FAMILY ART SHARES A JOYFUL GRIEF

It all started with a hurricane named Katrina.The children at North Bay Elementary in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi no longer had a place to play. A group of fireman who had been first responders at 911 volunteered to build them a new playground.This was the birth of the "Where Angels Play Foundation". (See featured post at right.)

 Since then they have built 47 playgrounds up and down the east coast, Canada, and even one in Rwanda. Most of the playgrounds have been built in memory of children who died much too young. These projects include 26 playgrounds erected in memory of the Sandy Hook victims.

Many of the playgrounds feature art created by the children: 

Playground in Ocean City, N.J. in memory of Sandy Hook victim, Benjamin Wheeler.

Playground number 48 is scheduled to be built in Sarasota, Florida, in April. It is being built in memory of our boys, Chris, who passed at age 14 from cancer, and his younger brother, Jarrod, who died in an accident at age 21. To have our children associated with this tremendous act of love is an indescribable honor. Click here for more info.

So, like the other parents we were invited to contribute art for our playground. But as we dug through our boys' childhood drawings most of what we found were battle scenes with flaming tanks and smoking airplanes plummeting through the sky. Typical boy stuff, but not quite appropriate for a peaceful playground.

Being an artist, I set out to create a fitting memorial for our boys. For Chris, it would be feathers. In my book Christopher's Journey there is a chapter entitled "A Feather Under My Pillow" which tells that magical story. Read more. Chris also had a huge collection of Star Wars Legos. This inspired my first drawing:

Psalm 91:4: He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Then I had a wonderful idea. Why not invite family members to contribute their art ?! One of my husband, Rob's, favorite memories with Chris was a beautiful day at sea when they caught a hammerhead shark. (Of course they threw it back.) To commemorate that occasion our granddaughter, Saradi, sketched this:

Our Jarrod was a gifted athlete. So our nephew, Sean, drew this image honoring Jarrod's prowess on his bike:

My sister, Maureen, had several unusual butterfly encounters after the boys went to be with the Lord:

Perhaps most touching of all was our eight year old granddaughter, Skyla's, tribute to Uncle Jarrod's love of fishing and all things aquatic:

You gotta love those lips!

It has been my immense pleasure to integrate these drawings, and more, into a completed design. The final image will be a two color etching displayed at our playground that will be unveiled in April. I can't wait to share it with you!

 Perhaps you too are grieving and have family members who are able to express their love in some creative way:

• Woodworking
• Quilting
• Gardening
• Collage
• Poetry
• Mural
• Sculpture
• Scrapbooking
• Music

For more ideas click here.

As for my family and myself we count ourselves grateful that our project is one that will benefit our entire community and connect us with other grieving families around the world. Best of all our artwork will be bathed in the laughter of children.

Exodus 35:35 ESV / 

He has filled them with skill to do every sort of work done by an engraver or by a designer or by an embroiderer in blue and purple and scarlet yarns and fine twined linen, or by a weaver—by any sort of workman or skilled designer

Have you designed memorial art? I would love to see it. Did this blog post inspire you to create? Tell us about it. I would enjoy sharing your projects in a future blog.

AT 81 SHE MARRIED THE BOY NEXT DOOR

I've heard people say, "It's such a shame that youth is wasted on the young." Wouldn't we all love to have a 25 year old body along with the seasoned mind of a wise elder? That's what it will be like for all of us in heaven.

2 Cor 5:2  "We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing."

My parents came from the "greatest generation", the World War II generation. They were married for over 40 years before my Dad passed away. They never fell out of love. They weren't perfect; they had arguments, but they knew the secrets of a long term relationship.

1 Cor 13:7: "Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance."

I learned more from the way my parents argued than from the way they made up. They always attacked the problem not each other.

Their other big secret : Laugh at yourself. When my Dad screwed something up, and my mom was annoyed he'd say "If I were you I wouldn't ask me to do that again." And they would both laugh.

When my Dad died my mom was lonely and lost. So who would ever imagine that she'd find a twilight romance right next door? One door over lived Ed, whose wife, Carol,had passed away also. It started with a shared ride to church and blossomed from there.

Now, married almost eight years, they are loving each other through health issues common in the elderly. Mom has trouble walking, so Ed can be her legs. Ed has mild dementia, so Mom reminds him to take his medicine. Every morning he says "Good morning Mrs. Britt, I love you." And she responds, "I love you, Mr. Britt." Like my Dad before him. Ed refers to Mom  as "his bride".

They both got it right in their first marriages, so they transferred that mutual mindset to this relationship. But the most important reason their marriage works is because there are really three of them: Ed, Inez, and The Lord.

1 John 4:12: “No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us."

The courage, humor, and tenacity with which these two face the challenges of aging is truly inspirational. Getting across the house with her walker is a marathon for Mom. She grimaces in pain, but doesn't complain. I want to dig through my closet and award her one of my old 26.2 medals.

 Ed just chuckled the other day when I sat on the TV remote and no one could figure out how to get the picture back. I was ready to pitch it across the room in frustration, but how could I with such an example of patience sitting before me?

In this era, where couples don't commit to marriage anymore and everyone is either buried in their phones or in a hurry to scurry somewhere else, there is much to be learned from their example.

I think that the Lord has honored both them for their life-long commitment to Him by blessing them with each other in this winter of their lives. 

The drifts are piled high outside, but the fire burns warmly inside.

CRUISING SOBER

A number of years ago, back in my lushful days, I sat in our cruise cabin(large cocktail in hand), gazing at the daily schedule.  I spotted a meeting listed  for 'Friends of Bill W.' "What is that?" I asked my husband.

"That's an AA meeting." He replied.

"Oh, those poor people!" I gasped. "Imagine going on a cruise and not drinking." Back then I really couldn't imagine not drinking on vacation. In those days a cruise ship was a giant vessel filled with bars, fruity drink specials, and an epaulet clad designated driver.

Nowadays, cruising for us is an entirely different experience. No more bed spins enhanced by a wavy ocean. No more passing out after dinner and missing the show. And best of all—no more drama. 

We recently returned from a lovely 7 night Eastern Caribbean Cruise. This was our second time traveling with a sober group, "The 2nd Annual Gratitude at Sea Cruise." On board we enjoyed meetings, workshops, fellowship at dinner, and great company on shore excursions.

Imagine bringing your best friends with you on vacation. Not the ones you have to associate with because you work with them, or because you happen to be related. No, true friends who care about you, people you don't have to impress. 

There are several advantages to traveling with a group in recovery. One is having your own built in support group. If the sound of the blender at the Lido Deck bar starts my brain churning I have the cabin numbers of shipmates who will be more than happy to help me play that tape to the end.

The truth is, I'm rarely tempted. If I were I simply wouldn't go. So if you are in your first weeks or months of sobriety a cruise might not be for you. 

Another advantage of traveling with sober friends is the instant connection. How many times have you heard folks newly returned from a trip say, "We met these wonderful people..."? On our cruise it felt like we had brought all of the wonderful people with us.This connection comes from being with others who are actively working a spiritual program. Instead of sitting on bar stools lying and crying, grasping at superficial relationships, we share our deepest thoughts in a nonjudgmental atmosphere.

Hebrews 10:24-25 "And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another..."

 Also, being with a group in recovery ensures that people will actually show up at the shipboard meetings. A common complaint of sober cruisers is that the meetings are tiny, and sometimes unattended. We were able to work with our travel agent, who happens to be my husband, to schedule all of our on board activities at times that suited our needs.

My favorite reason for cruising with a sober group is that it is just plain fun. Some of the activities that I have enjoyed on my 2 sober cruises include renting motorized bikes in Cozumel, hiking to Damajagua Falls in The Dominican Republic, diving a shipwreck in Grand Cayman, and relaxing on a private beach in the Bahamas. 

Rob and I enjoying the beautiful beach at Half Moon Cay, Bahamas

Damajagua Fall, Dominican Republic

Anyone who has traveled has most likely experienced waiting in line, looking for luggage, unexpected  delays, last minute itinerary changes(We did thanks to Hurricanes Irma and Maria) or other inconveniences. It's just part of the travel experience. But when these typical annoyances come up with folks in recovery we are much more likely to shrug and take them in stride. People who have experienced humility and gratitude laugh the loudest. After all, we are not a glum lot!

For more information on cruise groups or to receive information on next year's Gratitude at Sea Cruise call 877-554-2789 or visit: www.cruiseone.com/rditmars. 

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.

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.

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.’

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)

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