a five year old boy who doesn't live here anymore.

Oh fill me, Lord, with You and not with me. Fill me afresh today with You. Fill Yourself in the places that you pushed away in my heart, revealing my deep selfishness. Fill it still with your wonderful, matchless grace. 

Keep me in the palm of Your hand as you did when  I could only rely on the grace of God and the prayers of the saints to get me through each step of every day. Amen.

  * * *
Linking up with Jen and Emily.

When God calls, God provides

The toothbrush holder pictures the coziness of our home during 25 days of ten people.

When He placed four extra children in our home quite unexpectedly, sources of provision also came unexpectedly. Gift cards, buying groceries from my list, a babysitter or two, socks & underwear, extra meat, hands to prepare extra meals. Lots and lots of prayer.

When God calls, He provides.

Yet, how can one be prepared to do something that they are woefully inadequate to do? On the one hand, it seemed that everything that I had ever done in my life prepared me for such a time as this. This time of having eight children in our home; our number of children doubled in one evening.

Every skill that I had ever had was called on.

The days of Three Under Three that taught me triage skills: upset tummy, potty training issues, and a baby in need of nursing. What do you deal with first when They. All. Really. Need. Something. Now? This skill comes in handy when one has a hurt wrist, dinner is on the stove, there's a headache, and two boys are tumbling in an angry fight.

The days of Just Hubby & I where I learned to get up off the couch, make a meal, and load the washing machine. The days of Two Under Two where I learned how to just do it: follow the instructions in the Once-a-Month Cookbook. I followed the recipes, the directions, and in the process I learned how to stock a pantry, cook in bulk, and feed my family.

Each child listed by name & birth order (hidden here for privacy).

The days of Sales Rep Administrator taught me how to set-up files and organize, and be excellent at the mundane tasks no one else wanted to do. I needed to set-up files for girls who had papers from school and appointments with doctors and counselors. I needed a list for the shower so that we could get ten people through one shower.

When God calls, He provides.

He even provided a clean house and a short to-do list. The week before the extras came I had thought to myself, 'I feel caught up.' When have I ever thought that? One daughter had vacuumed the van, a rare occurrence that happened just before we drove 45 minutes to get the extra kids. This year in school we were further along academically than we ever have been in the calendar year. It allowed me to focus on the needs at hand while knowing we were able learn about serving others and reading on our own. I haven't been stressed about where we are in our books, we still have time to finish up.

When God calls, He provides.

This includes inspirational encouragement! Friends had gone before me, I knew I could follow their paths: I have a friend who also took in four children for a long obedient season. Another who homeschools two and takes two to public school (which we would do for 25 days).  I have a friend who is the guardian of her niece. I have a friend who has eight children, sometimes nine. And there are others but these are the folks I texted on our way to pick up the children. The ones who knew what I was walking into better than I did at that moment.

And there was a dinner -- planned before the children came but eaten after they came. Each person at the table had fostered children in some fashion. The five of us had never before been just the five of us. Yet there they were sitting at a table -- not just to encourage me -- but man, oh man, it sure seemed like it. God is so amazing to give us what we need when we need it.

When God calls, He provides.

He prepared me to need Him fully,  so greatly. To utterly fall on my face. To do these tasks imperfectly. To see the need. To see the tears and the heartache. To be unable to fix the problem, to be at the end of myself with nothing, absolutely nothing left of me to give. And it was in those moments, that I saw God's hand most convincinly -- beyond what I could do. At the end of me, He shows up. Isn't that just what II Corinthians 12:8-9 says? My grace is sufficient for you. My power is perfected in weakness.

He didn't call because I was capable but because we were willing. Willing to be undone when a friend calls to ask what can I do for you and I can't speak because I want to break down sobbing. I want to weep because someone sees that I have a need. He sent a friend at just the right time.
 
So why do I worry? Why do I get overwhelmed when my daughter comes in all muddy from her mid-day school break and needs a shower? Why does that make me weep in these days of 'only five'?

Does not my soul remember that when God calls, He provides?

When He calls, He provides through His people, through His grace, through the power in the inner being, through the strength given to those who wait on the Lord (Isaiah 40:31). Even to those who cry the tears of the overwhelmed and the tears of those who try harder still fall short. He provides His sufficient grace for me and for all who call on the name of the Lord.

He called, He provided. He is still calling and still providing.

* * *
Linking up with Jen at SDG and Emily at Imperfect Prose.