Saturday, August 5, 2017

A JOURNEY OF MANY EARRINGS

I had just left my storage unit, and I was driving down the highway bawling my eyes out. I had emptied every single bin looking for my earrings. "One more thing I've lost." I cried to myself. I thought of all of the years of memories my collection represented, happy years before my boys died, years of family gatherings before we sold our home. The missing earrings triggered a flood of grief that overwhelmed me.

It started back in 1971 when I bought my first pair of novelty earrings. They were cute little replicas of common household products such as Coke cans and Alka Seltzer. I delighted in their wackiness. They were 89 cents a pair, and each week I bought another. This was how my collection started.


Pretty soon my ninth grade algebra teacher would not start class until he had checked out my earrings. "Ok, Maribeth is wearing her Juicy Fruit Gum earrings today; now class can start." 

I continued to purchase earrings everywhere I went and people began to buy earrings for me as gifts. Over time, as my collection grew, it became an expression of my creativity. In my bowling league days I had my bowling earrings; when my daughter danced at her recitals I wore my ballerina earrings; when my son played soccer you could be certain that little soccer balls would dangle from my lobes. 



.As a teenager my daughter was sometimes embarrassed by my earrings. This merely added to my enjoyment. "Don't you realize that you are an earring heiress?" I would quip.

When I became an elementary school teacher I enjoyed matching my earrings to the curriculum. If we were doing a unit on transportation out came my airplane, car, and boat ear-wear. For whatever we were reading I had animals and objects from around the world. I sometimes went so far as to jot down earring ideas in my lesson plans! At times I was accused of being Ms. Frizzle, the cartoon teacher from "The Magic School  Bus" series whose earrings always matched each episode.




When tragedy struck, my earrings became an expression of my grief. I have a pair of gold hoops that have little cherubs clinging to them. They represent my two boys who are with the Lord. I have feather earrings for my Chris who likes to send feathers, and fish earrings for my Jarrod who loved fishing. I think that there will definitely be earrings in heaven.




Recently when we downsized I gave some of my earrings away, kept  some with me, and put the remainder in storage. Like my beloved children in heaven I was sure that I would see them again.  

So when I left the storage unit empty handed, I sobbed hysterically. I especially mourned the loss of my troll earrings. I had collected a miniature pair to match every holiday. I remembered Chris playing with my little Santa trolls, Jarrod flicking them so they rocked on my ears, and our daughter, Erin, rolling her eyes. "Remember, some day this all will be yours." I would remind her.

I was in a funk for days and I gradually resigned myself to shopping online and to hopefully replacing some of my favorite troll earrings. Then, months later, Rob and I were at his mom's house. She was keeping some of our art for us in her garage. "Look what I found of yours," she said, holding up a large bag filled with earrings. And there they were, all of my little trolls smiling up at me!



"It's Christmas in July!" I exclaimed, delighted. Once again I could touch and wear something that physically connected me with my cherished past. 

It was like the Lord was reminding me that I will see my boys again, but I don't get to pick the time.

Grief is funny that way. It isn't always sparked by the obvious such as anniversaries. Sometimes it leaps up at us unexpectedly, triggered by everyday objects like earrings.


What reminds you of your departed loved ones? I would love to hear about it.




Thursday, July 6, 2017

THE ROLLER RINK AND RECOVERY



They cling to the wall like limpets in a fish tank. The braver ones scramble across the floor spending almost as much time prone as they do upright. I skate through a minefield of bodies in various stages of collapse.

A clear minority are comfortable on skates gliding past their wobbly classmates.Some hold hands, supporting each other precariously, sliding and flopping about.




That was the scene I witnessed on a recent trip to the local skating rink. It looked quite different from my youthful days when almost everyone was comfortable cruising around on wheels.

 Kids can't skate anymore!

Clearly gross motor skills have fallen victim to neglect and indifference. Perhaps our youth spend way too much time bent over their phones strengthening their thumbs while their quadriceps lie prone on the sofa. It seems that most of the gliding, leaping, and twirling now takes place on video screens.

Or maybe the proliferation of organized sports and summer camps has squeezed out the neighborhood sidewalk time we baby boomers logged while learning to skate. In today's age of safety concerns and working parents there are fewer opportunities for old-fashioned free play outside with friends.





As I reflect upon the scene described above I can't help but draw a parallel to recovery. As active addicts and alcoholics we relied upon an altered version of reality. We weren't really skating in the rink.

 We were playing the video version in our heads while our normal friends were learning to balance and glide, taking their knocks. As they learned we stayed on the sidelines, often allowing others to support us. We were like those kids who had never learned to skate.

No wonder it's so hard when we first get out there! 

Sometimes we need a sponsor to make sure we strap on those skates, someone to hold our hand when we take those tentative first steps.

Sometimes we fall—a lot. 

At times our skates are knocked out beneath us. Like an out of control skater colliding recklessly with others our life circumstances challenge us. That is when we reach for two hands to hold us—our sponsor on one side and God on the other.

We can be like the cling-ons on the wall, hanging onto the bottle, or the pills, or whatever. Or we can get out there and collect a few bruises.

The kids who are willing to do that learn to skate much faster. The same is true for us.



Saturday, June 10, 2017

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIS

Happy birthday, son. Today you would have been 30. What a wonderful husband and father you would have made. Your dad and I will always be proud of you. I am honored and awed that I was chosen to be your mom.


I remember your squeaky kindergarten voice and little boy truck noises. You were an action-packed kid, knees scraped from tree climbing, your beautiful blond hair plastered down with sweat from dashing about in your home-made super hero cape. I'll never forget looking out the kitchen window just in time to spot you whizzing by on a skateboard. In one hand you held the dog leash attached to our black lab, Moonshine, who towed you down the street. In the other hand you held a squirming snake. Your joyful boyhood warmed my mother's heart.



Then the cancer came. It stole your energy, your hair, your school days, and many of your friends.  But it couldn't steal your spirit.

 I remember your glorious pranks! As we walked across the clinic parking lot you would spot an unsuspecting stranger, and slap the street sign when they weren't looking. As it reverberated you would hold your bald head and groan while they exclaimed "Are you okay?" 

Remember, the bottle trick, Chris? Whenever you finished a bottle of water you would hide it in you hand and squeeze it while bending over and grasping your back with the other hand. The crinkling noise sounded just like bones cracking! Sometimes folks would rush over, then you would hold up the bottle and crunch it for them while we all shared a laugh. 

I miss how you used to tease me. I never could find my car in crowded parking lots, so you diagnosed me with "parking lot disorder". When I frequently misplaced items you used to say that I was blonde in another life! Oh Chris, what I'd give to hear you tease me again.

When you were dying, you knew it before anyone else. You told us before the doctors made it official. You calmly accepted the fact that you would never see 15. You also told us that the Lord was coming for you soon and that you were looking forward to going to heaven. Chris, you comforted us as you spoke so confidently of eternity.



Romans 8:38-39 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[a] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So on this day that would have been your earthly thirtieth, I try not to dwell upon unborn grandchildren nor upon the painful brevity of your powerful time here. I know that you forgive my tears as I cry not for you, but for myself. You dwell pain free in the light, your earthly purpose fulfilled. I draw upon your example as I write this, hoping to achieve my own purpose, perhaps as someone who shines a light for those who grieve. 

Chris, you remind us that our time here pales in comparison to eternity.


Psalm 14:4: Man is like a mere breath; His days are like a passing shadow.
Chris, you have no need of birthdays. They are for those of us who are still limited by earthly time and space. Your love and your humor endure. The day will come when we meet in the Lord's presence where every day is a new birthday.
2 Peter 3:8 ‘But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.’

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

THOUGHTS ON THE THIRD STEP PRAYER

One of my favorite recovery prayers is The third Step Prayer. Found on page 63 in the book, "Alcoholics Anonymous", it is one of the most frequently and reverently uttered prayers by folks struggling to stay sober.

It begins with "God, I offer myself to Thee..." Sometimes I wonder—what if God said, "Ha,ha, no thanks, I'm good."


 Well, I couldn't blame God for declining, after all, He's not getting much of bargain here. He’s getting an almost 60, near sighted, forgetful, grandma with no patience( A cracker packet that won’t open—Just stab it with a pen) whose idea of being organized  is to move the paper pile from the top of her desk to the floor beneath her desk, and whose conception of backing up data is to walk backwards towards the trash can. I can't even locate my car in the Walmart parking lot. Yeah, God, I'm here for ya.

"...to build with and do with me as Thou wilt..." (I tried to build a four layer cake once and ended up with a pancake.) 

"...Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do thy will..." (Sometimes I spend so much time stuck inside my head I walk into walls.)

"...Take away my difficulties..." Ahh this is the part of the prayer I like best. Please, God, get rid of the hard stuff. Clear that traffic, transfer the annoying boss, set up Skype for my loved ones in heaven, make the forgetful hubby put the seat down, and could I get your email address?

 But, when I pause my self-pity button, I realize that my difficulties are the point. After all, who would want me to help them if I were perfect? More likely, they would want to slap me. My plethora of flaws make me approachable! The Lord loves to use my flaws.

The fact that I have figured out how to live sober in spite of my difficulties makes me a useful resource. There are rooms full of people who identify with my screwed-up-ness. "...that victory over them(my difficulties) may bear witness to those I would help of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy Way of life..."

When we in recovery realize that sobriety isn't all rainbows and unicorns, and when that pink cloud wears off( So cool, I remember where my car is parked!) we turn to each other for support. But we cannot offer it to others until we ourselves have plugged into our higher power. C.S. Lewis says that we have to come to the end of ourselves.


In her radio show I heard Joni Eareckson Tada speak of kintsugi, also known as kintsukuroi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.The breakage and repair are honored as part of the history of the object. The end result is even more beautiful than the original unbroken piece. That's what the third step allows us to do—become human kintsugi!





Some days the best part of the prayer for me is the last line..."May I do Thy will always!" That's where I allow God to paint his gold on me.When I attempt to align my will with God's that is where the real building begins—relationships, useful employment, and true recovery that is so much more than not drinking.

What I wonderful concept: God can actually use me if I let him! The Third Step Prayer opens that door.

Proverbs 3:5-6New International Version (NIV)

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.[a]

Sunday, May 7, 2017

GIVING HOPE TO OTHERS

I recently spoke to a friend whose life has also been touched by tragedy. We discussed the fact that some of us seem to be handed much harder lives than others. It's so easy to envy others for their healthy family or their cushy lifestyle.

 I believe that those of us who have had to walk through greater trials have been given greater responsibility in this life. Perhaps the Lord is trusting us to provide the world with a perspective that goes beyond circumstance. In this temporary life we have been tasked to become messengers with an eternal message.

From C.S. Lewis "If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."

 I believe that there is no greater calling than to give hope to others:

 Romans 5:3-5: "Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;  perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."

I once had the honor of meeting Sister Antonia Brenner, a nun who chose to live inside the walls of a prison.  Her story is told in the book The Prison  Angel. Click here. She gave up a safe, comfortable life in order to minister to inmates in a notorious Mexican prison. Inmates tell the story of how she once walked into the middle of a prison riot, past tear gas and bullets. When the rioting prisoners saw her fearless demeanor they stopped fighting.

I think the real reason they stopped their rioting was because Sister Antonia had offered them the one thing they needed: hope. She had been ministering to them with basic needs such as aspirin, blankets, and glasses; but more importantly, she had ministered to their souls. Murderers, rapists, and every imaginable career criminal heard the gospel of hope from sister Antonia.




I have also had the honor and privilege of meeting women like"Cassie". Cassie once walked the streets, prostituting  herself in order to pay for her drug addiction. If anyone was hopeless it was Cassie. But Cassie sought help, and surrendered to a loving God. She eventually went back to school and earned a counseling degree. Now she works with other women battling addiction. 

She says, "I was once a hopeless dope fiend, now I'm a dopeless hope fiend!"

When I first met Cassie I had just begun my own journey of recovery. For years my daily drinking had steadily increased. I had tried many times, unsuccessfully, to stop. Cassie's perseverance inspired me. Her character blossomed before me, just as mine blooms now for those who follow. Now others tell me that I inspire them!

Programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and other twelve step programs are successful because they connect people who have suffered in a similar way, and gently, lovingly, without prejudice, show them a way out.

In other words, we get to carry a light of hope.

I recently attended a conference for women in recovery. As is the tradition at many of these conferences the person with the longest sobriety(in this case 52 years) was invited on stage with the person who had the least sobriety(6 months). The senior member presented the newcomer with The book of Alcoholics Anonymous( affectionately referred to as "The Big Book".) In the front of the book all of the conference attendees had signed their names and sobriety dates.

It was an inspiring message of hope complete with 300 signatures stating "You can do this, and we are here for you!"


My biggest dose of hope has come from an unlikely source—my young son, Chris. His leukemia treatments included a drug that produced painful sores inside his mouth and down his whole GI tract. During his chemo cycle his immune system became so depleted he was often bedridden. But his last words to us were words of hope. "Mom, when I get to heaven I'll see Jesus. I'll have hair again, and I'll be able to get my driver's license."




When I share Chris's story with others who have lost children I'm sharing a grieving mom's gospel with my own unique story. I'm sharing the hope of seeing our children again.

And when our second son, Jarrod, died unexpectedly in an accident, I was tempted to go back to the bottle and say "Screw it!" But I had had years of practice with Romans 5:3. I had had years of running with that light of hope. I had had years of helping other women stay sober through tragedy. As my life circumstances had become more painful the holy spirit inside of me had grown stronger.

2 cor 12:9: But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 

 Some, like sister Antonia, choose their suffering(Although, she probably wouldn't have called it that). Others, like myself, have had it foisted upon us. But if the end result is that we all become a source of light and hope, then we have served our divine purpose in this life.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

BREAKING BREAD: THE IMPORTANCE OF FAMILY MEALS

ACTS 2:46: "And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts,"


 I am confronted daily with young children who struggle. Their social skills have declined steadily over the years that I have been in the classroom. Taking turns, working in groups, understanding  differences, and forgiving mistakes—these are tools that my students often lack. While many blame electronics, I believe that the extinction of sit down meals also plays a major role.

I have spent more than 30 years teaching elementary school, and the students who are the happiest and most well adjusted have adults who spend quality time with them, often over a meal.






It is during meal times, sans electronics, that children and teenagers can have the undivided attention of someone that loves them. This is the time when they can be debriefed from a stressful day, where a caring adult can help them cope with rules and conflict. It is also a time to celebrate their victories and accomplishments.This is when parents, sharing intimate conversations with their children, become their greatest teachers.

ACTS 2:42: And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Where are your kids getting their feedback from? Their  peers? Facebook? Twitter? TV?

 "I'm so tired from working," you say. "We don't have the time to actually have sit down meals and conversations at the table." Have you considered that investing the time when your family is young may save you time and money later when you are carting them to counselors or bailing them out of trouble?

Think of it as an emotional investment portfolio that will pay priceless dividends later on.




Two of my three children died very young, and I am so grateful that I have a wealth of family meal memories. We prayed together, we told corny jokes, we brainstormed project ideas, we discussed strategies for dealing with bullies, and yeah, sometimes we argued, but most importantly, we connected.

But don't take my word for it—look at the evidence. Dr. Anne K. Fishel, author of  "Home For Dinner: Mixing Food, Fun, and Conversation For A Happier Family And Healthier Kids", and co-founder of The Family Dinner Project.org. has spent years researching the topic. Her findings confirm that families that take time to break bread together have kids with a better academic performance, less depression, lower risk of substance abuse, lower risk of teen pregnancy, and more.Click to read more.

Cornell University did a study that backs up these findings and further states that family meals are an integral part of an overall positive family culture.Read more. The article recommends a minimum of 3 meals together a week. 

The more I researched the more I found! Family meals make a difference!




I would like to challenge you, if you are not already doing so,to make this commitment to your children. To my Christian readers: Chauffeuring them to youth group and church does not replace our precious meal times together. Remember Jesus hosted the "last supper", not the "last sermon" or the "last youth camp."

What the articles do not say is that you have to be a gourmet cook, or even cook the food yourself. (However, there are a gazillion easy recipes and tips out there.)They do not even say that it has to be dinner. But they all do say that you need to turn off the TV and the electronics.

I am not surprised that my observations as a teacher are backed by solid research. In my classroom point system my students can earn treats and privileges. Can you guess what one of their favorite rewards is?  Lunch bunch with the teacher. For a half hour they get my undivided attention where I can love on them. Sadly, many are not getting that at home. I am teaching them values that, once upon a time, we all learned at the dinner table.

Monday, March 27, 2017

THEY SMILE


This week's post is a poem for all of the parents who have caught their breath and blinked back tears when seeing someone who reminds them of their departed child.


Twenty Something,
Tall and thin.
Strolling through the aisles,
Looking like my son.



Hiking along a leafy trail,
A voice calls "Mom".
Tears sting my eyes,
Sounding like my son.

Laughter at the playground,
Little ones scamper and squeal.
Tugging my heart back through the years,
Laughing like my son.



Then he grins at me,
This Jarrod look alike.
Bouncy, vibrant, alive,
Smiling like my son.

His softness touches my heart,
This Jarrod soul alike.
Rising above his peers,
Whose heads are bowed, worshipping their phones.

At home, the Lord puts his arm around my son.
From their heavenly perch they gaze
Upon this gentle spirit.
Reaching out like my son.

They smile.

1 Thess 4:13-14 "Now we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve like the rest who have no hope. 14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, so also we believe that God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep as Christians."

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

A GRIEVING MOM VIEWS "THE SHACK"


As someone who has suffered the loss of a child (in my case 2 children) I approach such movies with caution. Will I come away with an uplifting message or will my grief be exacerbated?




It helped that I had read the book several years ago, so I knew what to expect from the plot. The father of a murdered child receives a mysterious invitation to return the scene of the crime—a shack in the woods where he encounters the holy trinity. In the movie the father, Mack, is played by Sam Worthington, and God the father “Papa” is played by Octavia Spencer. Jesus, who is played by Aviv Alush, is a closer biblical match with his dark hair and beard, and the Holy Spirit, played by actress Samire Matsubara, manages to be both earthy and ethereal at the same time.



The over-riding theme is forgiveness. Mack must learn to forgive the murderer in order to free himself from the anger that grips his heart. I am no stranger to anger, but I have come to realize that it is a normal part of the grieving process.

After our Jarrod’s death we met with the young man who accidentally shot him. We told him that we forgave him and that we were praying for him. Forgiving him was a conscious choice that we made, and it is correctly portrayed in the movie as a difficult process.  But our job of forgiving is much easier than the parent who loses a child to a deliberate act of violence. It is my hope that this movie speaks to them in a positive way.

Cancer took our other son, Chris. How do you forgive a disease? Does it go back to Adam and Eve and their original act of defiance that introduced sin in the world? Most biblical scholars say so. Cancer is a by product of a fallen world. How do you forgive God for allowing a teenager to die?

This issue is addressed in the movie when Mack becomes angry with Papa, not understanding how She could allow his innocent child to die. Oh how many of us have had that conversation with God!

This scene with Mack yelling at God and storming off the porch was very validating for me. It tells me that it is okay to get angry with God. People in intimate relationships do get angry. I think that is why grieving parents sometimes hate it when people say “It was God’s will” or “They’re in a better place.” The message is don’t get angry—just accept. Well, like Mack, we aren’t always ready to do that, and God understands.

Papa’s response was to keep loving Mack through his anger. Her answer is that God doesn’t promise to fix everything. He does promise, however, that He will never leave us. He reminds us that we can’t see the big picture, and that He can create good from evil. Papa encourages Mack to trust Her.

Another theme in the movie is that God can manifest himself in any form. In the Old Testament he appears as pillar of fire to guide the Israelites through the dessert, and later, as a burning bush. So why not a 40-something African American woman? Omniscience can coexist with warmth and humor.

How many of us have had encounters that we cannot explain? Perhaps someone appeared out of nowhere when we were desperate for help, or we received a unique sign from our departed loved one. Our Chris is fond of sending feathers. He certainly couldn’t do that without God’s cooperation. The movie lends credence to the endless possibilities of the divine.

So what was the hardest part of the movie for me? It was the scene where Mack is allowed to gaze through a waterfall and glimpse his daughter frolicking happily in heaven. One peek at my boys enjoying eternity would energize my soul for years to come! Please please, somebody take me to that waterfall! I sat in the theater, tears in my eyes, like a slighted child, murmuring “No fair.”


And that is always the risk when we encounter heaven through the eyes of Hollywood. The loose ends are usually tied up much neater than they are in real life. Overall, as a grieving Christian, I found that the movie did not stray from my basic biblical beliefs, and it tickled my imagination reminding me that God is always with me, but not always in ways that I can fathom.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

A PEACE THAT SURPASSES ALL UNDERSTANDING


Peace is really all that most of us want. But what is peace? Is it getting what we want? Is it freedom from anxiety? Is it the certainty that everything will work out eventually? Is it knowing that we are right where we are supposed to be, doing what we are supposed to be doing?

Getting that job, the nice house, the achievement award—those all produced only temporary peace for me. How about you? Soon the job was stressful, the house needed repair, and the award got dusty. There was always something more that I wanted. I just wasn't sure what it was.

Phil 4:6: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Jesus Christ."

When my teenager, Chris, was enduring lengthy cancer treatments I felt a certain sense of peace just being in the hospital playroom, playing bumper pool with him. (He used to call me "Mrs. Bumperdoodles".) In that situation my sense of peace came from knowing that I was meant to be Chris's mom, and while I didn't know why he had to get cancer, I felt in my heart that we were predestined to spend those precious times together.

Chris's sense of peace on his deathbed was a life-changing experience for me. "Don't worry about me, Mom, "Jesus is coming, and I'll be fine." His peace truly had transcended any understanding that I'd had up until that point in my life. At the time I wasn't a bible reader. I hadn't given Chris any scripture or any pearls of Godly wisdom. His peace had come from outside of our earthly realm.





I have shared that story many times. I am still in awe of how the Lord allowed my dying son to witness to me. 


After Chris died alcohol gave me a form of peace. The warm glow spread throughout my body and dulled my senses. At first, anything seemed possible. Those of us who have battled addictions know what it is like to return again and again to  a chemical peace, a false spirituality. What seemed like freedom at first eventually became a prison.


When I finally surrendered to a loving twelve step group, the sense of peace I felt was overwhelming. Here was a bunch of people who understood me better than anyone else, and they did it with true unconditional love. They talked about a higher power that gave them peace. It started me on a quest to find that loving God. In the years following Chris's death I started studying the bible and sharing my growing faith with Chris's younger brother, Jarrod.

Jarrod, like me, was always and outside the box kind of person. He had a gifted IQ, but hated school. Unlike his older sister, who thrived in school, Jarrod had trouble conforming and ended up finishing online. But during those sometimes troubling years Jarrod and I became very close, and he trusted me enough to confide in me and ask for my advice on matters of the heart. "Do you think I said the right thing, Mom?" He'd ask after sharing a conversation he'd had with his girlfriend.

My heart would swell with love and pride when Jarrod and I had those conversations. I could see the man that Jarrod was striving to be. Once again, I felt a tremendous sense of peace knowing that I was fulfilling my God-given motherly role.

When Jarrod was 19 he and some friends, who were all  under the influence, got in trouble with the law. As as a result, Jarrod had to spend 2 months in jail. The Lord used that time to work on Jarrod. He requested that I bring him a bible.

"Mom, I read this cool passage today," He told me from behind the plate glass. "I really like how it talks about the belt of truth, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit." Here was my son, stuck in jail, finding peace in Ephesians 6. And like my other son, he was teaching me the true meaning of peace.

At the tender age of 21 Jarrod was killed in a freak accident. Like Enoch, the old testament prophet whom God suddenly called home, he was no more. Maybe God was pleased with Jarrod also and wanted him. I know Jarrod didn't always walk with the Lord like Enoch, but I do know that they both ended up in the same place.

A few days after the funeral, Jarrod's girlfriend called and said, "I have to tell you what Jarrod said to me a couple of days before the accident. He told me that he felt really at peace with God."

I have some friends whose children are atheists. They worry about where their children will spend eternity. While they can still call them on the phone, sit down to meals with them, and give them hugs; they don't share the same peace I have about my children⸺a peace that surpasses all understanding.



Do I feel peaceful all the time? Absolutely not. I cry out for my boys that I miss so much. Some days it's hard to get out of bed. Some days my life without them feels more like a life sentence. 

But I have come to realize true peace doesn't mean feeling good all the time. It is grounded in the certainty of an absolute truth. This truth has been planted in our hearts by a creator that we all long to return to. Knowing that we will someday—that is peace. It waits gently behind my tears.

Monday, February 20, 2017

GOD'S TIMELINE AND MINE--TOTALLY NOT THE SAME

Acts 1:7  He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority."


It was 2004 and I had written my first book. My 216 page manuscript about our teenage son's battle with terminal cancer would surely set the world on fire! When my well meaning friend, Lisa, shipped my masterpiece off to Oprah we waited. Visions of talk shows and Good Morning America danced in my head. Certainly the world waited with baited breath for my literary contribution.

But the phone didn't ring.



It was 2010 and I had written my first children's book, a story for children with cancer. No doubt every children's hospital across the country would snatch that puppy up. Perhaps Disney would catch wind of it and make it into a movie! I mean, come on people—I had the songs chosen for the sound track!

No producers called.



It was 2015 and I was retiring from teaching. Now I would have time to promote my writing! I would attend writers' conferences and snag lucrative speaking engagements. My 3 unpublished manuscripts floating around in query-land would finally land on the appropriately ordained desks. I practiced my stage presence in front of the mirror.

Three days after I retired our 21 year old, Jarrod, was killed in an accident. Both of our sons were now with the Lord. Then my husband became ill and the bills mounted. 

It is 2017 and I am now unretired from teaching. We have sold  most of everything we own and have started over. I am back working long hours teaching, my computer waits for me when I get home, but I'm often too tired to turn it on. The agent who encouraged me to build my social media platform, query him again, probably won't hear from me any time soon.

So what have I learned? God's timing and mine aren't even close.

2 Peter 3:8 But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.


 I am slowly surrendering it all to God. Now I wake up and ask Him what He wants me to do today. I think of some of my heroes like Richard Wurmbrand, the founder of The Voice of the Martyrs who was imprisoned and tortured for his beliefs, and Corrie ten Boom who was sent to a Nazi prison camp for aiding Jews. They were grateful for small blessings  and they never lost their faith.

I think of my own hero, my son, Chris, who at the age of 14, assured me that he was at peace with dying. "Jesus is coming, Mom, and I'm going to go, so don't worry because I'll be okay." He had pointed to his schoolbooks on a shelf and smiled. "I won't be needing those where I'm going." His faith was bigger than mine.


Who am I to complain?

The Lord has given me a new ministry for now, a classroom full of needy kids. I am the third teacher they have had since the beginning of the school year. Most are from divorced parents, some in foster care, others have been ravaged by violence, abandonment and addiction. Right now God wants me to deal with real-life characters.

So every morning before school starts I kneel at my desk and I give God my classroom. I ask him to make me a light.

Matthew 5:16In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

 The other day one of my students "Sam" had a breakthrough. He has been stealing and lying about it all year. He finally trusted me enough to tell the truth. He admitted his fault and submitted to my leadership. Deep down, he knows that I believe in him. Sam has taught me a lot about what my relationship with God should look like.

Once in a while I get encouraging emails from people who have read my books. The best ones are from children dealing with cancer. They tell me my story helped them cope. Perhaps my apparent lack of earthly success in the book industry is really a triumph in the timeline of eternity.





Wednesday, February 8, 2017

WHERE ANGELS PLAY


Matthew 5:4 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."

On September 11, 2001 when the twin towers fell Fire Captain Bill Lavin grabbed his gear and rushed to his department headquarters in Elizabeth, New Jersey. He and his fire chief didn't even wait for orders to deploy. They jumped in a truck and headed to New York.



Bill did what first responders do—he ran towards the danger instead of away from it. Bill was part of that great wave of heroes who worked tirelessly for weeks and months. In an excerpt from his book: Where Angels Live Work and Play (The Story of the Sandy Ground Project) He writes  "...There was no set schedule or plan, so you just kind of worked until you were exhausted, fell asleep somewhere, then got up and did it all over again." Click here to read more.

A schoolteacher in the small coastal town of Bay St. Louis Mississippi, who had connections to New Jersey, decided to teach her students about patriotism and gratitude. So they built a mailbox and decorated it like a flag. They stuffed it full of messages, drawings, and letters to cheer up the first responders, and they delivered it to the firefighters at the Elizabeth Fire Department.




For several years the mailbox graced the chief's office at the firehouse, reminding the firefighters that someone cares. Then, in August of 2005, Hurricane Katrina demolished Bay St. Louis Mississippi. Bill and his crew had to find out if their friends at North Bay Elementary were okay. They had survived, but their school and much of their town had disappeared.

The firemen and their friends held fundraisers to help. "What do you need right now?" Bill asked the teachers.

"We need a place for our children to play." They  replied.

 Bill and his dedicated team of volunteers descended upon Bay St. Louis, and by they time they were done, they had built 3 brand-new playgrounds, one at North Bay Elementary, and 2 more in surrounding areas that were also devastated.

For a while they thought they were retired from the playground business, but then a few years later, disaster struck closer to home. In October of 2012 superstorm Sandy ripped apart much of the Atlantic coast. Bill and and his fellow first responders were once again faced with overwhelming and exhausting recovery tasks. Then in December, the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut brought the nation to its knees.

At the time Bill was also embroiled in political and union battles in an effort to preserve the firefighters pensions and benefits. Amidst all of those events Bill had reached an all-time mental and emotional low.

Then a letter from a little girl arrived. It was a letter thanking Bill and his volunteers for the playground that they had built several years earlier in Bay St. Louis. She told them how much she enjoyed growing up playing on it.They were all thinking of their New Jersey friends in the wake of Storm Sandy.

Bill writes "With all the storms and violence and overall despondency hanging over our country, here was a little girl working to pay it forward in a positive way. And it all began with a playground that had allowed her to feel cared for...What if building more playgrounds could help everyone recover and rebuild once again?"

And The Sandy Ground project was born. Click here for more information.




Bill and his expanding team of volunteers went on to build 26 more playgrounds in storm-ravaged towns in New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut The reason they built 26 was because each of the playgrounds was built to honor one of the 20 children and the 6 adults killed at Sandy Hook.

 Because of The Where Angels Play Foundation four of the most infamous and catastrophic events in recent American history have all been linked by a project of love and hope. Families of fallen children see siblings and neighbors frolicking on playgrounds uniquely designed to match their child's favorite colors and themes. Communities leveled by storms have rallied together, a new spark of hope ignited when their children received a brand-new place to play.

And the work continues. To date the Where Angels Play Foundation has erected more than 40 playgrounds! There are even plans to build one in Africa!

Revelation 21:1: "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away..."

 Although our ultimate restoration won't come until the return of our Lord, Jesus, in the meantime we are blessed with Bill and his earthly angels who spread love and build hope one playground at a time.