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Thursday, September 23, 2010

ballerina

She's been waiting for this day for a long time.

Waiting. (practicing). Asking her Mommy, "Is today the day?"

And finally the day came when her Mommy said, "Yes! Today IS the day!"
Serious endeavors require serious fuel.
Healthy nutritious breakfast?
Check!


She might have her big sisters hand me down ballet shoes, but rest assured she's chock full of her own unique "spunk" ...

           

And (naturally) her signature "Ariana smile."

  
As any professional ballerina knows... it's straight to the bar.


 And, as any gentleman knows, you oblidge the lady who wants to dance...

And in due time, he'll learn that it's the gentleman, and not the lady, who asks,

"May I have this dance?"


And, from the mouth of the ballerina, it was worth the wait and became "the best day" of her whole life.

And THAT deserves a sticker.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

death

I went to a funeral this weekend. 

It was the funeral of the High School friend I had written about here .

Because this friend lived on the west coast, this was a second service. A memorial for his friends and family back home in the Midwest to attend. 

It was painful to watch my dear friend- my (long time ago) best friend, turned high school sweetheart, stand at the podium trying his best to pay tribute to his brother through broken sentences and long pauses while choking back tears. It broke my heart to watch his wonderful parents, sitting in the front row, put on brave faces- smiling at the fond memories, hugging each other close for comfort... for encouragement... maybe even for strength just to sit up straight.  I don't know why, but it struck me as so ironic that the weather couldn't have been more perfect outside. Sunny, blue skies, a perfect 70 degrees. I'm sure I even heard birds outside the small sanctuary windows that were cracked open to let in the breeze. I thought, "How can it be so cheerful outside? And yet inside we sit - seated silently in pews-  dressed in shades of black, brown and grey- mourning a life that at 35 years expired far too soon."

An hour and 10 minutes. I waited optimistically- listening for something specific. Hoping, against hope, to make this somehow "less sad." To make sense of it. To look at the pictures of this incredibly handsome young and vibrant man rotating through the slide show and feel any kind of happiness for him, despite the deep ache in my heart for his family.  I listened, ears attuned to every word, hoping the next word would deliver what I was waiting to hear. Just one word.

But it never came.

The service ended and we all went down to a local restaurant for the reception. An old high school friend and I were visiting off to the side. I mentioned to him something along the lines of how sad I was and how it was hard to know what to say without knowing where this friend had stood in his faith. Perhaps that was a mistake because my friend looked at me like I had two heads. He didn't "get it." I dropped it.

I guess at all funerals we're supposed to say besides the obvious "I'm sorry"-   things like- "He's at peace... He's in God's care now... He's free from pain... He's with Jesus." But I can't and I won't ever say that unless I know that to be true.
I'm not at all suggesting that I have made a determination that, in this case, those statements would not have been true. I haven't the slightest clue as to where this young man stood in his final days, hours... breaths. I would never presume to even try to guess what happens between a man and his Creator the moment he passes from this life to the next.

But what I do know is this... The ambiguity just about broke my heart. I never did hear what I was listening for. Just one word...

Jesus.

Please don't misunderstand. I am in no way judging the way people should or should not do funerals. What they should and should not say. I write this only because my heart was sad to begin with, when I walked through the doors of the church- and it was more sad when I left, because I just never knew how he felt about God... how he felt about His Son Jesus. Did he know Jesus? Love Him? Follow Him? If so- I wish we would have been told! I could've, in my heart, celebrated that fact.

When I die, please- someone PLEASE- shout from the podium that I LOVED Jesus. That I'm WALKING with Jesus. That He was everything to me. Don't let people leave my service with any doubt... any ambiguity that Jesus was and is the love of my life. That I spoke to Him the moment I woke each and every morning... that I talked to Him throughout my day... that He was the last one I spoke to before my mind drifted into sleep. Let it be known that in my life -- and in my death-- he was my beginning, my middle, and my very end.

Without Jesus death is just... death.

Without Jesus, there is no redemption in dying. I can't possibly think of anything sadder than that. Again, I'm not suggesting to know where this wonderful man stood in his faith. But that is precisely what broke my heart. That I didn't know. My hope and my utmost prayer is that this young man is home in heaven enjoying all of the beauty and splendor and amazing things God has promised and prepared for those who love Him.
.
This afternoon I was made aware of another sad story of someone passing too young. Facebook has an interesting way of doing that. Connecting, and interconnecting lives, so that at times it seems we all know each other and the degrees of separation must, most certainly thanks to Facebook, now be closer than Six.

A young mother-  (1 year old baby girl and just gave birth to a 2nd baby girl in July) - died yesterday of Hospital acquired pneumonia, which she got while in the hospital delivering her daughter in July. It physically hurts me to type the words "young" "mother" and "died" in the same sentence. I can't write much more about it because I will soon find myself in a mess of tears on the living room floor, clutching my chest, grieving for a woman I'd never met- like I was earlier this afternoon.

But the story for this woman did not end on September 14th in a hospital ICU bed. I know this because this woman's family had started a caring bridge site for her in July when the pneumonia began. It was updated daily with prayer requests, with updates, with praise and thanksgiving for the prayers and the encouragement coming their way. The site was full of Jesus. His presence in her life, her dedication to Him, the families love and devotion to Him.

Though his wife had died just 24 hours earlier, this young husband turned widower- father of 2 baby girls- found the strength to post a letter on the site. One of the most beautiful letters I have ever read. I have no doubt of where his strength came from. It was evident alllll over the pages of their journals. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. All over the pages you find the name of Jesus.

Though for the sake of privacy I won't list his name, I can't not quote a few of the most beautiful and important sentiments he shared.

He writes,
"All things pass in this life.  Taking the time to know the only true God who sits on the throne of heaven and sat by her bed in that hospital is the most important thing you will ever do...What you may not realize is that those things that you really loved about my wife [], her kindness, hope, joy, peace, fierce defence of truth, love, acceptance of others right where they were, humor, PEACE IN THE VERY FACE OF DEATH, and willingness to challenge each of us to grow, came directly from what she had learned while walking with Jesus."

It was through her relationship with Jesus Christ that this young mother found the direction to live her life on earth. And it was in his relationship with Jesus Christ that her young husband grasped the strength and courage to find the peace and joy in her passing, through the very raw and real devestation and pain of losing his beloved wife.

Life in Christ is not about attending church on holidays. It's not about attending church every Sunday or attending church at all! Jesus so desperately wants us to know Him. To love him. To follow Him. 

He's already chosen us. But it's up to us to choose to trust, rely in, and adhere to Him. To be in relationship with Him. And if we do, there is redemption, there is peace and there is JOY to be found in the passing of this world to meet our Creator.

He promises this, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him"-- 1 Cor 2:9

I believe Him.

And I believe in Him.

And when I die, I will be with Him.

Religion won't save me. But my relationship with Him will. Glory to God!



Last thing. If you read this and think I'm crazy, that's ok. It's my blog and I can say what I want- and besides, hardly anyone reads this anyway. But if you read this and you have no idea what I'm talking about and think the notion of being in LOVE with Jesus is foreign and you wouldn't know how to do that anyway- that's ok. I'm gonna tell you how. Read the book of John  (from the Bible). If you don't  have a Bible, you can read it here. And then- Just ask. HIM! I promise you, if you honestly seek Him, He will reveal Himself to you... you will find Him... and when you do, you won't be able to help doing anything but earnestly loving Him.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Last Hurrah

There was a time, not too long ago, when school books were still packed away, the suns rays stretched each day a couple of hours longer, and the hardest decision we faced was whether it be another night of s'mores or should we instead have some ice cream.


And even though s'mores are pretty good eaten alone


  they taste soooo much better when they're made around a campfire with a
(WHOLE) bunch of family.

Enter family.



The more the merrier.


 Every year, we pilgrimage north to the land of sand and clear water, walleyes and fish fry's
for the "Annual -Insert Maiden Name- Insert name of Resort- Reunion" :)

(okay, so by "Annual"- I mean this is actually only the 2nd year we've done it, but we most certainly plan on continuing in the tradition!)

Not only is there THE (biggest) indoor swimming pool I have ever seen,


But there are also plenty of willing and able dear younger ones to give me a hand
with the little ones.



And as luck would have it, there's also a pretty impressive golf course to be explored.
 "Lucky" for others, I mean, since my little family doesn't golf.

At least, not in the- "we actually know what we're doing, so let's head out and spend 4 hours on the golf course" way.

We're more of the, "hey- we've never done this before but let's go buy a bucket of balls and stand in the 94 degree heat and attempt to teach our kids how to hit balls..." line of thinking.


Which was not my idea of fun - but at least the little ones were smiling.


Thankfully for us, the golfing "adventure" was a small part of the experience, which left us plenty of time to contemplate that all important decision I referred to earlier...

Good choice.



Long live s'mores, sticky fingers and smiling sisters.


 The End.