Memorial Day - How We Can Honor the Fallen

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BOYS TO MEN

My two boys have birthdays every summer, about two weeks (and 9 years) apart. 

We were all together recently (which is rare) and took this picture. 

Our oldest, on the left, used to be bigger than our youngest, on the right.  And the hubs (in the middle) used to be bigger than both of them. James, the baby here, is in the 100 percentile in height for others his 4-month age. Everybody's growing. 

When did that happen? 

Our oldest son used to look like this. He was three when lava lamps were cool. 

Our younger son used to look like this. 

He wore vests and bow ties and Redskins caps on Easter. 

The older one is no longer blond. The younger one has not been seen in a bow tie since this picture.  Both boys loved baseball, Legos and macaroni and cheese. Those things are still true. 

Now that we have a grandson, I'm reminded of the days I changed diapers on and gave raspberries to my own sons. When I was home with my children, the hours seemed long at times, but looking back...they are but a wink of one eye.

Somewhere along the line...boys turn into men.  They work through challenges, try to figure out women, change jobs, move, try to figure out women, make mistakes, mostly figure out women, and settle in to the game of life.

They begin to resemble their father, their grandfathers, their uncles.  Not physically (although sometimes), but in action and habit and character.  

It's supposed to happen, of course, that they grow up and onward, but it kind of happens when you're not looking.  And then...one day...you just see it.  

With my sons, it was choosing marriage that added a new depth to their lives.  They both met women who sparked in them a willingness to be vulnerable, to sacrifice, and to commit.  These are honorable - and sometimes rare - traits in a man.  

It's heart-warming to see.   

My sons are not little boys anymore, but strong, hairy adults who give me great bear hugs, which I love, love, love.  My prayer for them is that they continue to grow in tender-heartedness, courage, and conviction.  

Because life will continue to throw them curve balls now and then.  

I want them to know we will always been in the bleachers rooting for them. 

Baby James - a Month Early!

Hope everyone is having a good 2016!!!

Since Christmas, I've been wanting to spend some time blogging, but life has intervened. We've had a job loss, a move, a snow storm and THIS precious event...

Baby James arrived one month early!!!

By the hand of God, he was 6.15 lbs. upon arrival, so he was not in any danger, but he was wheeled into the NICU anyway, because, well...he was a month early! He spent five days there under a blue light with nurses getting him on a wonderful schedule, and his parents holding him whenever they could.

I WAS STUCK IN MARYLAND IN THE SNOW BLIZZARD!

I can smile about it now, but at the time...my heart was breaking because I so wanted to be here to see our first grandchild arrive. I figured traveling a month before James' due date to see my sister, I would be fine. James had other ideas. The best laid plans...

I met James the night I came home. We drove straight to the NICU from the airport, where I got to cry over this beautiful child with a full head of hair.  He was wrapped up like a burrito and as warm as a baked potato. I think he winked at me in our time together, but I'm not positive.

I looked at our son, who was now a father, through tears, and I cried as I embraced our daughter-in-law, who did a marvelous job of handling labor (she pushed for only about ten minutes before the boy was free - who gets that?!?)

I don't even have words to describe our love for this child, who is now home. Every grandparent knows the feeling. I'm now in the 'I'm nutty about my grandchild' club, and yes, you'll have to tolerate photos now and then of this sweet boy.

A side note - I had a great visit with my sister, even once the snow began. I've not seen snow like this in 25 years. It was beautiful, I must say. And we had fun digging out.

TWO CARS BURIED

MY FIRST MESSAGE TO JAMES FROM MARYLAND

It was an emotional week. The day James Daniel was born in sunny Florida, even the skies in Maryland celebrated, raining down two feet of angel flakes.

That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

A Special Book Review: "Kissed by an Angel"

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Trump, Planned Parenthood, and Other Difficulities

I've tried for a week now to write a post, but crummy stuff kept happening that made me think, I can't write about that, so I wrote nothing. I finally decided I'm going to write a grumpy post, because sometimes life just makes me grumpy. And I need to get it out. I'm betting you've been there too.

If all you want today is sunshine and giggles, this is not the post for you. Feel free to click to facebook. I won't mind.

1. I've had a heck of a head cold this week. At times, it has felt like Strep, and then bronchitis, and then a sinus infection. I'm on day 9, and I still can't shift the mucus in my head. That's probably too much information, but, as I said...grumpy post.

2. Donald Trump. I get why the guy is popular, I do. He says what he thinks. What you see is what you get. We don't get that with many politicians. But, seriously...the guy is not a statesman. If America allows him to get as far as the Oval Office, I will be extremely concerned. And awfully grumpy.

3. My portable hard drive died this week.  Quietly, with no warning, it simply stopped working. All my writing, all my photographs for the past five years - buried in a cold, black, plastic rectangle the size of half a sandwich. I was in denial about it for two days, just kept plugging it in, thinking it would work. We even put it in the freezer (some online advice) after which it flickered a bit. This gave me tremendous hope, but then....it loaded nothing. Even with being plugged in all night, the little wheel just kept turning and getting nowhere. I mailed it to my brilliant nephew, Jim, who is an IT specialist, in the hopes that he can work a miracle.  If nothing can be retrieved....I don't even know. I'll be in mourning for awhile.

4. My mom does not seem to be returning to the woman she was two months ago. After a fall and six weeks of various treatments for various issues, she's lost some of her interest in life. She's become fixated on a few things, she prefers to just stay in her room, she wants to sleep a lot, seems withdrawn. She's told me she's ready for heaven, and she seems to be just waiting for Jesus to come get her. I know passing from this life will bring her peace, but I really can't imagine my life without her.  This makes me more sad than grumpy.

5. The Planned Parenthood videos. They are horrific. The worst one I've seen shows bloody, fetal remains. Selling body parts is barbaric, yes, but I have to say, are we not being enlightened about the realities of abortion? We must be BRAVE and WATCH the videos. I know it's hard, because then we have to take responsibility for what we've seen. We need to start doing that too.

6. I'm really missing a friend who moved away a few months ago. We used to walk once a week and vent about our lives and pray about our families and laugh about life's absurdities. I think about her every Friday and talk to her in my head, but it's just not the same.

A heavy couple of weeks.

Some good things happened too, I must tell you:

1. A dear blogger friend, Robyn Campbell, reviewed my ebook (you can see that here: 12 DAYS REVIEW)

2. Our first grandchild is growing along very well. It's now the size of a plum.

3.  My daughter and husband both skydived for the first time and landed safely to say they would do it again in a heartbeat.

I know I have to put weeks like this into perspective. My head understands this. It's just so darn full of mucus right now.

My heart takes longer to to course correct. It likes to drag its sad, little face around and whine. Sometimes, eating chocolate covered graham crackers and listening to a whiny heart is just easier.

I'll snap back in a few days. In the meantime, thanks for listening.

Reflections On a Family Renuion

It seems like I've been off the planet for a while, but I really just went to Denver. I had spotty Internet service in the mountains, so I felt somewhat disconnected. After the initial withdrawal symptoms, it was nice. I played corn hole and watched no television. I hung some clothes on the line and, I felt like Laura Ingalls' neighbor. Half pint and I would have been friends.

I was attending a family reunion that included lots of twists and turns and some unexpected blessings. Over the course of my trip, I had eight plane flights with nary a delay, nor unpleasant seat companions. How often does that happen?

Once the relatives arrived from California and Florida and the Midwest, we had great food, lots of laughs and a few tears as we remembered the death of a loved one eight months ago. I saw cousins I don't see very often. We all decided we're turning into our parents, in appearance and ailments.

Our reunion was hosted by a relative by marriage who had not met any of the regular attendees. She opened her home and refrigerator to strangers, and by the time we all left, she was their favorite person in the room. Only God can open hearts in such a way. We are a blessed family.

As we overate and shared memories, it struck me that people become intimate by sharing their struggles. We can bond over joyous occasions, but true intimacy (into-me-see) comes from sharing a disappointment, a loss, a heartache. Because that's when we realize we are not alone. Every heart has been broken by one thing or another. No one escapes this life unscathed.

No matter what facades we erect, we all have fleshy, vulnerable hearts that long for security and affirmation and peace. It's how we're wired. When people gather in groups, there can be much superficial chit-chat, so I appreciate when people are genuine and open to connecting with another human soul. We had a lot of that at the reunion, aging cousins who shared our worries over declining parents and our hopes for grown kids still finding their way.

Colorado is a long way from Florida - a day's travel and enough of a time difference to mess with my sleep cycle for a few days. But at the Kemp reunions, it seems like we all live just down the street from one another.

Here's a picture from forty years ago...and one we recreated last week with the same cousins. 

Cool, huh?

This group is from my mom's side of the family - my mom who no longer attends the reunions because she's 95 and travel is not an option for her anymore. We called her and passed the phone around, so she could talk with everyone, although she doesn't catch much over the phone. When my mom and her two remaining siblings are gone, this group of cousins will become the elderly group in the family. We still feel like the kids, so this is weird to think about.

I don't know where the time went. But, it sure went fast.

Life at Both Ends

My 94-year old Mom has been in the hospital for nine days.

A few states away, there is a new baby in the family, just two days old.

Both are wrapped in cozy blankets, both are fragile and needy and vulnerable.


Both are loved so much.


Opposite ends of the spectrum, these two lives. One is surrounded by joy and tears. The other is accompanied by frequent sadness and tears. Both tug on the heart and draw us closer to God, who authors all life.

Mom will be 95 in just a few days, and in a month, her latest great grandson will be visiting. I pray we can get a photo of these two together, but today Mom talked of being so tired and getting a feeling that her life is winding down, so we will see what God has planned.

When I look at Mom, I see a long, full life.   When I gaze on this sweet new grand nephew of ours, I see a long, full life. Mom has many memories; our grand nephew has none. I cannot visualize our grand nephew at 95.  Only God knows what his journey will be. 

Life is short and long at the same time. When I'm sitting with Mom, who is often confused these days, the hours are long because there is a relenting grief that this may be the last day I see her.  When my brother holds his new grandson, I'm sure he's aware that this little boy will grow up as fast as his own sons did. Time seems to be measured by the heart - what we are celebrating, and what is painful. 

Life is amazing and scary and surprising at both ends.  It has value at both ends.  And every day in between. 

WHO'S ON FIRST

Today is our firstborn's birthday.  

Every new baby ignites in his parents an enormous passion, and a fierce sense of protection and provision.  It just wells up, usually accompanied by tears. 

The first time that happens, however....your defenses are stripped away, your heart is laid bare, and you realize, maybe for the first time, what unconditional love is.

You realize how vulnerable you now are.  You have just created something you will protect more than yourself.

In the summer of '77, we became parents for the first time.  Our tiny, flesh-of-our-flesh, often smelly newborn was completely ours to snuggle and nurture and feed and clean and teach and love.    

It was overwhelming and frightening and wonderful.

We realized early on, however, that we were completely inadequate parents.  We didn't actually know anything.

We worried that we'd drop this precious bundle, or not hear him if he was suffocating against the mattress.

We worried that, as a toddler, he'd run into the street, or trip over a brick and knock his new teeth out, or find a dead worm and eat it.

The worries only got bigger: the copious germs at school, predators offering our innocent boy a candy bar, crummy friends who would lure him into stupid behavior, and, worst of all...GIRLS.

Despite the worries, our firstborn could not have been more adored.  As the first grandchild on my side of the family, we were "over the moon" with this youngster.

He was born one year after my twenty-three year old brother unexpectedly passed away.  This fresh, new life was a soothing balm to my grieving parents. 

Our firstborn was a smart, serious child who loved Legos, transformers, and McGyver.  (To this day, we all believe duct tape and a pocket knife should fix anything.)

When the soccer coach broke our son's seven-year old tibia with a powerful, but misplaced kick, I tearfully learned that I could not protect my boy from the world.  This is a heart-wrenching moment for a mom.  

That same year, this son won the Fire Prevention Week art contest for the second grade.  I had tears in my eyes again.  This tough little guy who weathered a clunky leg cast and crutches for six weeks was artistic and creative, and pretty nonchalant about it too.   He's still not one to blow his own horn.

But, his mom will.  Here's the second grade winner... 

...and some of his later work, a portrait of all the grandchildren with G.G., their great-grandmother.

Don't miss the tiniest little sprout on G.G's lap.   This picture is so precious, my heart aches. 

As the oldest child, our son was a good little helper, a job most firstborns tire of over time.  God bless 'em.  The burden of being first. 

He once referred to himself as the "experimental child," which is, unfortunately, true.   The first offspring has to weather the learning curve of Mom and Dad.   I can only pray that our insane love for this child counter-balanced our inexperience. 

Our son became self-reliant early on, and moved to Arizona with only what he could fit in his pick-up.  He has an adventurous spirit that enables him to follow his heart.  Once on his own, he never asked us for anything.

He's a whip-smart pharmacy technician, a talented musician, and an avid baseball fan.  He also does a very good Jim Carrey impersonation. 

He's still creative.  A few years ago, he proposed to his girlfriend on opening day at Fenway Park.  Then, he designed their wedding invitation, incorporating a baseball theme. 

I believe any children will have reddish hair. 

Today, we thank God for our firstborn.  The child that made us a family.

Happy, blessed birthday, beloved son.

All our love...

Mom and Dad

Grateful Beyond Words

I'm so grateful to God for life this week.  Two big events took my peace and kept me fearful for a bit, even though I prayed fairly unceasingly during the waiting periods.  I was not in control of either situation, and I realized how weak my faith can be.  By the grace of God, I'm still His.  He never left me alone.

Situation one:  I've had blood in my urine for a month.   Not enough to see, but enough to need a cat scan to look at my kidneys and my bladder.  I had the cat scan and waited a week before the doc called me at 7:30 in the morning and said the CT did show something abnormal, and could I come in that afternoon for a cystoscopy?  I wanted to yell, can I come in right now?!?

From 7:30 until 1:30, I worried.  I prayed and worried.  I called my husband, who came home from work to go to the doc with me.  Once he was home, we tried not to imagine the worst, but of course, we did.  I texted my best friend, my daughter, and my sister to ask for prayer.  My sister told me later that while she waited for the final word from me, she wondered if she would be able to donate to me one of her kidneys.  I cried when she told me this.

During those waiting, morning hours, I wiped up the kitchen and folded laundry and scrolled mindlessly though facebook, anything to occupy my mind.  Every time my mind would consider the fact that I might hear fatal news, I rolled that into the prayer, Be still and know that I am God.  Be still and know that I am God.  Be still, be still, be still.

We arrived at the doctor's office early, and I flipped though an old TIME magazine, reading parts of articles, comprehending nothing.   The nurse called me back, and my husband came with me.  I would be on my back in stirrups for the cystoscopy, but I wanted him in the room.  Once I was gowned and ready, we waited another fifteen minutes. It seemed like an hour.

The doc came in and explained that the CT showed my kidneys were fine, but it appeared there was a mass on my bladder.  The cystoscopy would give him a better look.  Within a minute, the scope was in and we saw my bladder on the small screen to my left.  He pointed out different aspects of my bladder - all healthy tissues.  No mass.  He smiled and said, "Your bladder is fine.  I suspect it was empty during the CT and it folded in on itself, which bladders sometimes do."

I stared at him. "The bladder is fine?  The kidneys are fine?"

"Both fine," he said.  "The urethra is a bit irritated.  We'll give you some cream for that, and I'm 99% sure the bleeding will stop.  It's nice to get good news once in a while, isn't it?"

I took a deep breath and looked at my husband.  He had tears in his eyes.

Situation two: Exactly a week after the fearful morning/good news cystoscopy, our youngest son was in a car accident.

Front of the car

 

Back of the car

He was rear-ended by a young woman who plowed into him at a stop light.  He swerved, went off the road, and hit a tree.  He was crunched from both ends. The air bag knocked him with such force, his glasses broke, and his seat was flattened into a reclining position.  With such impact from both ends, his over-six-feet frame could have been broken in many places.

He emerged with only a bloody elbow and bruises from the air bag.  Unbelievable.  (No one else was hurt.)

Our daughter-in-law called us (we are two hours away) and kept us updated.  Until he was seen in the ER and cleared from head or internal injuries, I was back in worry/prayer mode.  A few hours later, we talked to our son.  He was sore, but assured us he was OK.  The accident was not his fault, insurance would kick in, he already had an appointment to get new glasses.

I breathed deeply, and my husband and I looked at each other, again, with tears in our eyes.

People get terrible medical news every day.  People are injured or killed in car accidents every day.  I don't know why we were spared the worst of things these past two weeks.  I know God is good all the time, whether we are ill or well, safe or harmed.  Life is random and crazy.  God is not.

He's in control all the time.  He's loving all the time.  He wants the best for us all the time.

A time will come when life will not serve me the best outcome.  I pray I will remain true to whom I know God to be.  All the time.

Two Things I Need to Remember (constantly)

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30 Things I Didn't Know Before I Was a Mom

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X Men

A good friend of our son's was married over the weekend.

As the groomsmen stood to watch the bride and groom cut the cake (on stage), several wedding guests hopped up to get a shot of the groomsmen.  Some of these guys have known each other since second grade.  To see them all standing tall and grown, although a bit rumpled....well, it brought tears to my eyes.

I love these boys and the history they have shared.  Our son is second from the left, the tallest.  He's married, as are two of the other groomsmen.  They know what the groom is getting into.

And when challenges come, as they always do, these young men will encourage their buddy and tell him that no, you'll never completely understand your wife, but you really don't have to.  Your job is to love her anyway.  As she'll need to do for you too, because she won't always get you either.

Such is marriage.

From chubby toddler-hood, to scrawny adolescence, to manhood, our boys grow up.  And by the grace of God, they make us proud.

Sharing My Care-taking Heart

I was going to acknowledge St. Patrick's day yesterday, but the day got away from me, and before I knew it, it was tomorrow.  Or today.   Anyhoo...hope you all had a shamrock-y kind of day.  I have some Irish in me by way of my maternal grandmother, but I did not get the lovely green eyes, or auburn hair.  Our daughter got those.  She's pretty lucky too, so I think she's the Irish gem in our family. 

Today...I found myself here with Dad again...

If you guessed we were at the library or Pizza Hut, you get a goose egg.  We made our weekly trip to the ER for another infection.  Since the placement of Dad's SP tube, infections have been popping up weekly.  We're on a hamster wheel...around and around we go.  He's only off antibiotics for a day or two before another bug starts brewing.  We see the urologist again on Thursday. 

How long can this go on, I keep asking myself?  Can one be on antibiotics forever?  Doesn't seem like a good plan, but what are the options?  A 90+ bladder is a puzzling thing.  Dad's spirits are pretty good, although he's very tired of ER runs.  I'm grateful we have a good ER set-up and to date, the docs and nurses have been very kind.  We should be racking up some frequent flyer miles though. 

We're flying to MD this weekend to help my in-laws get settled in a new apartment.  My father-in-law had a stroke last week and is now in rehab.  The hubs and I are going to be helping clean out the old townhouse and hoping to bring some cheer to these youngsters, who are 85-ish.  When you work with 90-year olds, folks in their 80's look pretty spry.

I've been helping my folks for five years, since Dad's stroke in 2009.  It's been such an eye-opener to realize all that's involved in helping the elderly.  As body parts deteriorate, there are many, many issues that have to be addressed.  Geriatrics is an entire field of study that I never thought two hoots about until my dad needed assistance.  I continue to be surprised by how complicated the body is and how one weak unit affects the others.  It's like trying to play catch up with a cheater.  The game isn't really fair, and we never get ahead.

I know our time with my parents and my in-laws is limited, and we do our best to be helpful.  I somehow think that will change all this - that the right care, enough attention, enough encouragement will make the decline stop, or at least slow down.  But, it doesn't.  This makes me very sad, and sometimes, I just cry for no reason.  I'm not having a bad day, and nothing triggers it, but tears just come.  I think my heart is weary of the long goodbye. 

My sweet mother-in-law with two of her seven children

I've heard people who have a loved one dealing with Alzheimer's talk about this.  Neither my folks, nor my in-laws have been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, just some standard dementia expected at their age.  But, it's true that walking through the years of decline in a loved one is like a relentless grieving.   You know the end is coming, but you don't know when, so you guard yourself, and yet prepare yourself, and the heart goes back and forth and up and down and outward and inward. 

My only strength is in God, and His love for all of us.  I have no strength of my own anymore to uplift and help Mom and Dad.  My flesh is truly weak.  Even up to last year, I thought the efforts of my family could change things, but they really can't.  There will come a time when all I have left to do for the folks is to just hold their hands and smooch their foreheads. 

This whole letting go thing is so strange.  Dad thinks he will walk again and visit his childhood home in Indiana sometime.  Mom thinks if Dad took better care of himself, he'd live forever.  They both think every doctor visit will offer some new solution that will cure them of all their ills and turn back time.  

And I keep thinking all of this will surely get easier.

 

LIFE UNDER COVER

I wrote this post exactly a year ago.  Interesting how the weather has been similar lately.  I love how versatile t-shirts can be.  

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

It's snowing up north.  

In fact, as of last night, Florida was the only state in the lower 48 that did not have snow.  That's a big white blanket.  

Heaters are cranked, cars are stuck; flights are canceled, people are stuck.  

Again.  

The cold seems relentless when you're in the middle of it.  Or buried under it.   

It's been cold here in Florida, too.  Although nothing like Massachusetts, or even, currently, Georgia.  

But the other day, I received a delicate and beautiful reminder that new life presses through the harshest of conditions. 

We had a freezing spell recently.  We turned on the heat and pulled out the jackets and scarves.  

And t-shirts....

You know it's cold in Florida when people toss clothes and bedding into the yard. 

I know Northerners are laughing because, during the winter months, THEIR yards are covered with something else....

 

Isn't this beautiful?  Looks like a post card.  My sister's home.

Winter is simply cold, wherever you are.  

And during the thermal underwear,  
fuzzy mitten, 
see-your-breath,
chamomile tea, 

bronchitis,

dry skin,

humidifier, 
windshield scraping,
slippery roads,
dead grass phase...

...it's sometimes hard to remember that spring will roll around again.

We had t-shirts on our plants for a week.  I kept a cashmere scarf around my neck in the house.  I baked a lot to keep the oven on.  I used the dryer because it was too cold to hang clothes on the line. 

Then...the temp rose to 40 degrees.  

My husband went outside to remove the t-shirts from the shrubbery.  

And came inside with this...

I actually caught my breath and went, "Awwwww..."  

It was such a sweet sight.  This baby rose with paper-thin, velvet petals.  

It had bloomed under a t-shirt (just like real babies, come to think of it.)

Despite the cold.  

Despite the frost.  

With no direct sunshine.  

Hidden from sight.  

It warmed my heart.  And I wanted to share it with everyone who is shivering today...or embedded in snow. 

It's a lovely reminder that the freezing blanket of winter is not permanent (unless you live in Alaska, then I can't help you.) 

Winter is just one season.  It will pass. 

We'll be mowing the grass and sweating before you know it. 

In the meantime, here's another reminder.... 

Stay snuggly,

WHERE WERE YOU?

The morning of September 11, 2001, I was at the gym.  The aerobics class I normally took on Tuesdays was cancelled because the instructor was stuck in Washington D.C.

Her flight had been delayed, for - to us - an unknown reason. 

Fifteen minutes later I arrived home and flipped on the news.  Matt Lauer was interviewing an author, when he interrupted the conversation to announce that a plane had crashed into a World Trade Center building.

That was the beginning. 

Minutes later, I watched in disbelief as a plane flew into a second building.

Then we knew.  Someone was intentionally killing Americians.

news.nationalgeographic.com

It was incomprehensible, just didn't seem real.  I tried to reach my daughter, away at college in Pennsylvania.  My son called from Maryland.  Is this really happening? we kept saying.

When the towers fell, I became nauseous.  This is what evil looks like, I thought.

By the time a fourth plane dove into the ground in Shanksville, I decided it was time to wake up my husband, who was working nights at the time.  I hated to do it.  He had served the Air Force for twenty years.  He would be heart-sick.

I got him up, and together, we stared at the TV for the rest of the day.   How could such a thing happen?  We kept shaking our heads, unable to imagine the level of hatred that devises such a plan. 

news.nationalgeographic.com

Through all the horror and grief, Americans united to support one another and stand resolute that this tragedy would not break us.

Today, I am praying for those who died on that day.  I'm praying for their families.  I'm remembering the days immediately following 9/11/2001, when the best of us emerged.  We turned to God and each other for comfort and healing.

And yet, years later...we are again bickering about politics, economics and social issues.  It seems we have forgotten how easily we can be humbled when the worldly things in which we place our trust are destroyed. 

The aerobics instructor returned safely to Florida to tell her story of how, after the first two planes struck, passengers in the airport were told to run from the terminal.  With hundreds of others, she ran for her life to an empty field and waited for instruction. 

There are many lessons from 9/11.  

blog.heritage.org

A frightening one is that evil exists.  

The good news is that, in the end...God wins.  

Accidental Blessings

An event happened a week ago yesterday that is just now beginning to recede a bit in my mind. 

Our daughter was in a car accident in Virginia.  We live in Florida.  We were sixteen hours away from her.

My husband got the tearful call about 8:30 in the morning.  Our daughter was OK enough to call her dad and then text a close-by relative.  Upon rounding a highway curve, she found traffic stopped and hit the car in front of her.  She swerved to minimize the punch, but then spun around across the road and hit the guard rail on the other side.

I did not see a picture of the her car until the next day, and maybe it was better I didn't, because I know I would have been more scared and tearful than I already was. 

The totaled Nissan

I didn't talk to our daughter for a few hours after the accident, because she had to deal with the police, and then the ER.  My sister-in-law and her husband rushed to the crash site and filled in for us, hugging her and helping her and insisting she take the drugs the ER doc gave her.   She had no broken bones, just bruises and a seat belt mark on her neck.  When I look at the car pictures, I am still amazed and so grateful she did not have more injuries.

Front View

By the grace of God, I keep thinking.  Our daughter credits the Nissan Versa for saving her life.  She also credits her guardian angel, whom she calls Patient Steve.   

I finally talked to our girl, who assured me she was fine, just sore, but so "proud" of her car.  She was thankful there was no other traffic on the road.  So grateful she did not hurt anyone (the woman in the car she did hit was fine, and her car did not have nearly the damage the Nissan sustained.)

Our daughter was grateful there was a policeman just a few cars behind her.  She was so grateful her accident occurred in VA near family and not in Canada, or Pennsylvania, from where she had just traveled.  She was grateful she has insurance, grateful for the Vicodin that helped her through the next three days, grateful for her wonderful aunt and uncle who hovered over her with love and concern.

We are grateful for all of that too.

When my brother (the ex-clown who lives in Maryland) heard of the accident, he called to offer to drive to Virginia to get our girl.  I assured him she was with family, but we did need to get her home somehow.  He offered to bring her to South Carolina - we would each drive halfway.  I was so touched by this offer, tears welled in my eyes.  He happened to be on vacation last week and assured me he didn't mind the trip.  This was pure gift.

Forty-eight hours later, we got to hug our daughter at a Baymont Inn and see that she truly was in once piece.

I had that "you're never leaving my sight again" feeling, but luckily for her, it didn't last too long.  I know my children are just on loan to me for awhile...they ultimately belong to God, and He's in charge.

But, man, did I squeeze her.

Since we've been home, the blessings in this trauma have continued to pile up.  She found another car - a Nissan Versa - within three days.  She did not want another brand.  "The Versa saved my life," she reminded us more than once.   Her car insurance actually went down a bit, because this Versa is a few years newer than the old one.   Her car payment is similar, and it fits in the carport of new (for her) house.

Yesterday, she was checked out by and released from the follow-up doctor, and she's ready to move on.  School starts in a few weeks, and already she's tutoring a student in Chemistry.

What a difference a week makes.  A day.  An hour.  Life can change in a minute.  When my mind drifts to what could have been...my heart snaps back to what is.  There are no words to express the gratitude I have for my Virginia sister-in-law and her husband, for my brother, for safe travel to S.C., for no lasting injuries, for GEICO, for Nissan, for good doctors and kind policemen, for every positive detail of this incident.

When bad things happen, some people wonder why God didn't prevent the tragedy, why He "allowed" it.  I'm grateful I know God is good all the time, regardless of circumstances.  Heartache and suffering are part of this life, because people are fallible and insecure and sometimes very foolish.  It's the human condition.  God does promise He will never leave us, and if we trust Him, He will bring good from everything.  Everything.  He also promises that suffering is not the end of the story.

Our daughter said it best when she posted this on facebook a few days ago.

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new.” Then he said, 
"Write this down, for these words are 
trustworthy and true."         Rev. 21:5










                                                         New Versa