Thanksgiving memories, grief and gratefulness

The surgical glove turkey bouquet that inspired my daughter's writing.

My daughter had her hands in soapy dish suds when I asked her for inspiration for a blog post. She had lots of ideas. One of them was to write a Thanksgiving memory. Before I could apply myself to write, she had finished a memory that she wanted to share with me.

She was so inspired by her own suggestion that wrote in-between washing the dinner dishes. She'd wash some dishes. Stop, dry her hands, and write a little bit. Then stop writing and wash some more dishes. Then, stop, dry her hands, then write some more. By the time she was done with the dishes she had composed a Thanksgiving tribute.

She read her narrative to her father, sister, and me. (Her brothers happened to be off somewhere.)

Her memories undid me.

I had started to type a Thanksgiving post while she was doing those dishes but I didn't get very far. The draft is still sitting in my stack of unfinished posts. I even went back to it after she had read hers to me. But I had been undone.

I had asked for an idea and received some therapy instead.  Somehow whatever it was that I was going to write dimmed in my mind. Instead, I cried. But instead of alone tears, we cried together the four of us that night.

We cried quiet, silent tears. For just a little while. It didn't take long and we all hugged together on the couch as we cried together. Those tears sure felt better than the Alone Tears we cry. Better than the sadness we carry in our hearts all alone. At least that's part of what I learned that night. That I wasn't the only one still feeling sad, still grieving.

Still grieving the death of  Papa, my husband's father. And perhaps we are still grieving the many days up to his death. Perhaps we are still crying the tears that we didn't have time to cry while up close we watched him suffer.

Papa on the left with his brother that same Thanksgiving of the turkey bouquet.

I often hover alone in my sadness wondering why my friends don't understand why I might still be sad. They seem surprised: "He was your father-in-law. Were you that close?" They look at me quizzically, especially if their own father-in-law has passed and they can see they haven't experienced what I am experiencing. But...that isn't the point.

Or maybe it is.

We all walk different paths. We have different journeys. While I'm part of the human race, therefore I do experience emotions that others experience. It's just that sometimes the people I'm rubbing shoulders with haven't had a similar enough of a journey to understand me at that moment in time. Especially without words volunteered from me about the path that I've been walking on. But sometimes it is hard to volunteer words when the path of crisis didn't allow time for feeling, for processing, for figuring out. And somehow it goes numb, or at least it's all so mixed up you don't know what to feel and all you really want is a nap.

Until two years later when my daughter writes and reads about Thanksgiving memories, putting into words what we were feeling, even if we didn't know it before she read her words.

There it was: an epiphany! It is right here in this house that I need to look for comfort. Right here with my own people: my husband, my daughters, my sons. These my closest of friends. We have traveled the paths together. The uncomfortable changes. The front row seat to suffering. The amazing provisions. The answered prayers. And... the lingering sadness.

Here is a source of comfort that I had overlooked.

I was cheered that night of the tears and the group hug on the couch. Perhaps it is why it was easy to speak of Papa over the Thanksgiving table.

We shared memories and laughed. We ate and talked and reminisced and sat in the hot tub he kept running. We slept peacefully in the house that he and Grandma lived for more than twenty years.

It was a peaceful Thanksgiving and I'm giving quite a bit of credit to a reading shared, a group cry and a group hug before we headed off to Grandma's house. We added to that long conversations, long naps, and easy laughter.

A peaceful Thanksgiving for which I am grateful. Amen.

"Give thanks in all circumstances. " I Thessalonians 5:18

Some circumstances are just easier to give thanks in than others. Wouldn't you agree?

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. 

My Top 5 Blog Posts in 2013

Well, well, well... another year has come to a close. In reflection and celebration, I am listing my top 5 Blog Posts that had the most views for 2013 that I actually wrote in 2013. All of them revolve around the health crisis event we experienced with my father-in-law essentially being in the ICU for four months. May they provide hope for the readers. Click on the titles of the post to read them.

 #5 Post: For Days We Feel Like Crying

May the words of this post encourage someone else so that they know that they are not alone. There are days when we all feel like crying.

Sometimes in this past year when I have felt like crying; I have wondered if it is left-over sadness that didn't have time to come out as tears when the crisis actually happened.

#4 Post: A Taste of Normal in a Sea of Unknowns

If your life has ever been turned upside down, perhaps you will enjoy this post as I explore how nice it felt one day in the ICU to see a bit of old normal in the topsy-turvy world of medical unknowns.

Learning to take the moment of peace when it is offered is a gift.

#3 Post: Stories of Faith from the ICU

In September of 2012, my father-in-law had a tumor removed from his brain stem that began a four-month journey in three different hospitals and one rehab unit.

That time marked our family. We learned deep lessons of submissions, prayer, neediness, and comfort.

This post is the index page for a series of posts that I wrote about the stories of faith that we learned during the season of my father-in-law being in the ICU.

My hope is to share the comfort that God gave us during a difficult time in an effort to encourage others for the trials that their weary hearts may be going through just as it says in II Corinthians 1:4, "so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."

There is comfort. There is hope. At times, there is even laughter. Every story is different. The endings are not all the same, yet there is hope for every weary heart. Sometimes it's just a matter of finding it or believing it or both. 

#2 Post: Remembering the Right Things

After the crisis of my father-in-law being in the hospital for four months, he finally went to his own house. We began to experience some relief as he continued to improve. But it was a struggle to keep remembering how God had helped us in every moment.

Instead I was struggling with only remembering the hard stuff. I think some of that is normal to process the difficulties of an event after the fact especially because in the moment of crisis one is caught up with responding to the needs at hand but our souls need time to process the gravity of a situation. 

In this post, I spend time recounting a few of the memorable times of when people showed up and touched our hearts. Ultimately, that was God being kind even in the midst of sorrow and suffering

#1 Post: How looking outside my kitchen window taught me something about faith

Simple observations of the tree outside of my kitchen window taught me a lesson of faith. I shared it here. Not only was this my most viewed post that I wrote last year, it also had the most comments. That hasn't always been the case. I spent more time on this post than most. The response encourages me to spending more time writing and crafting each post. May your faith continue to grow in 2014. 

 

 Honorable mention:19 reasons I love my husband

I have added a bonus mention because my top-viewed post of all time was written in 2012 on our 19th anniversary. Honorable mention may be misleading since it has 10 times the views of my number one post of 2013. Hope you enjoy it. 

Happy New Year!

 

{day 18} Walking in the shadow of death

Walking in the shadow of death.

We are definitely doing that now since Clarence, my father-in-law, died. But it is so interesting because I've been wanting to write about walking in the shadow of death since last fall when my father-in-law's health crisis began.

I didn't know how to write about it. It didn't feel valid to write about it. Or perhaps right is a better word? It didn't feel grateful to speak of walking in the valley of the shadow of death when he was alive. When we were fighting hard for life, how could it be that we walked in the valley of the shadow of death? 

We lingered many days in the In-Between. Staring at oxygen levels. Doctors telling us: "This is no longer ethical" & "We didn't think we would get this far." Back then it was the shadow of death looming ahead of us; now it is the shadow that comes after death. 

Now I know that walking in the shadow of death comes before and after death. Not just after.

Now, that he is gone, I know that we experienced a miracle.

If you compare the pictures from when Clarence left the hospital to three days before he died, which was about a 10-month time span, you can visibly see the miracle. God granted life. God give him more days. For a brief time, the shadow receded just a bit. God gave Clarence the determination and will to live. He gave each one of us a part in how He was working --  whether it was a doctor, a nurse, or  a sibling who was the one to make the called to intervene, to be pushy, or to ask that question about that procedure. God used many hands to bring about the miraculous.

Today, a little over one month after the death of my father-in-law, it feels valid to say that we have been walking in the valley of the shadow of death for quite some time. 

I picture big mountains that cast shadows. Last year we lived in that cold, looming shadow of death before my father-in-law actually crossed the line of death. Often it was cold, looming, dark, unknown, and definitely unwanted. We had  reprieve. We experienced miracles. There were the long miracles. It is amazing to see where he came from to where he was just days before he died: Days of hope, progress, and sunshine as we celebrated his 80th birthday with a pirate cake with my 8 year-old son, right before he died.

I still feel somewhat in shock that he is gone. I have been in the throes of details -- planning funerals, helping my husband, and dealing with a rear-end fender bender. I have never known the solace of being busy in the midst of grief. It has not been my role previously. It feels quite like an ill-fitting garment.

I feel so unfocused. I really wanted to focus this post, this writing on the shadow of death. But in the darkness the pathway of grief seems so dark. It is hard to describe. Much of the pathway is borne alone, especially for my mother-in-law.

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The shadow of death
Mountains high
Looming clouds
The pathway winds around to heights he cannot see
The pathway leads down
He went up
We linger down here in the shadows
Shadows
Cold, lonely
But we know that he is walking without his walker
Swallowing without trouble
Eating ice-cream and beef
Talking with no trouble of all
Worshipping his savior
And we linger here in the shadows
It will be sunny again
There has already been warm spots
The warm hugs of caring friends
Food for many
Plants, flowers, prayers, well-wishes
Trumpet calls, a flag given
Speeches given

Yet the valley loomed large
We walked in its shadows long before he breathed his last breath
The coldness of the shadows

The need to remember
Not to fear
For He is with us

He was with him in the ICU
With her staring out the window
With us and the stove light on
And the hospital calling saying they intubated him again

We felt the long, cold shadows of death
Death of the grave
Long before
The sting of the last breath

But for now, for him
He has taken the last great leap of faith
His faith has become sight

Our faith is still faith

He is holding my child, his grandchild
They wait for us
And one day we will sing together
Great songs of our redemption story
Oh the glories far surpass the trials of now

But for now,
We look through papers
And settle estates
And wish he was here

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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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Click HERE to read other 31 Dayers who are also taking the 31 Day challenge.

Spared from sorrow upon sorrow {day 10}

Click here to read {day 11: The Hardest Day}
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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.

A taste of normal in a sea of unknowns {day 5}

Stuff scattered about drives me crazy. My children know this about me. My mother might be surprised to know this because she kept my bedroom door shut so that she wouldn't "have to look at that mess."

Now I will straighten up a room. It's become habit to tidy-up and to serve others.

Several weeks into this long hospital journey, I remember getting ready to leave Clarence in the ICU. I looked at his tray. A notebook, a pen, his glasses, and some newspapers were scattered about the tray. I thought, "I should straighten this up.The nurses will need some space on here later."

Yet, I distinctly remember one day that I decided not to straighten stuff. On purpose.

It caught me off-guard to prefer this scattering of stuff over neat & tidy, especially with a task that would be helpful and take less than two minutes.

Why was the urge so strong? Why did it feel more comfortable to leave a mess than to clean it up?

Because the mess felt normal.

It looked more like an end table in a cozy living room than a place to set down medicines in an ICU room.

Those scattered newspapers gave sign that life as we used to know it still existed somewhere. A mess of newspapers instead of medicine bottles.

A scattered newspapers brought hope that maybe -- just maybe -- life might resume. Yet, the questions lingered: would he return home to read the mail and bother his wife again? Would he breathe on his own again? Was all of this worth it?

We waited. A lot. That day was a quiet day. One with no visible changes.

A tiny seed was planted through a scattered newspaper that just maybe Clarence would read the newspaper at home, leave it about, and bother his wife again. Perhaps life would return to the old normal?

Was it worth it? Would he be okay:? Would he get off the ventilator eventually? I didn't know the answers to any of those questions. But I did know that that day it felt really great to leave a newspaper scattered about on a tray.

It was little taste of normal. Thank you, Lord. Amen.

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances for is God's will for you in  Christ Jesus." II Thessalonians 5:16-18

Click here to read {Day 6}

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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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The Clarence Chronicles: The Anointing of Oil {day 3 of 31}

"I put lotion on his forehead and that seemed to satisfy him," said the ICU nurse to my husband and I. We smiled at the news.

Peace filled the room. It was more than the low level of lighting and the slower pace of the evening shift. We felt the peace, especially from Clarence himself.

At this point in the Clarence Chronicles, it is Day 19 or 20 in the hospital. The previous Sunday, our family attended our oldest daughter's first choir concert, which was also a church service. The pastor spoke on James 5:13-16:

"Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up."

I felt convicted that we needed to do this. So did my youngest daughter. Even though he was improving and had finally moved from the ICU to a regular room two days ago, we felt convinced that the sermon was hand-picked for us. What we didn't know -- but God did-- is that Clarence would return to the ICU that evening, one of many deep disappointments.

Yet, even after he returned to the ICU, we pressed on and asked Clarence's pastor to come, pray, and anoint Clarence with oil. He did as we requested and brought two elders with him. The three of them anointed Clarence with oil and prayed for him.

After this, Clarence insisted that it was the 'prayer healing oil' that was helping him improve. It was what made him insist that he needed more of it and the nurse put some lotion on his forehead to satisfy him.  Peace spilled over from Clarence and into the room.

We had heard the Word of God. We had obeyed. We had asked. We had prayed. Just like any other medical crisis, we did not know upcoming twists and turns of the journey. Yet we had peace. We could see the peace in Clarence, too. What a treasure!

Click here to read {Day 4}

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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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Have you ever experienced the deep peace of God in an unknown circumstance that was the result of direct obedience to Scripture? I would love to hear your stories, too.

Breathing In and Breathing Out {day 2}

A perspective from a year ago in October (2012) : 
Breathing in & breathing out
Something I have often taken for granted.
Actually most every single breath of my life, I have taken for granted.
I have always assumed the next one would be there.

My father-in-law has been struggling for breath for over 6 weeks now. On & off the ventilator 5 times. As I run,  I am so thankful for my knees to be working again. In January there were days that I worried if I would walk without pain again. I worried that I may never able to run again. Now as I run again, my lungs struggle to keep up. I breathe deep. I ask God to help my father-in-law to breathe.

Clip-clop
Thud-hop
I run along.
Hope & pray
Three minute run.
One minute walk.
I am so glad to be walking & running & bending my knee.

Now I'm hoping he will learn to breathe on his own again
 I pray. I hope.
With each of my own breaths
I struggle, I breathe
May my father-in-law also breathe

Stepping
Hopping
Hoping
Running
Praying

Breathing in & breathing out on my run
Deep breaths that my father-in-law is struggling to take on his own
For more than 6 weeks now
He has struggled to breathe in various degrees

So many things I have taken for granted.
So many.
Too many.
As I run on rehabed legs, as I breathe deep into my lungs
Lord, please help Clarence breathe. Amen.

Six weeks and counting....
Breathing In & Breathing Out

"...He Himself gives everyone life and breath..." Acts 17:25

Click here to read {Day 3: Anointing Oil}

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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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Click HERE to read other 31 Dayers who are also taking the 31 Day challenge.
Click HERE to read Imperfect Prose with Emily.

31 Days of Stories of Faith from the ICU {day 1)

Okay, okay, okay.... sometimes I am a dive-in, take-a-challenge sort of gal. Sometimes I make it. Sometimes that water you feel is due to my giant belly flop. Well, today I am diving into The Nester's Challenge to write for 31 days on the same topic.  For a gal that hasn't posted in a month, it seems like an unrealistic challenge-- one destined for a flop.

Yet, I feel compelled to write because the stories must be captured -- I must record the faithfulness of God to our family during our unexpected journey in & out of the Intensive Care Unit.

Last September, my father-in-law had a tumor removed from his brain stem. That began a four-month journey in three different hospitals and one rehab unit.

That time marked our family. We learned deep lessons of submission, prayer, neediness, and comfort.

I will share the comfort  that God Himself gave us -- through lasagnas, prayers, songs, costumes, annointing oil and many other ways -- to encourage you in the trial that God may have you going through for it says in II Corinthians 1:4 that He comforted us, "so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."

There is comfort. There is hope. At times, there is even laughter. Every story is different. The endings are not all the same, yet there is hope for every weary heart in a trial.

May the words written posted on my blog and in the comments over the next 31 days encourage, inspire, and stir each of us to press on toward the upward call in Jesus Christ.

Come back for more stories of faith, family & fun. Bookmark this page because I'll link each post right here as it goes live to use as a handy-dandy reference guide.

{Day 1} Intro (this post) to The Clarence Chronicles
{Day 2} Breathing In & Breathing Out
{Day 3} The Anointing of Oil
{Day 4} Fun in the ICU? 
{Day 5} A taste of normal  
{Day 6} He stood for the Star Spangled Banner 
(Day 7) Seeing with new eyes
(Day 8) A cheerful heart is good medicine
{Day 9} God answered a prayer, just for her 
{Day 10} Spared from Sorrow Upon Sorrow
{Day 11} The Hardest Day or The Gift of Deep Submission 
{Day 12} The Gift of Deep Submission Part II 
{Day 13} Not my will, but Yours be done Part 3 of 3
{Day 14} Oh how He loves
{Day 15} Birthday Boys 
{Day 16} How things change in a moment
{Day 17) Is suffering worth it? 
{Day 18} Walking In the Valley of the Shadow
(Day 19} The One Thing I Miss From Crisis

 

Hospital gowns & gloves make a  fun picture!

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.

When coca-cola made me cry...

Fulfilled Longing

He had been silent for four weeks.
 And then he spoke.

He said, "Coca-cola"
Because that's what the speech therapist told him to say.

And I cried.
I wanted to weep.
Instead tears ran down my cheeks.

He spoke. Emotion erupted from my eyes. I didn't know how much I had been longing for him to speak again. Until those tears came streaming down.

Proverbs 13:12 says:
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."

Silent tears giving testimony to a longing fulfilled. May he -- my father-in-law -- who is still in the hospital battling to clear his lungs speak ever, clearer and clearer.

* * * 

Have you been startled by the intensity of a longing fulfilled?

Linking also with Jen at SDG sisters and Emily at Imperfect Prose

Siblings round the table at day's end

Siblings 'round the table
At day's end
Many years since it's been
Just us

Wives, husbands, kids
Usually
Take their place around the table

But not tonight

Not at the end of this day
Nor at the end of that day
Both days
Breathing has been labored

And we gather

Because breath and life have been a struggle
In & out
Out & in
Labored & heavy

It is just the siblings here now
Children grown enough
To leave the adults
At the table
No in-laws either
They are busy taking care of other things

Just us

Gathered at the table
At the end of the waiting day
The miles apart
Have lessened

The tubes
The struggling of breath
The need for cheering one another's hearts
That comes by being in this loss
Together

Together
Around the table
Where we fought about whose turn it
Was to do the dishes
And we teased and scolded
And ate many meals
Siblings only
Just like the days of old

Except now
The battle is for life and breath

We wish it wasn't the suffering
That brought us here
Yet, we are
Together again as
Siblings round the table
At days end

* * *
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose.

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.

FMF: On voice

My youngest using his voice.

 On voice.
My daughter sings with a lovely voice with the Nashville Children's Choir. My father-in-law has lost his voice due to a tracheostomy. And as a wanna-be-author, I am trying to find my voice. Speaking up for those who do not have a voice.Singing with a lovely voice. Learning to communicate without a voice.

Our voice speaks. Our voice needs to be heard. We want to be heard. We want to communicate. We want to interact. Some voices are high. Some are low. Sometimes we can hear the voices but we do not understand what is being said.

Voices. Unique. A way to give thought. A way to interact. Voicing our opinions. Voice: it is important.

****
Whew! I haven't participated in Five Minute Friday in awhile. (Click HERE if you are interested in participating or reading other entries.) This was a hard go. But I am going to play along and hit publish after five minutes of writing with no editing. Publishing as is! Yikes!  Obviously, I need to keep practicing this exercise of writing for five minutes on a topic.

Happy Friday friends. What would you like to voice today?
--Kathleen

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?