Soaring and Stillness: Life with the Chickadees

I’ve deeply wrestled lately with identity and purpose.  I believe I’m prepared for the road. I’ve diligently studied the map. But then, BAM, there is an unexpected turn or I encounter brambles that pull and tear at my clothing. Here, in the unknown, I turn into a frazzled, frustrated mess questioning each inch of the cartography.  “Why am I doing this?” “Is it even worth it to continue?” “Why is no one here to help me?” “Where am I actually headed?” I’ve long sought to teach the chickadees that there is a great difference between desire and purpose and that is normal and acceptable to question. Doing what we want to do  is incredibly different than doing what we are called to do. For small humans, it is remarkably easy to redirect the want for the should. It might have taken some extra persuasion, but generally those beautiful, big, soulful eyes showed agreement and little hands slipped inside of mine and we fairly easily continued down a path. They grew, and heels d...

Last night, something miraculous occurred. The phone rang. I answered. In the scope of the everyday ordinary it doesn’t sound like much, the act of seeing a call and accepting it instead of sending it to voicemail. She didn’t want to do anything but talk. Have conversation. Fellowship with me over cellular airwaves.  I answered because outside of immediate family, hers is the number set to bypass do not disturb. The phone knows that outside of regular hours, I’ve let her in.  I think she knows it too. She didn’t call for anything in particular; she was on her way home with an occupied babe in the backseat and had an hour.  She called me. I answered. We talked for the remainder of her trip. The big chick and the professor tried to find a movie to watch and wandered in wondering where I was and when I was coming back. Her little bit was occupied in the car seat and didn’t make a peep. I told them to go ahead without me. She let the golden haired angel watch the coveted tabl...

I have a dear friend who closes with  all shall be well . It's a battle cry and motto, but it's also a deep seeded belief. A series of words that she holds to when the sand passes through her fingers or there is no foothold in the wall. She's beautiful and kind and full of Jesus. She loves her family and her community. She brings awareness to what is important to her. She's also not long for this world. It makes my heart squeeze in a manner I'm only too familiar with. Growing up, September was about the roar of that big stadium in Ann Arbor, the crisp bite of a breeze, the cheer in the air. It was back-to-school clothes and waiting at the bus stop and the first hint of the brilliance of the trees. I met new teachers, lost teeth, found a routine, and loved every minute of all of it. Fall was my favorite, and September brought about all of the things that made it so, for she was the promise of all that was to come. Promises are interesting beasts. As kids, we pi...

An unknown author once wrote, "You can't wrap a hug in a box, but you can wrap a person in your arms." A statement which was proven false just a few weeks ago. A package arrived, ferried over seas, over islands, thousands of miles from it's origin. Destination? A southern front porch.  Sender? One sweet friend and her adorable daughter. In favorite hues it came, with love exploding...delicate practice embroidery done by a hand that not long ago learned to form letters. Pastels abounded. Gifts fit for princesses. The chicks were floored, in awe. As was I, working to control the tears that this box brought to my throat; whelmed with the pure generosity of it all. As it always goes, the Mama was last into the box. There, I found nestled gently, a beautiful note, tied with ribbon and specific instructions... Always one to obey, I promptly did as instructed by my heart-filled friend. Handing the camera to the eldest,  I un...

My girls are missing a piece of their heart and this week  I am struggling with how to help them heal.  The mother in me aches to be able to put it right. I cannot . We've done okay with the whole grieving process thing, due in part to the sheer amplitude of our schedule. I think, each in our own way,  we have worked to layer over the pain with activity. That was working well.  Our ability to falsely cope and carry on with our lives was astonishing. Sigh. Back in September, when we lost our gir l, we cried, we did the silent sobs, we knew in our hearts that it was for the best, and we trusted that God's hand was in and over the entire situation. We still believe all of those things. We do...with every part of us. It's the empty without her that causes the pain. The way her face pops up on Facebook and Skype and the sweet tone of her voice coming from Little Bit's iPod on the nights when all she desires is to reach out and touch the computer screen and have ...

Sometimes having a heart full isn't easy. Carrying and learning and stretching... It causes an ache Today my heart is full. Full for my  friend that will sit and lie and undergo tests that will measure progression of something she has little control over. She remains fully in the light  and shines so brightly. But my heart? It's full of her, those sweet boys that remind me of my girls, and her husband who captures beauty. Her voice and spirit are strong...I'm the one coming all apart reading her script and seeing more in photographs than is there. Eyes overflow as I read another friend's words, her beautiful acceptance of the way things are and the wistfulness of what has been. Sitting in a wooden chair in the hallway at one of our three dance studios while my Little Bit takes class, tears slide down my cheeks. Knowing a pain like hers, seeing my girls in hers. The sweetness of their hearts...knowing that her thoughts will slide to them, to the future, to the...

The tree comes out the weekend after my birthday, usually going up amid shouts and cheers for our boys in blue as I carefully unwrap precious ornaments given decades ago. The small pieces of cloth, glass, metal, and wood are treasures in our home; Each piece gave me pause. I stood, remembering the friend who so lovingly stitched our "Yard of the Month" ornament while we were in the Navy together.  Those years when the grace girl was toddling around and I was ripping out bushes and changing landscaping in officer housing...giving attention to something that stayed done for more than four minutes with an active babe in the house. It was the three of us, a time where work didn't come home with the man because it was classified and our nights and weekends were all ours to shower our girl with stories and play and attention. Then came the block "M" for the years of the PhD and little bit joining us...the hospital she was born in bearing the same title as th...

My friend, Sara, lived life loud . Her voice was heard far and wide. She had weight in this world. She was.. . beautiful loved cherished spirit-filled Sara lived  in such a way that she will be carried, in speech and heart, forever by those who followed her blog and walked beside her in life. On Sunday, after an afternoon spent tossing leaves and smiling for the camera, I tuned in to the internet campus of Crosspoint church. I spent some time in worship that was out of this world phenomenal. I had a box of tissues at the ready in case my heart came out through my eyes.  It did Blake spoke of happiness, of joy, and of the difference between the two. It was the same talk we'd had with our girls that very morning. Sigh . He stated it was a choice, this joy choosing. My sentiments exactly The sermon was thought provoking and challenging and incredibly well done. Just like one of my favorite people who no longer treads g...

Today, I felt her everywhere but could find her nowhere. So, I did something I've neglected to do for well over a month...I grabbed my phone and headed outdoors, a daily occurrence when she was alive. I heard her in the crisp fall leaves beneath our feet I saw her reach in the arms of my eldest, flung heavenward with  face upturned to the sunlight She was there in the solitary leaf gently drifting from the  pile, unconcerned with remaining in the neat bundle of all the others.. .. She was exuberantly  present in this grin and in the joyous release of leaves as they flew high and fluttered down slowly  in the warm fall air... I'm quite sure I felt her here as I gazed out into the quiet of the backyard as the sun began  to set behind one of her favorite trees... (note the sparkle in the grass which only appeared  via the shot) So, I looked with my heart and I found her everywhere.... In the beau...

I feel like most parts of my life are simply fluff lately...have you been there? That so much of it is just background noise trying to distract me from the big stuff. I want to notice the big stuff Stuff is a poor word choice, but stuff it is...what keeps us busy and what we're reaching for and what we do all day?  It's mostly just stuff. But what I'm missing? It's the true blue in the sky and the way  eyes crinkle just before all of the happy pours out. Not perceiving it almost causes pain. I've taken less time this month to discover the world around me. I miss that feeling, the one that comes with the cherishing of the moment.  You know it, right? The anticipation of something and then the complete calm that comes with the joy of the experience? This morning, I figured it out...  I'm seeing everything as I normally would... It's all in my response to the world.  It's in the noticing. Taking notice Taking the time to experience. Sharing i...

Before Sara died, she asked me to speak at her wake. She didn't desire that I share with others memories  of  her. Rather, she asked that I speak about who she was in this world. She told me that she wanted people who came  to see her  as I spoke.  She also told me I wasn't allowed to cry. It would, she stated, "Make things less effective."  Love her.   A friend who was present asked that I  ( Shannon )  put it up for all of you, who were unable to join us at the service, to read. .  .  .  .  .  .  . Gail Caldwell wrote:  "It's an old, old story. I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that too."   Words are powerful. Uniting. They shape our view of the world, ourselves, each other. Words, in the best cases, make us immortal. Words are how I found her. Faith is what brought us together. A friend send me an email, asking me to pray for a mother wh...

It's as much a part of me as breathing, this friendship she and I have woven together.  In and out, up and down, encircling us. Never ceasing. Never slowing. None of the breaks, skips, or hiccups that usually occur in relationships. Not a one. We came together so seamlessly I don't  remember what my life, my days, my moments felt like without her beside me, even in a figurative sense. I know it sounds odd, the stuff of science fiction movies and creepy music, but our relationship has been like that from the beginning. I wake up when something happens to her or when she dreams and cannot bring herself out of it. She knows when I've hit my bottom and swoops in to scoop me up.   Even our night times overlap. That silly red sports car she drives in the non-waking hours? It shows up for both of us. I tell her geniuses choose green and she laughs. I am thankful to hear it so strong, so clear. Her laughter is the mix of all things beautiful; soft undertone...

She needs a friend. She searches it out in me, her Mama. The one who sets the rules, makes her brush her still falling out baby teeth, tailors her curriculum, disciplines, and tucks her into bed at night. I look forward to the day where I am less parent and more friend, but that is a good decade or more in our future. She desires it now ...and it makes me wistful that I cannot yet gift it to her. For the time being, I am charged with shaping her heart. She needs a comrade to pal around with, giggle, and share secrets...with which she can be a goof. Her soul, sweet and tender, often bruised by the unkindness of those around her. She’s always been Sensitive Intuitive Reactive In one-too-many ways, grown-up before her time Being incredibly intelligent doesn’t help things; other ten in less than two weeks eleven year olds don’t enjoy better yet prefer conversations with adults or consider those three to four years older “peers”. Most of the tweens she knows are into Tiger Beat magazi...