Monthly Archives: February 2015

Pictures of Loss

18 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by in Loss, Walls

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I finally applied this wall decor in my daughter's room. I have been wanting to do this since before she was born. She is now 4 years old.

I finally applied this wall decor in my daughter’s room. I have been wanting to do this since before she was born. She is now 4 years old.

You take a pregnancy test.  You see the plus sign.  You tell your husband.  You get happy and excited.  You get so happy and excited, in fact, that you feel as if you are riding a natural high- as if you have dipped your cup into the fountain of life and have drunk its sweet nectar.  Yes, you have life growing within you.  You are the picture of bounty and youth.

You and your husband talk about names and gender and imagine what the baby will look like.  What kind of personality will he or she have?  The two of you make plans to tell your parents and guess as to their reactions.  You tell a small handful of people- just your small inner circle and challenge your creativity as to how you will dazzle the Facebook world with your super clever baby announcement and social media gender reveal party.  You tell yourselves that you will enjoy every single second of this pregnancy despite nausea and sleep deprivation because you realize that your first two children have grown up way too fast- better to appreciate every last drip of this baby’s being because it will slip through your hands all too quickly.  You have no idea just how quickly this baby will actually slip through your hands because right now you are in the moment enjoying the circle of life.

Hand in hand with the love of your life, you visit the birthing center and meet the midwives and recall the amazingly beautiful birth stories of your children.  You are nervous. Naturally- this is child birth we are talking about here. It will be painful and dramatic but so worth it.  This is what you were born to do.  You have never felt more alive.

You tell your children.  One is so happy he can hardly contain his little happy dance.  The other folds her arms across her chest and scowls.  She has been here before and is not happy knowing that now she has to share you with yet another sibling.  However, you show them age appropriate videos and her disposition changes.  She is a little scientist.  She is willing to accept the challenge of big sister yet again because now there is a logical process that she can observe and study over time.  She’s in.

And then, its over.  You wake up after a series of restless nightmares and realize that the nightmares were real.  Hand in hand with the love of your life, you go to the doctor and sit in the waiting room with its fluorescent lighting and parenting magazines casually strewn about the coffee table and you do the ceremonial dance of the waiting room- twiddle your thumbs, tap your feet, cross and uncross your legs.  All the while you sit through an excruciatingly numbing pain.  What is taking so long?

There is confirmation and explanation and clarification and reiteration.  You are thankful for the medical profession.  You are thankful that you are not alone.  You ask all your questions, take mental notes, and go home.  You hug your husband and he hugs you.  Hand in hand with the love of your life, you pray.  You tell your children.  Reality flies right over the happy one as he dismisses your words and pretends as if you said nothing.  You know that this is a natural, age appropriate response.  The scientist astounds you with her profound words of comfort.  You wonder, who is this child?  You thank God for the children that you have in front of you.

You don’t cry.  You not crying alarms those closest to you because you are the kind who cried during every single sappy Super Bowl commercial.  You attempt to proceed with business as usual.  Until 24 hours later, you catch a glimpse of a cardboard castle that you built for your daughter and for some strange reason this little castle sets you off.  The flood gates release and you cry finally and uncontrollably for a long time.

“I have lost a baby.”  You finally whisper to yourself.

You sleep.  You eat Nutella straight from the jar.  You talk to your mom.  A lot.  You talk to your girlfriends who have fought this battle before you.  You are thankful for the sisterhood.  You cry some more.  You marvel at how well your husband has handled his grief and how strong he is until you realize that his grief looks very different from yours.  Grieving together is awkward but you try to talk about it.  You thank God for your man and for all men in general.

You wrestle with God.  You listen to Nirvana and other 90’s teen angst music from your youth.  A lot.  You journal and you allow yourself to go through the 5 steps of grieving in your own way.  You remember how happy you were just a few days earlier and you linger in the angry stage and then camp out in the depression stage for a while.  You are angry at yourself for silly things like the fact that you are angry.  You have never felt more alive.

You Netflix- binge- watch “feel good sitcoms” with your sister until Netflix asks if you are really still watching this same show after several hours.  The two of you laugh.  It feels good to laugh.  You are thankful for your sisters.  And Netflix.

You get dressed up and go out to eat and go shopping and  eat/drink girly desserts and adult beverages with your sisters.  You go to museums and relate to exhibits of pain and suffering and are thankful for what you have.  You think of the baby and realize that you do believe in love at first sight after all.

You continue to tearfully pray and cling to your faith.  You continue to feel guilty that this loss has made you so incredibly sad.  You never saw that coming.  You feel like it is ridiculous to feel so sad.  But the answers to your prayers tell you otherwise.

And then, it’s over.  Well, kind of.  You wake up one morning and you start to feel a little bit like a human again.  You are still sad.  You still miss that baby.  But you remember who you are.  You remember who God is.  Your head attaches itself back to your body and your feet begin to move.  Slowly.

You suddenly have the urge to, of all things, decorate?  You find this both surprising and inefficient because you live in a 118 year old house with most of the walls unsuitable for hanging pictures due to either cardboard walls or out of date wallpaper that must, must, MUST come down.  Your mentality is that you will not hang any pictures until all wallpaper and cardboard walls have been removed and all walls have been appropriately painted.  You decide that you don’t care.  Desperate times call for desperate measures and there are some walls that are picture hanging ready.

Table Runner from Israel that my husband gifted to me. It is to be hung on one of the cardboard walls once it is redone.

Table Runner from Israel that my husband gifted to me. It is to be hung on one of the cardboard walls once the wall is redone.

Your desire to adorn the walls with beautiful things is so strangely inappropriate to you that you have to wonder why?  Why now of all times?  As you go about the business of decorating your home and hammering nails into the completed walls you begin to realize that every photograph tells a story.  Every painting evokes a feeling.  Each mirror calls for reflection.  Each vase, a vessel to be filled with the grace of nature or purposefully left empty to be enjoyed in its  contemplative simplicity.  Each motivational saying or bible verse, a familiar whisper to remind us of who we are.

Georgia O'Keefe hangs in nearly every room of this house. I think it is safe to say that she is one of my favorite artists. I might actually have too many O'Keefe prints in my house.

Georgia O’Keefe hangs in nearly every room of this house. I think it is safe to say that she is one of my favorite artists. I might actually have too many O’Keefe prints in my house.

You realize that the walls of your house are lined with stories and feelings and reflections and grace and contemplations and encouragements.  You understand that the loss of your third baby is and will be a story to be felt and reflected upon and that it too will line your walls as a testimony of God’s grace.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  You have never felt more alive.

My daughter asked for this Georgia O'Keefe work titled "Pink Abstraction" to be hung in her room a midst pictures of ballerinas.

My daughter asked for this Georgia O’Keefe work titled “Pink Abstraction” to be hung in her room a midst pictures of ballerinas.

You decide to return to your regularly scheduled program.  You let your kids crawl into bed with you in the wee hours of the morning and you take the extra time to enjoy their coos and snuggles.  You get back to work all the while taking the time to appreciate that this is where you live.  This is who you are and these pictures on the walls speak of the beautiful and sometimes painful moments of your life.  But they are your beautiful and painful moments to hold and to remember.  This is life.  And you come to terms with the realization that one day when it is all over you will hold this little angel in your arms.  You hang the picture up on the wall and contemplate its simplicity as you are reminded of who you are and who God is.

One of the walls I worked on- adding and rearranging pieces. Still need to fix some that are crooked.

One of the walls I worked on- adding and rearranging pieces. Still need to fix some that are crooked.

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Help Part IV: Miracles and Love Stories

12 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by in For the Love of People, Living Unbound, Love

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This is not my image. I just love Les Miserables quotes to go with Mr. Richard's story.

This is not my image. I just love Victor Hugo quotes to go with Mr. Richard’s story.

What makes a man the kind who would pull the trigger and take another man’s life?  I’m sure there are a lot of ways to answer that question but Mr. Richard’s is a smudgy portrait of a boy with a rocky home life growing up in the Ozark Mountains of northern Arkansas.  It’s not an excuse for murder but it might shed some light on the situation.

Richard’s childhood was not something that he really wanted to talk about when we got together nearly a month ago.  His description was brief but painted a picture of violence, hate, and frustration.  Richard said that he didn’t really know right from wrong.  Sure he was taught how to behave in school and church but while at home there was still no defined way to distinguish right from wrong. His family built churches and they were the type of family that attended services at the United Pentecostal church throughout the week and twice on Sunday.  Even still, Richard described his home life as being sick in thoughts, beliefs, and actions.

I know this kid.  When I was a teacher I had several students like this who sat in my classes throughout the years.  Every class has “that kid.”  You remember “that kid.”  Maybe you were “that kid.”  He or she was the one who was frequently tardy or absent or constantly in trouble talking back to the teacher or principal.  You know that kid.  He or she is the one who can’t sit still and just doesn’t know how to behave.  “That kid” usually comes from a tumultuous home life.  Even though I didn’t know Richard as a child, I think I can guess as to what he must have been like.

So what happens when you have a kid who grows up in a consistently horrible mess?  The kid grows up into an adult who does messy and horrible things.  Train a pit bull to be a killer and he will kill.  I know it doesn’t always happen this way but more often than not, I think it does.  That is, until/unless God grabs a hold of their life and transforms that smudgy portrait into a work of art which was the case with Mr. Richard.

When Mr. Richard was completing his life sentence in prison for the murder of his friend, the thought occurred to him that he may never hold a baby or hear the giggle of a child ever again.  He considered this as part of his penance for his crime.  Even after he repented of his actions and became a sincere Christian, Mr. Richard still could not imagine being on the outside watching children splash in the summer spray of sprinklers.

Flash forward to 2014 when my children nearly tackle the man to the ground with hugs of excitement at his every visit.  During his month and a half stay with us, our children grew very fond of Mr. Richard.  He was there in the background for a short period of their childhood.  Mr. Richard was there at my daughter’s birthday party hanging up balloons and helping with the piñata.  He carried my sleeping son to the car after a night of catching grasshoppers and watching fireworks and eating hot dogs on the Fourth of July.  There he was inflating plastic swimming pools and pulling out the sprinklers for the kids to enjoy on hot summer days.  Mr. Richard rolled through the lives of our children like a puffy cloud providing some unexpected shade on a hot summer day- he was there making their life more enjoyable even if they didn’t realize or appreciate it.

Found on Etsy- I heart Les Miserables quotes

Found on Etsy- I heart Les Miserables quotes

Needless to say the kids were sad to see him go the day that he was offered to be the groundskeeper of our church and to stay in the parsonage.  However, his new home did not keep Mr. Richard away.  Mr. Richard still came over nearly every day.  He was family.

His new home at the parsonage was one of many little blessings that came Mr. Richard’s way. Mr. Richard seemed to attract these kinds of generous miracles like magnets.  A friend  from church was able to provide a steady job for Mr. Richard.  You have never seen a man take more pride in his work than Mr. Richard.  He would wake up before the sun and head off on his bicycle for the 5 mile or so commute to work.  Despite the distance, his heart condition, and the exhausting Texas summer heat, Mr. Richard refused to accept rides to work from us.  He would even ride his bicycle for miles to make it to his doctor appointments.

One day, Mr. Richard pulled into our driveway with a car.  His car.  His boss had noticed that Richard would ride a bicycle to work and offered to finance a car for him!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  That was the first time that I really realized that God had a clear hand on Mr. Richard’s life.  It seemed like God just loved to bless him.  I knew at that point that I would have to watch Mr. Richard closely because God just loved to do great things in his life.  What would he do next?

Well, the next best thing turned out to be that his parole was transferred to Arkansas ahead of schedule.  At long last, Mr. Richard would be united with his sweet fiancé, Debbie.  Mr. Richard and Debbie were introduced by Mr. Richard’s daughter in January of 2014.  By Valentine’s Day of the same year these two love birds had pledged their love for each other.  Almost a month ago I had the privilege of attending their beautiful wedding.  It was the event that inspired me to write this 4 part series.  There I was the day after their wedding sitting in Richard’s home with his newlywed bride at his side, marveling at the grace of God as they recounted the stories of the first time that they held hands and the all night phone conversations and daily bible studies that they did over the phone during the year that they were apart.  As I listened to Mr. Richard and Debbie blush their way through the telling of their relationship I realized that this whole story was an epic love poem.  It is a love story for the ages.  A man’s heart is hardened from years of pain and does the worst possible thing a human can do.  But God still desires him and puts people into his life to shine hope on the hardened man’s heart.  Man’s heart of stone is broken and replaced with a new, soft, and patient heart.  Man gives thanks.  Man is continuously blessed with generosity upon generosity, each little blessing like a bouquet  of roses declaring love for the beloved.

I think back to my first encounters with Mr. Richard which were clouded in fear and apprehension.  I had the opportunity to witness a part of his story and therefore was intrigued to know more.  And so, there I sat on his couch with the notepad and pen that I picked up from our hotel and scribbled down whatever I could all the while trying not to cry.  I am eternally grateful for Mr. Richard’s blessing to share some of his story and my hope is that in reading about his story others will be inspired to “lend a helping hand” a favorite saying of Mr. Richard’s.  This encounter has changed me as all good stories should change a person.  It makes me think of “that kid” who just doesn’t know how to behave in Wal-Mart or at church.  I think about that man I see sitting on a corner with a sign asking for help.  I see people crippled with drug addictions or with criminal records and I think to myself, what horrible things must have happened to this person to bring them to such a state and what will it take to bring hope back into their lives?

This little place that I write, this little corner of the internet is meant to tell of the stories of how my very old house gets renovated.  There are all kinds of people who are and will be a part of the renovating.  Richard’s story is an example to me that just like God has brought people into my life to help renovate my home, God also has people who come into my life who help renovate my heart.

Mr. Richard

Mr. Richard

Help Part III: The Heart of the Matter

04 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by in Faith, For the Love of People, Living Unbound, Love

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This is not my image. But it was so beautiful and I love Les Mis quotes- I just had to share

This is not my image. But it was so beautiful and I love Les Mis quotes- I just had to share

A loaded gun sits on the table.  The argument escalates.  A second later, a man is dead.  And it was all over a waterbed frame and $96.

On April 29, 20 year old Richard was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of his friend, Mark*.   Mark worked with Richard out on the oil rigs of Texas.  In the months that preceded  the murder, Mark had stolen money from Richard, had assaulted Richard’s girlfriend, and had written some hot checks.  Tension was building by the time April 15, 1984 came around when Richard was to buy a waterbed frame from Mark.  Mark took the money but did not provide the bed frame.  For the hot-tempered Richard who described himself as a hooligan at that time, it was the last straw.  Mark came over to Richard’s house that night to discuss the situation.  Unfortunately, Richard’s hot temper boiled over and exploded into an untimely death for Mark.

Richard knew he was playing with fire that night.  He had purposely left a loaded gun on the kitchen table as a warning to Mark that he was ” about to get tail- kicked” in Richard’s words.  When I asked Richard if the shot was an accident he was clear to mention that he grew up in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas shooting squirrel straight in the eye. Richard was a good shot, he knew what he was aiming at.

Richard spent his first 8 years or so in and out of solitary confinement due to his rebellious spirit.  He went 6 years without seeing the natural sunlight of day.  Other inmates steered clear of Richard; his hot-tempered nature branded him with a reputation of a man that was not to be reckoned with.  When he was not in solitary confinement Richard was the go to man for your every need.  Weed, cigarettes, money, you name it  Richard could find a way to get it to you.  If he was a hard man before the murder then prison had only made him worse.

In 1992, a prison ministry began 4 day bible retreats for inmates.  Richard participated in these bible studies as a way to break up the norm; it was a way to have a little more freedom.  I imagine Richard sitting in a circle with other hardened inmates, perhaps feeling vulnerable.  He was a man that never turned his back to anyone but in those bible studies he was asked to share the most intimate of ideas- faith.  It must have been difficult for him to break down some of those walls but Richard was tired of his “hard living.”  He was ready for a new start.

When Richard and I sat down together recently to discuss this time in his life, he continuously referred to an illustration in which you feel like you are at a hole at the bottom of a ladder that you just can’t quite reach.  You want to get out but you just can’t get to that ladder.  Richard felt like he was beneath that hole and really needed someone to reach down and pull him up.

During this prison ministry Richard experienced well versed Christians teaching these classes but, in his opinion, it seemed like they were totally missing the point.  It was clear that they knew the bible backwards and forwards but they still came off a bit stand offish and it was hard for some men to relate to the lofty concepts that were being presented.  While these Christians were well meaning, it was the Christians in the group who, in Richard’s words, “fell down a lot” that he could really identify with.  It was the people who were honest and admitted that they were not perfect- these were the people that caught Richard’s attention.  It didn’t matter if they were well versed in theology.  These Christians, you know, “kept it real”.  They made a relationship with Jesus Christ seem attainable even for someone like Richard.

According to Richard, Jesus got a hold of his life and hit him like a bolt of lightning. Inmates would comment that nothing made Richard mad anymore.  Try as they might, other inmates could not ruffle Richard’s feathers.  Richard’s hot- tempered nature had melted into a patient peace, a noticeable difference from his tumultuous prison beginnings.

It was this peace that finally allowed Richard to forgive himself for his crime.  Part of Richard’s sentencing stated that Richard was not to make any contact with the victim’s family.  By the time Richard had repented of his crime, Mark’s family members were all deceased.  Through prayer, Richard apologized to Mark and his family anyways and asked for their forgiveness.  At this point Richard decided to dedicate his life to Mark and his family.

From that moment forward Richard sought an education for himself, learned several trades, and set his mind towards being a light in a dark place- dedicating every action to the life that Mark never got to live.  The way Richard saw it was that both he and Mark were on a path of destruction and now that Richard had changed the course of his own life, he owed it to Mark to live in such a way that it would honor Mark’s life as well.  Richard felt like it was his duty to give Mark a second chance at life in this way.  It would be his life-long burden and pleasure to live a good life for Mark.

That might seem like an undeserved privilege- to live a good life after you have taken someone’s life but it is indeed a cross to be carried.  If it were me, I could see myself crippled with guilt at the thought that I had taken someone’s life.  The guilt would probably weigh me down to the point of no relief.  Burying yourself with guilt is the easy way to deal with a situation like this.  It is much more difficult to receive the free and easy grace of God and forgive yourself.  Richard says, “You have to forgive yourself or you can never deal with the consequences.”  That made a lot of sense to me.  If you don’t forgive yourself then every time you face a consequence for your crime, such as not having a place to sleep at night once you are out of prison,  that debilitating guilt would creep back in and drag you back into darkness.  Then all the work that God had done in your life would be in vain and that little light would be snuffed out completely.  Perhaps the guilt would be so heavy that it would lead you back to another tragedy, another death.  I’ll take forgiveness over darkness any day.

After 29 years and 6 months in prison, Richard was released on parole probably in large part due to health issues.  Richard’s heart was beginning to fail him and it was costing the state too much money to keep him in prison.

Richard thought that he might die in prison because of his heart condition, but his heart condition ended up being his ticket out.  I find that as a kind of poetic justice; Richard’s heart could no longer be confined to a prison cell.  It is especially satisfying to see him on the outside, healthy, receiving proper medication, and always wearing bright colors.  Richard loves to wear shockingly bright colors of the highlighter palette.  Yes, Richard is a neon sign shining through the darkness flashing “mercy,” “grace,” “forgiveness.

“Do I deserve freedom?  NO!”  was Richard’s response to my husband’s questioning about how he felt now that he was out.    “All I can do is live right and follow the letter of the law and be thankful.”  With every blessing, with every lovely thing in life Richard thinks of Mark and strives towards goodness all the while flashing the neon light of his story.

*Denotes that name has been changed.

Again, not my image but Les Mis quotes just go so perfectly with Richard's story.

Again, not my image but Les Mis quotes just go so perfectly with Richard’s story.