a blog post from "shug" (my mom)

my mom wrote this today and asked me to post it on my blog. I thought it was very sweet of her.

So many times I have wanted to respond to the blog written or to the encouraging and affirming responses. I want to shelter the one that hurts and celebrate and thank the ones who offer up such loving support. Not yet. Wait. One day. So I did. Until today.

You see, I am the mother of the mother who grieves. I hurt because I know she hurts and I weep because I know she is weeping. No love like a parent’s love. And there is nothing I can do. But there is HOPE and there is PROMISE and that is the pike I must look down. To endure. To sustain. To support. To encourage. To make a difference.

JESUS WEPT. DEEPLY. It’s a powerful visual. His friend, Lazarus, was dead. His sisters, Mary and Martha were distraught. Tears were streaming down the faces of mourners and cries of unbearable pain could be heard by all. As Jesus stood in the midst of this Middle Eastern scene of sorrow, he became engulfed with sadness and overtaken with grief. How could this be when he knew he was about to perform a joyous miracle? I believe it is pretty simple. He is our Father. We are His children. We are his Beloved. The love he has for each soul he creates is extraordinary. Incomprehensible, thus, our pain is his pain. On that dark day in Bethany, every suffering that had and would span the ages, was his. HE WEPT. Deep guttural weeping. And so do we. At times. And it’s OK.

But we can’t stay there. There is more to the story. We were never intended for suffering. God created us to live in perfection with Him, free of any pain and sadness. No wonder he cries. So somewhere in all of this, there has to be a happy ending. In Bethany, there was a miracle. Life was restored. For us it is the same. Life everlasting.

Joy does come in the morning. It is promised. We will embrace it. Together. We are family. Annie is our Beloved. She is his perfect creation. God is weaving her into something extraordinary. I sense it. I see glimpses of it.

And we patiently wait. With excitement.

And we try to make a Difference. Stay tuned.

Shug

On a side note . . . To those that have shared so openly on Brooke’s blog, please know your words to her have also been extremely uplifting to Annie’s “Shug and Pop”. Thank you and God Bless.

o.m.g.

well, baby jared #2 is on the way.

7 weeks.

no doctor appt. yet, so you know, optimistic but realistic.

big time nausea.

big time fatigue.

overwhelmed, elated, overwhelmed.

praying for a healthy little one, and some relief from the nausea.

until then....surviving.

wound up.

somebody acted like they had been drinking mountain dew from their sippy cup. who took my sweet little child???? I kid, I kid. I love her, crazy days and all.

when I look down the road

when I look down the pike, so to speak, sometimes I ache with grief.

Soon, Annie will be less baby and more kid. and it's not so cool to be a bald kid.

people don't understand.

people say all the time- "she's SO big! Look at her talk! Look at all those teeth!"

like, she's some enigma of baby world. a talking, running around, mouth full of teeth baby.

and all because she is bald.

bald equals baby.

funny thing, she's actually not that big for her age. she's actually small. oh, and yes, she is my baby, but if she had hair, you would know she is actually a toddler. or at least more toddler than baby.

if I had a margarita for every time someone has told me in the past month about some distant so and so who didn't get hair until their 5th birthday, I would be intoxicated for a week.

annie might not have hair ever.

so, please somebody tell me how to raise a child without hair in this mad world. I mean, really, no one has to tell me the paradox of superficiality here- and how I know many a mom who would trade their sad story for mine.

I spoke with a mom the other night, who for three years watched her child have seizures every single day. and then he finally died- because they mercifully let him pass, and not be ventilator dependent for life. a three year old.

she told me something that haunted me.

she said, most people have something happen in their life eventually that shows them what they are made of.

I came home and hugged my bald baby. my BIG, TALKING, BALD BABY.

and I thought, she will learn this lesson earlier than most, over something so trivial and profound as hair.

I have two hair clips in my volvo. I bought them when Annie had hair. I keep them where I left them, because some days I feel hopeful that this won't be a part of her story.

because who wants their child to suffer in any way?

someone actually told me recently- "at least she won't have to shave her legs!"

really? that's the trade off?

that's lame.

If given the choice, I imagine most people would trade the small hassle of leg shaving to have even an inch of hair on their head if it meant they could join the big bad world of humans with hair. which is like 98% of the population.

so, as you can see, I am navigating the seas of awkward conversation. I know people just try to help. ease the unknown.

and this is why I have a blog, so I have somewhere to dump the madness when I have had all that I can stuff in my fragile psyche.

not just whimsy

I was at a wedding last night where an anglican priest waxed poetically his wedding homily.
it was simple and beautiful and real.

Josh and I are drawn to the liturgical church not just because it's "pretty", or we like "liturgy"- it's more than that.

It's the principle of the liturgy.

It's the reenactment of the gospel in the liturgy.

It's the church year, where we walk the steps of Jesus, year in and year out. Telling ourselves the story over and over, in the hopes, that we just might get it.

It's the consummation of the Lord's Supper- the thing we look forward to each time we worship. The Table, where we find grace. Where we bring the ridiculousness of our petty complaints to Jesus, admit our waywardness, and drink grace. and then we carry a wee bit of hope on our back, in the hopes that our hearts are more soft and pliable than last week. That maybe, sentence by sentence in this big story, we are becoming more like Jesus.

believe me, sometimes I feel like I am going the other direction.

so anyway, I was planning on taking a writing break this month, and I probably will continue. But I was struck by the homily last night, and it moved my heart in such a way as to not give up.

We're not in a liturgical church right now. And there are reasons for that, mostly having to do with finding something that works for our family. I have hope that we will find our way.

It's not just whimsy. what we long for.

funny faces

I think I'll just stick to pictures this month.

how's this for a funny one?

cousins