Apple Hill

Early in our marriage, we made our home near Sacramento. It was a great place to live. The cities surrounding the capital still have a rural feel to them.  It is such a beautiful area ~

did you know that Sacramento claims more trees per capita than any other city?

Remembering our years spent in northern California always brings a smile to my face.  Our children were born in a small local hospital.  We made friendships that remain part of our lives today.  We learned many lessons about faith and life that strengthened our marriage. And, every October we went to Apple Hill.

Apple Hill

is located in the Sierra Nevada foothills in the small El Dorado County community of Camino.  The original sixteen apple orchards that made up

Apple Hill

have grown through the years to include 55 ranches, wineries, a micro-brewery, spa and vineyards.  The various orchards offer many ways for visitors to experience the fruit of their labor ~ fresh-pressed cider, apple donuts made-to-order, apple pies, apple milk shakes, caramel apples, and the list goes on!  You can even grab a bucket and pick your own apples!

It has been almost 30 years since we moved from northern California to make our home here in the central valley.  Many years have passed since we loaded up our two small children to spend a day in the orchards. 

Last year we took a road trip back to Apple Hill with our daughter Amy and our grandchildren.  Amy was only three years old the last time she was there! How fun to see it

for the first time again

through the eyes of Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack, and taste

anew

the delicious treats! 

Well, it is October again.

We are finalizing our plans to travel north again to reconnect with friends and spend a weekend at Apple Hill with the whole family!  The trees will put on a grand display of fall foliage and the scent of apples will permeate the air.  Aside from the vibrant colors and edible delights that are part of Apple Hill, for me, it is a privilege to retrace my steps, to remember how things used to be, and to focus on God's faithfulness over the years of my life. 

You see, there were times in those early years of our marriage when we went to Apple Hill because it was

free

~ money was very scarce.  Those who walked with us then know the many ways God provided for our every need ~ money slipped anonymously into an envelope, bags of groceries delivered on our porch, and even the time the doorbell rang and we found a Christmas tree leaning against the door jam.  We may have had little in those days but we were truly blessed.

Apple Hill is a place where we were a

family of four

.  Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined that someday

Scott

would not be part of this life.  But even in losing a child, God has graciously cleared a path and caused our feet to not stumble. The sights and smells of Apple Hill remind me of who I am ~

the mother of Amy and Scott.

The orchards of Apple Hill are a reminder for me of the different seasons of life.  Some seasons bring forth fruit; some seem cold and harsh.  Some provide a time of refreshing; thankfully, some usher in the promise of renewal. So I look forward to once again immersing myself in Apple Hill.  To see and feel God's faithfulness.  To remember and renew my hope in Him.

Walking In My Comfort Zone

I'm stepping out of my comfort zone.

I just signed up to participate in the American Cancer Society's

Relay for Life

. The goal of the 36-hour walk is to bring awareness and raise funds for cancer research. 

(I am glad it is a

relay

of 36-hours.  I will be walking with Tony in the 6-7 a.m. slot.)

It will be inspiring to walk along side cancer survivors and their family members.  I am proud to raise dollars that will fund research that may someday put an end to pain and suffering caused by this dreadful disease.

And yet, I am entering a different kind of comfort zone.  Matthew 5:4 promises that those who mourn, shall be comforted.  You see, my reason for participating in this relay walk is actually quite personal.  I'm walking to make a deposit in a bank of a different kind.  A deposit in the memory bank of family and friends who mourn the loss of a loved one from the ravages of cancer.

I am walking in the memory of my niece, Heather Smalley Stevens.  She fought a long and heroic battle with pancreatic cancer, which took her life in June of 2006.

As I have posted before,

memories

are such a gift for those who grieve.  Remembering the time shared and the life lived helps link us to those who have passed away.  Norman Cousins said it best ~

Memories are where the proof of life is stored.

If you would like to contribute to this cause, to support my efforts or to donate in the name of someone dear to you, please click

here

to go to my personal page.  You can choose an amount to donate and enter the name of someone you wish to honor.

I'll let you know in a future post how much we raised together and how I survived, out of my comfort zone.

The Aroma of His Glory

There is a sensory memory that I will carry with me throughout my life ~ it is the delicious smell of Mom’s pot roast, simmering with oven-browned potatoes and carrots. The rich aroma filled our senses each Sunday as we arrived home from church!

It is amazing to me that sensory experiences are so strong. Scientists describe it as odor memory, that is, our ability to remember the scent and the memory connected to the scent. In fact, they have found that only two synapses separate the olfactory nerve from the amygdala, that part of the brain where we experience emotions. That explains why these aromas from childhood form such a strong connection for me ~

like a time and date stamp

~ they connect me not only to Mom’s delicious cooking but the deeper emotion of family dinners together..

So it comes as no surprise that God would chose the metaphor of aroma when he talks about how we live our lives. Paul writes in Ephesians 5:1-2 that when we live a life of love, our very lives become an offering, a

fragrant sacrifice

to God.

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.

This metaphor of aroma is both powerful and personal to me. When our sixteen year old son

died

, I wrestled with questions of meaning and purpose. Why would a loving God allow this tragedy? What benefit could come from the death of my son? How could this tragedy bring God glory?

I distinctly remember the day I read Paul’s words in II Corinthians 2. Paul writes that our lives can also be an aroma of Christ’s glory to those who seek him.

But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life.

I realized that it was not

Scott’s

death

that would bring God glory. It was

my response to Scott’s death

that had the power to be an aroma of Christ's glory and eternal life.

I firmly believe that Satan intended to gain a victory through Scott’s death; that this loss would destroy our family's hope in the promises of God. Yes, we felt broken and confused. Yes, we struggled to redefine our theology on a daily basis as we sought to understand this tremendous loss through God’s perfect will. But in time, with God’s grace and mercy, we are being transformed not destroyed by this loss.

Perhaps theologian John Piper expresses my thoughts more clearly in his book,

God is the Gospel

.

The supreme value of the glory of Christ revealed in the gospel is what makes Satan so furious with the gospel. Satan is not mainly interested in causing us misery. He is mainly interested in making Christ look bad. He hates Christ. And he hates the glory of Christ. He will do all he can to keep people from seeing Christ as glorious. The gospel is God’s instrument for liberating people from exulting in self to exulting in Christ. Therefore Satan hates the gospel.

The events of this fallen world are real. Divorce, the death of a loved one, a rebellious child, upside-down mortgages, economic hardships, layoffs . . . the list goes on. These are painful, gut-wrenching situations. Each one has the potential to destroy us. But I believe we have a choice in every situation ~ to be destroyed or transformed. The choice is ours ~ to be an aroma of Christ’s glory to those who are being saved and those who are perishing.  Will we be a fragrance of death and destruction, or a fragrance of life and transformation?

Oh, may the aroma of Christ's glory pour out of me.

An Empty Chair

Do you have an empty chair at your table?

We found ourselves with an empty chair in our home almost fourteen years ago. Dinner time became such a severe reminder of our grief. We

always

set four plates at each meal. We each had

our place

at the table. Then, in a matter of 30 short hours, our family was forever changed by

Scott's accident

.

There were times early on that I instinctively included Scott in the count as we set the table for special occasions ~ oblivious of my mistake until someone graciously made me aware of it. It was just

normal

to count Scott among the guests, especially at holidays and birthday celebrations. But the

normal

we had always known was never to be again.

As Christmas draws near, I am aware that many homes have an empty chair as families prepare to celebrate the season. Many may be feeling this void for the first time; some have faced it for years. Setting the Christmas table can be as much a holiday tradition as trimming the tree ~ deciding who sits next to whom, and making the table a place that invites everyone to nourish their bodies and their souls as they participate in the family traditions.

My heart is heavy for those of you who have empty chairs this Christmas. Some of you, like me, have an empty chair because you have placed someone precious in the arms of God. Some are praying even now for their runaway to come home and take their place at the table. Some have a loved one serving in the military in far off places. And yes, there are some families who harbor unresolved conflicts and those empty chairs serve as a reminder of broken relationships which need to be mended.

My cousin has not lost a child to death but he has

three

empty chairs this Christmas, and he is definitely feeling the void. He shared a wonderful idea with me this morning. His son, daughter-in-law, and  granddaughter are missionaries serving in Europe and they will not be home for the holidays. So my cousin purchased large picture frames to hold recent photographs of his son’s family. This year, my cousin is placing the frames around the home to include

in spirit

those who cannot come home

in person

.

Well, I am considering including Scott once again in the count this year. I am thinking about

setting a place

at his empty chair.  I really think I want to make our memories of Scott a part of the celebration. In reality, no one who gathers around our table is unaware of the void created by Scott's death. So why not create a

new normal

?

Why not set a place for him?

Why not?

Yes, this Christmas there will be

an empty chair

and a place setting with a

photograph of Scott

as part of our table setting. We will remember and laugh at Christmases past, like the year he coined the term

glassables

for those ornaments that could break. We may shed some tears at what might have been as we long to experience a reunion with him once again. But I am convinced, when the meal is finished and we push our chairs away from the table, we will have smiles on our faces because Scott’s chair was pulled up to the table

one.more.time

, and we treasured what he brought to our lives.

Do you have an empty chair at your table?

Why not set a place for someone, add a photograph, and speak the name?

Why not nourish your soul this Christmas with some precious memory work?

Why not?

Egyptian Wisdom

Last weekend we visited the de Young Museum in San Francisco to view the

King Tut and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs Exhibition

.

It was an amazing display of wealth and power which filled many galleries in the museum.  As I walked through the exhibit, I was aware of the empty hope the Egyptians had in eternal life.

The final gallery was a display of the actual treasures found in the Boy King's sarcophagus.  Amid the cache of gold and jewels, I noticed a nugget of wisdom ~ an Egyptian proverb written on the wall above the display.  It read ~

To speak the name of the dead is to make them live again.

This powerful proverb resonates well with me as I reflect on my own grief journey, and the journey of others who hope to experience peace with loss.  

To speak the name of the dead is to stir the memories we treasure; to rouse the precious hours, months or years we had together; to address the void that is so very present, no matter how skilled we have become at suppressing or denying it.

To speak the name of the dead restores the relationship in our hearts and keeps them a part of us.

Wet Cement

I was working with wet cement again today. Yep.

And it's not the first time I have worked with this material. I've been in the

business

for 32 years, to be exact.

The trouble I find working with cement is the potential for it to harden into something I never intended it to become. Sure, I have the mold in mind, but sometimes I just get caught up in accomplishing the job that I forget about what I hoped I would create. Try as I will to control all the elements, I usually find myself trying to smooth out the deep impressions I hope do not leave a permanent mark. But I have learned that most of my mistakes are ~ as they say ~

set in concrete

.

Now, before you decide that you would never,

ever

allow me to lay concrete for your patio, let me explain.

Today I hired my three grandchildren to help me stuff, stamp and address my Christmas cards. We send out almost 200 cards each year and many hands make the work light!

Kaitlyn has assisted me with this project for the past few years. At 9 ½ years old, she can

nearly

do it all! Kyle is almost 8 years old. He is eager to help but needs a predictable task to keep up his confidence. And then there is Jack! He is 5 ½ years old and full of energy. He

thinks

he can do it all, but in reality, he requires something that cannot be ruined by bouts of impulsivity.

(I think I said that diplomatically, don’t you?)

We really had fun working together. I shared with them about some of the people the cards were addressed to: lifelong friends from elementary, junior high and high school; first, second and third cousins; co-workers; and people with whom we just like to stay in touch.

But I must admit, there were times I really could have lost it this afternoon! I mean

really

~ many of our friends will receive our Christmas picture with

finger smudges

all over it as the photos just did not seem to slide in the envelopes very easily for the boys. A few of the envelopes are badly wrinkled. Some people will receive cards with our return address

stamped upside-down

. And . . . let’s just say that Jack

now

knows

that the United States Post Office requires

ALL

postage to be in the top right hand corner – and

NO WHERE ELSE

on the envelope!

Yes, there were many times I really wanted to take over the tasks I had delegated to them. I could have made the Christmas cards more important than their feelings or self-esteem. I could have taken the joy right out of working together by needing everything to be

just so

.

But tucked away in my mind is the message found in a wonderful book by Anne Ortlund.  Back in 1977 as I awaited the birth of our first child

~ Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack's mom, Amy ~

 I read Anne's book,

Children are Wet Cement

. Anne talks about how children are so impressionable ~ like wet cement. As parents ~ and grandparents ~ there is little doubt that we love and value each child. We visualize what we hope each one to become. Yet in the stress of the day, in our rush to accomplish all we think we must get done, in our desire to have everything turn out right, or with our pride on the line, we forget how moldable and vulnerable each child is. The words we use, the tones we add, those sighs we are so quick to express ~ all have the potential of leaving lasting impressions.

Yep ~ I was working with wet cement today.

Eager little hands that wanted to help me stuff, stamp and address my Christmas cards. The potential was there for me to turn the experience into something I never intended it to become. This time, I kept the mold in mind. This time, I did not rush the job. And I am proud to say, the permanent mark left on all of our hearts was love.

Scott's Garden ~ A Healing Place

Early on in my grief journey, I knew I wanted to create a memorial garden in our backyard. I knew I needed a physical place to embrace my memories of Scott. A sacred place to cradle his ashes. A living place to celebrate his life.

Although my desire from the beginning was to create a place of remembering, it took us almost five years to find the energy to create Scott’s Garden. The lethargy of grief is very real ~ often impeding travelers along the journey from moving forward, even toward a healing place.

I remember some of my thoughts as we worked to clear out the overgrowth that had crept into our side yard. The task was difficult ~ down on my hands and knees in the dirt, pulling up the weeds that clung to the ground. I remember thinking ~

I am not done being Scott’s mom. How I long to fix your favorite meals, wash your soccer uniform, help you with homework, spend time talking and laughing with you. Oh, how I wanted my job back.

And then I realized what a healing place Scott’s Garden was to be. Each sprig of spurge I pulled up by the roots was indeed an act of love, an investment in what had been, and a tribute to his short sixteen years of life with us. Each flower and tree we planted became a testament to life.

There have been many lessons learned as we transformed this plot of yard into Scott’s Garden.

This past week as we celebrated Scott’s 30th birthday, we worked in the garden with our daughter Amy and our three grandchildren. Although we cannot give Scott actual presents, we chose to purchase new plants for his garden.

And as we dug around the soil to find the best place to plant the newest signs of life, we uncovered dormant bulbs from lilies set out at Easter time. I shared with my grandchildren the excitement and symbolism of these bulbs.

For there in Scott’s Garden where we grieve with hope ~ remembering his death and celebrating his life ~ there was the promise of reunion. Jesus said in John 12:24-25 ~

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

So, here in Scott’s Garden, I recognize that I am still Scott’s mom as I cherish my relationship of memory with him. Here among the dormant bulbs and pruned roses of winter, I embrace my sorrow that he is not here. And as I stand back and recognize the beauty of God’s creation, I rejoice in the hope of that blessed reunion that is to come.

November 17th

Have you ever heard a song on the radio ~ and instantly you remember where you were and who you were with when you first heard it?

Perhaps you have walked past a bakery and the sweet aroma sends you right back to a special time in your childhood.

Memories are such a powerful force in our lives. They can fill us with fear, move us to tears or bring joy to our heart. For those who grieve, memories can be a sweet retreat ~ a place to go as we treasure and renew the relationship with someone who is no longer present in our life.

I witnessed the power of memory this week as my nieces and nephew shared together memories of their dad. Ray died seventeen years ago, yet each year my nieces and nephew remember him on his birthday. (If you read my blog, you know that one’s death does not change one’s date of birth. It may seem like a matter of semantics but it really matters to those who love. Ray’s birthday

is, was and always will be

November 17th.)

I was blessed to participate in their exchange on Facebook. It began with a comment of tenderness and sorrow ~

Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you and miss you.

Then, each shared a funny remembrance of their dad. They recognized their regrets for the things they cannot experience with him today ~ like watching him be a fun grandfather to his grandchildren.

I am proud of you, Kevin, Kara and Kelly, for your willingness to transform the relationship with your dad from a relationship of presence to one of memory. It demonstrates your great love for him and the value you place on redeeming the future.

Memory is where the proof of life is stored.

Norman Cousins

Two Dozen Red Roses

Thirty-six years ago today, November 10, 1973, I worked the afternoon shift at the JC Penney store in the Lakewood Mall.  To my surprise, when I arrived home from work there were TWO ~ not one, but

TWO DOZEN

red roses waiting for me.  The card enclosed with the flowers read:

Tonight is going to be very, very, very special!

Love, Tony

Tony and I have known each other most of our lives ~ my earliest memories of him go back to age five.  We grew up in the same southern California town, attended the same church and saw each other at children's meeting, social events and gatherings.  My dad was his third grade Sunday School teacher.  His mom was my sister's Sunday School teacher.  We knew each other for many years when we began dating in 1970.

After three years of dating, I knew that the roses ~ the

TWO DOZEN

red roses ~ meant only

one

thing: that night I would be asked to become Mrs. Tony Redfern!  He reserved a table at

The Gate of Spain

restaurant on the top floor of a building along the Santa Monica coastline.  He

paid

the maitre d'

for a window table.  After our meal, he pulled a handkerchief, with my engagement ring tied to it, from inside his coat pocket (he said he was so afraid of losing it)!  And he asked me

Will you marry me?

So tonight, like every November 10th over the last 36 years, Tony asked me out on a date!  It will be a tender time ~ maybe even tearful time ~ as we celebrate the decision we made to make a lifetime commitment to one another thirty-six years ago, and the faithfulness of God to carry us through the best of times and the worst of times.

Thanks for asking me ~ my answer is still

YES

!

I am so proud to be

Mrs. Tony Redfern!

I love you!

His Slot is Full

Tucked away in the inside cover of my Daytimer is a short article I clipped from a

Compassionate Friends

newsletter thirteen years ago. It is ~ I must admit ~ a

sorry-looking

piece of paper. The edges are crumbled and torn. But the words printed on that small scrap of paper are of great value to me.

It was not long after

Scott died

that I found the article. It was written by a grieving father who had lost his teenage son. The father was responding to an innocent question often asked of parents after the death of a child.

Will you have another child?

Many wrestle to find an answer. As I companion young moms and dads on their grief journey, some share about the confusing emotions tied to that question.

~ Will having another child appear

as if we are replacing our precious child?

~ If we have another child

won't we have new fears of losing

another

child?

~ What if having another child

causes us to forget the child we lost?

One young mom shared with me the fear that gripped her when she found out she was expecting again after the loss of her baby to

SIDS

. Babies who die of SIDS leave may unanswered questions for parents. There are few known causes and a multitude of medical conditions that create the possibility for an infant to die of SIDS. And this mom, like many others, expressed honest, heart-wrenching emotion ~ how would she ever experience peace, knowing she could lose this precious one as well?

Some parents ~ their empty arms too much to bear ~ choose to have another child right away. (Let me say, there is no

right time

to have another child - every one's grief journey is unique.) Yet, the birth of another precious baby will not take away the pain of losing a child. It may provide comfort for those who grieve. It may fill empty days with the joy of new life. But it will not take away the hole left in one's heart by the death of one's child.

And that brings me back to that scrap of paper, the article which so well explains that hole left in one's heart after the death of a child. Yet, it also teaches us about the sacredness of that hole, that

slot

, as the author calls it.

His Slot is Full

Yesterday, a young teacher, a man who had known

Olin, Kathy and me over the years,

asked if we thought of having additional children,

and if we did, would they fill Olin's slot,

that empty space in our lives.

I answered as best I could -

that those parts of us that love are never empty.

Save but for the space they physically filled,

our children live, both spiritually and in us.

While I live, Olin is as recent as the moment,

alive and laughing, forever seventeen.

There are many slots in our hearts for others,

but

his

is filled.

What I have and he took,

what he gave and I took

will never be lost.

Love is there

beyond the dust and ashes that awaits us all.

There will always be room for others,

but he has left no slot to fill.

Even amidst the pain and the sorrow,

it was never empty.

(Don Hackett, Hingham, MA)

After thirteen years of traveling my own grief road I can tell you that Scott's slot ~ the hole left in my heart by his sudden death at a young age ~ is still there, but IT.IS.FILLED! Filled with memories that feed my heart and soul on days when his absence still envelopes me.

These precious memories fill Scott's place in my heart and allow me to maintain a

relationship of memory

with my dear son. Friends who are close continue to make deposits into his slot as they retell stories and let me know they have not forgotten.

It is all part of living with grief.

Mixed Emotions

We spent a fun filled week at Hume Lake this summer. Amy and Jeff, along with Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack,shared the week with us.

Tony and I have spent at least one week each summer at Hume Lake for most of our 35 years of marriage. My family vacationed there in the 50's when I was a little girl, and I went to high school summer camp there in the 60's. Hume Lake is

full

of memories and brings many emotions to mind.

Amid all the fun of making new memories with my grandchildren, there are many

linking objects -

a

normal

part of one's grief journey. There are so many things and places that remind me of the 16 years we had with Scott. Tony went to Father-Son and Father-Daughter Retreats many times with the kids as they were growing up. Scott made the decision to make Christ the Lord of his life at Hume during one of those times with Tony. He made a commitment to be

a tool for Christ

his last summer at Hume.

We are grateful for friends who allow us to stay in their cabin each year. It too is filled with memories - as we summered and wintered there with family and friends. Tucking Kyle and Jack into bed upstairs one night, I told them, "You know, Uncle Scott slept right here in these beds when he was your age!" Their big eyes and wide grins were precious. How I wish Scott was here to meet his nephews and niece.

We took Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack fishing one morning. Even the

lake weed

they reeled in linked me to Scott. He and his buddies were given "lake weed duty" by Dayn (camp dean and future youth pastor to Scott and Amy). Scott spent his free time one afternoon pulling lake weeds from the boat channel as a consequence for some of his

ingenious

pranks.

One morning we drove up to Buck Rock. We climbed the 172 wooden stairs that cling to that huge rock that stands at 8,500 feet. It was Kaitlyn and Kyle's first trip to the top to the fire lookout station. Scott's ashes went off the landing at Buck Rock.

The pile of rocks, placed there 13 years ago as an

Ebenezer

, are still there - a testament that we do not grieve alone. It was precious as Kaitlyn and Kyle helped me pick wild flowers to place on the pile of stones that are a memorial to Scott and represent the emotions of so many friends and family.

Kaitlyn's eyes filled with tears as she laid more flowers on the stones. She has such a tender heart. I remember when she was about five years old and we met with friends at this Ebenezer to begin the memorial bike ride. I was holding Kaitlyn's hand as we walked to this pile of stones to remember Scott before the ride. As the riders took off, Kaitlyn turned to me and said, "But where

is

he?" "Who?" I asked. She replied, "Uncle Scott - I thought he was going to be here today." That was the day she began to understand how we often

groan

in these earthly vessels to be reunited with our loved ones for all of eternity.

And quite honestly,

groan

is a good descriptor. I always enjoy my week at Hume, don't get me wrong. I

love

making new memories, and

savor

the old ones. But several times during our week at Hume, I found myself fighting back many emotions -

sorrow

in Scott's absence,

thankfulness

for the years we had him, and at times -

protest

, that Scott

should

be here to enjoy this with us, to be present with his niece and nephews, to ride the Buck Rock ride with Tony one.more.time.

Please Don't Throw Up In My Car

I am going on a date with Tony tonight ~ just like I did 42 years ago today. We have gone out on a date every August 1st since our first date in 1970.

Growing up at the same church, Tony and I have known each other since we were young. But it was not until I was in high school that I began to wish Tony would ask me out. Since he graduated three years before me, I looked forward to the college group at our church because I knew Tony would be there. It was a wonderful surprise when he asked me out at our weekly volleyball games.

Our first date was somewhat of a

group

date ~ the college group was going to the Hollywood Bowl for a concert. I had not planned on going ~ until Tony asked if I would go with him!

Saturday night finally arrived. Tony picked me up in his

very cool white MGB-GT with leather interior

. We drove to the church where the college group was taking the church bus to Hollywood.

The weather was perfect for the outdoor concert and I was thrilled to be with Tony Redfern!

When the concert ended, we headed back to the parking area. I remember feeling funny ~ like I might be sick ~ so I turned to Tony, looked around for a restroom, and collapsed in his arms. Yep ~ real romantic-like, with my eyes rolled back in my head!

Don't even start laughing yet ~ it gets worse! With his date passed out in his arms, Tony very carefully laid me down on the sidewalk, right in the middle of the crowds of people walking to their cars. It didn't take long before I came to only to begin throwing up all over myself . . . in front of Tony and all those strangers!

A first aide nurse from the Hollywood Bowl came out to help move me over to some curbing where I continued to throw up. The nurse began asking Tony questions to determine what might be the matter with me. I will always remember one of her questions. She asked if I was pregnant, to which Tony answered, "No . . . I don't think so . . . are you?" Great! (The answer

was

NO.)

Needless to say, the ride home on a bus on the freeway was horrendous. When the bus parked back at the church, I threw up some more. When I finally stopped, Tony knew he needed to take me home in his 

very cool white MGB-GT with leather interior

. He opened the back of his

very cool white MGB-GT with leather interior

. He took out an old beach towel. He opened the car door for me and helped me sit down. He tucked one end of the towel into the edge of the dashboard by the windshield. He tucked the other end of the towel in the neckline of my blouse, under my chin. Then he said,

"Please don't throw up in my car."

Needless to say, he did not kiss me goodnight on our first date. And, I did not throw up in his car. It ended up that I had an inner ear infection and I was sick for weeks.

Thankfully, Tony did ask me out again . . . and again . . . and again.

So it is August 1st, again, and I look forward to going on a date with Tony

(especially after the

events

of the past 16 months)

. I am so thankful he did not

dump

me after such a horrible first date. I am thankful we still love to go out on dates after all these years together.

And I guarantee as we drive off tonight, he will say,

"Please don't throw up in my car."

Thirty Five Years

Thirty five years ago this weekend,

I married my best friend.

Can we really be

that old

-

to have been married for thirty five years?

As children I watched you play, never dreaming our two lives would someday become one.

And then, God placed you in my heart

and me in your heart, and on July 13, 1974

we began a journey as husband and wife -

best friends

-

trusting God to make known the path He had for us!

I remember a few years ago, you began telling me,

"You know we are living out the greatest love story ever!”

And I

boastfully

thought to myself,

“Wow! We must be pretty good at this marriage thing!”

Then you gently told me what you meant by this assertion.

God places such a high calling on marriage that He chose the greatest love story of all time to describe how a husband and wife should love and live together. How we live out our marriage

can show the world

His

greatest love –

wherein Christ laid down His life for His Bride, the Church.

Although

WE

have changed in our outward appearance as 35 years has left its mark on us, I can say that we are

still

living out the greatest love story of all time!

So in honor of our 35th Anniversary, I say thank you . . .

Thank you for promising to travel together as one,

to live out our lives together.

Thank you for holding my heart so tenderly,

in times of great joy and deep sorrow.

Thank you for listening to the voice of God

over the many voices of this world.

Thank you for willingly and faithfully providing

for our family along the way.

Thank you for being a godly leader for me,

and our children, to follow with confidence.

Thank you for teaching and modeling

the pathway to peace for our family.

Thank you for remaining my best friend.

After all these years,

I would say

yes

all over again!

I love you!

Molding Memories

Today I grieve the loss of another young son, just four months of age, whom God called Home this week.

Today I call upon the God of all comfort to sustain another mom and dad as they close down the short life of their dear son.

Today I once again go to a mortuary to hold a precious little hand and a tiny foot, and press them into soft clay to mold a lasting memory of this dear son's earthly body.

The death of a child is so painful. It is a period before the end of the sentence. It is not only the loss of the present but also the loss of what might have been . . . the milestones and relationships that will never be.

As a fellow traveler on a journey of grief, a bereaved mom who has walked a little ways down the road, I can say that the future brings opportunity for transformation. But in the present, the here and now, in the rawness of this loss, the weight of this grief may at times seem too much to bear as this young couple begins to create a new normal that does not include their precious son.

Today I offer this young mom and dad a small gift as they begin their own journey of grief, as they move toward transforming their relationship with their little man . . . from a relationship of presence to a relationship of memory. They are still his parents; he is still their son. Death does not change that. But it does mean that their precious memories . . . how he looks, laughs, plays; his sweet smell, tender cries and warm hugs . . . these will forever be spoken of in the

past tense

, and will be what sustains them over the coming decades.

Author Norman Cousin wrote,

Memory is where the proof of life is stored

.

As you remember this family, whether or not you know them personally, bathe them in prayer. If you are near to them, share stories of their precious son. It is true that your comments may bring tears to their eyes, but oh, how their hearts will be filled as you make deposits into their storehouse of memories.

May they feel the everlasting arms of the Father, the God of all comfort, who knows the sorrow of the death of a son, carrying them until they once again hold

their

precious son in their arms for all of eternity.

Wedding Showers in June

I am told

there is an old Italian phrase

about rainy weddings ~

Sposa bagnata, Sposa fortunata.

It means, Wet Bride, Fortunate Bride!

Eleven years ago this Saturday, on June 6, 1998, our house was filled with excitement. Amy and Jeff were getting married in a few short hours!

We spent that day decorating the lovely yard of the Jackson's home beside the Kings River. Friends brought the bouquets of wild flowers they had grown to decorate each table. Twinkle lights and white tulle draped the edge of the yard and the center aisle where Tony would escort our daughter. Amy and her bridal party were upstairs in the Jackson home, having their hair and make-up done. It was a wonderful day and a fairy tale wedding was in the making!

Then, about 4:30 pm, the clear blue sky darkened. Out of nowhere, two storms merged over central California and the rain began. It did not just drizzle or sprinkle. No, it was a downpour. Although sunset was not for another four hours, the sky was dark. Soon lightning and thunder filled the sky. And the fairy tale wedding, the beautifully decorated tables, the white tulle and twinkle lights, were drenched.

Records from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which date back to the 1800's, state for June 6th:

1998: An evening storm drops 1.80 inch of rain in six hours on the Fresno- Yosemite International Airport, part of a total of 1.88 inch for the event. This set records in Fresno for the wettest calendar day in June, the wettest June overall and the wettest 6-and 24-hour periods in the month of June. Across Fresno and Tulare Counties over $27 million dollars in damage occurred to crops damaged by hail and trees downed by the wind. The Reedley area was especially hard hit with 414.8 million in damages.

I remember the tears that rolled down my checks as I watched 400 guests

wade

down that long Jackson driveway under their umbrellas to join us for this blessed event. Amy had dreamed of an outdoor wedding. Hoping the rain would stop, we decided to have the reception first! All our wonderful friends helped set up the buffet lines under the carport. Guests walked on soggy towels to keep from slipping on the wet cement.

It did not stop raining that evening, but it did not keep us from having a wedding. We hastily set up the candelabras on the hearth, and guests found a way to see or hear from throughout the house; some were able to see and hear the ceremony. The music began, and Amy came down the winding staircase on Tony's arm. She was so beautiful, and what had been planned as a lovely outdoor wedding was transformed into an intimate setting around the hearth of this welcoming home.

I have favorite snapshots in my mind, moments I have tucked away of the day of my daughter's wedding. But there is one memory which truly symbolized for me the choice that was made that evening.

As we set things up for the ceremony to take place in the house, we made sure we dried everything off as we brought it inside. We lit all the candles in the candelabras to be sure they would light for the ceremony. But we forgot to dry andtest light the Unity Candle.

When it came to that part of the ceremony, Amy and Jeff picked up their candles to join their individual flames together into a single flame. But the Unity Candle would not light. The wick was thoroughly soaked. After many tries, Amy removed the Unity Candle from its stand, blew her candle out, and set Jeff's candle in the place of the Unity Candle.

I remember all of us laughing with them at the situation. But as I look back on that moment; Amy's actions at that time speak volumes of how she and Jeff would approach their life together.

I know; fairy tale weddings are what most little girls dream of having someday. But too many fairy tale weddings end in broken promises, bitter custody disputes, or merely settle for relationships that have more to do with selfish desires than unconditional love.

What I saw that night, sitting on an ottoman in the Jackson's living room, witnessing my daughter and her husband make vows to one another before God and these witnesses was an act of commitment to take a higher path through life. The rain could have destroyed the wedding. It could have brought out the worst in these two young people. But they chose to find a path of transformation.

Married life is not always sunshine and blue sky. There will be storms and times when it seems the rain just will not go away. Some may make a choice to be destroyed by these times; others will be transformed in spite of them. I am so proud of the marriage that came from that rainy wedding night eleven years ago. I am grateful to watch Amy and Jeff love, honor and respect one another, in good times and bad, as they raise up another generation who are learning that when life sends a storm, you pull on your boots and pop up your umbrella, and find joy in the puddles!

Happy Anniversary,

Amy and Jeff.

Memories and Realities of Mother's Day

Today ~ Mother's Day, 2009 ~ I am rather emotional. Sweet memories and painful realities have me torn to know what I am really feeling. So if this post seems to meander past green pastures and arid wastelands, all in the simple curve in the road, that about sums it up. For Mother’s Day, perhaps like no other day, seems to send me on a journey.

As a child, I fashioned

priceless

gifts for my mom on Mother’s Day. You remember the treasures ~ an empty tin can painted to be a pencil holder; a colorful paper flower with each petal displaying a pledge to do chores for her; a pin made with sequins and beads. Perhaps my favorite Mother’s Day gift I gave my mom was a shiny necklace with a scene of a tropical paradise, all made from butterfly wings. I

sacrificially

purchased it with my tickets at the school carnival.

Really

. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and when she wore it, we both recognized the enormous value of that second-hand piece of costume jewelry.

I became a mother in 1977. Amy was due to arrive three days before Mother’s Day, and I eagerly awaited my first Mother’s Day. Sadly, she came 10 days late. I was well aware as I shuffled into church on Mother’s Day, 1977 that I would have to wait until 1978 to officially qualify to be honored on Mother’s Day.

When Amy and Scott were little I was awaken each Mother’s Day with breakfast in bed. Amid the giggles and battling elbows to be

the one

who carried the tray, I knew I was receiving the most delicious peanut butter toast any mother could ever consume. And, they presented me with their own priceless, handmade gifts, which I still treasure.

This year is different. To be honest, I am grieving. My heart breaks once again for what might have been if Scott were still alive. My soul is heavy as I carry the loss of other young moms who have placed their children in the lap of Abba Father. My eyes weep for my friends whose infant son has lived all of his two and a half months of life at Children’s Hospital.

And yet I find that it is when I am in my darkest place that I more clearly see the pain of others. On this Mother’s Day, I grieve with those whose arms are empty because their wombs are barren. I see the pain in the eyes of young women who always thought they would marry and have children of their own. I am saddened for the children who never knew the love and nurture of a caring mother.

So today, as millions of moms are honored . . . as you honor your own mother, or open handmade trinkets or expensive gifts in your own green pasture . . . look around you. There are arid wastelands where you can be a stream of refreshing love, as you become the arms of God’s grace today.

Redecorating the Future with the Past

Scott loved tools from a very young age and to build something with his hands was his ultimate form of play. If there was a job to be done, and he could use his tools, he would beg to do it. If he stayed home from school sick, I knew he would complete some "fix it" job around the house while I was at work.

During his sophomore year, Scott was very excited to help Dayn, his youth pastor, remodel the old barn our church used as its youth center. It turned out to be one of his last projects before his fatal accident.

When Scott died two months later, the youth group decided to rename the barn,

Scotty's Place

. It was a thoughtful way to remember Scott and also acknowledge the

hole

left in their midst by his absence.

Age and weather eventually took its toll on the old barn, and it became a safety hazard. The leaders of the church told us about the situation a few years ago, and graciously asked for our input. From a logical position, a decision was not hard to make; the building could not remain standing if it could collapse on someone. But from an emotional perspective, the choice to demolish it was complicated; Scotty's Place would be no more. We gave our vote to have the old barn taken down, but we asked to keep some of the old window frames as a memory of Scott and his work on the place.

The day for demolition finally came. Just before the bulldozer moved in, some friends gently removed three window frames from the sides of the old barn. Then, in a matter of minutes, we watched as Scotty's Place became a pile of rubble.

We recently did some painting and redecorating in our house. (Scott would have loved to be there - especially pulling the old built-in bookcase out of the wall!) We gave a fresh coat of paint to one of the window frames from Scotty's Place and decided it looked great as an accent piece hanging by our dining room table.

Like the youth group, there will always be

Scotty's Place

in our hearts and home. Now, there is a window in our home; to provide a glimpse of the past and to remind us to focus on the future, when we will experience a blessed reunion one day.

Speak the Name

Today marks the 13th anniversary of Scott's death. What a joy to receive emails and messages from friends and family sharing memories of Scott. Most of the stories make me laugh; some make me cry. All are a comfort to my soul.

A few years before Scott died, another bereaved mother, Nancy Williams lost her son, Matthew. Shortly after her loss, she penned the following poem:

The mention of my child’s name may bring tears to my eyes,

But it never fails to bring music to my ears.

If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of his name.

It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul.

I love

Scott stories

! Whether they bring tears to my eyes or laughter to my heart, they transform my thoughts and bring me joy.

Is there someone you know who needs to hear you

Speak the Name

of a loved one?

Author Norman Cousin wrote,

Memories are where the proof of life is stored.

I can almost guarantee the memories will soothe their broken heart and bring healing to their soul as they know others remember the life that once was.

Take time to call, email or text them, and share a story.

Don't be afraid of their tears . . .

Blessed are those who mourn

. . . who bring their grief to the outside . . .

for they will be comforted.

Christmases Past

I keep our Christmas decorations in narrow plastic bins under our bed. We always pull the dust covered containers out from under the bed in the days following Thanksgiving as we anticipate the coming of Christmas. I remember when Amy and Scott were little - the excitement of opening those bins each year and their joy as they placed the decorations around the house and on the tree.

I vividly remember Christmas, 1995. Amy was in her first year of college at Biola in southern California. Scott was a sophomore at Immanuel High School in Reedley. As was our tradition, we went out to a local Christmas tree farm, and cut down the

perfect

tree. Scott wanted to begin decorating the tree immediately. I told him that we were going to wait for Amy to arrive home from college before we decorate the tree. I remember saying, "We will always wait until we are all together to decorate the tree." And we did.

That was December, 1995. In six short weeks, February 1996, Scott was killed in an accident. As December 1996 rolled around, my words from Christmas past rang in my ears -

"We will always wait until we are all together to decorate the tree."

I could not buy a tree for Christmas. I could not pull the bins out from under the bed. I could not feel the joy of the season.

For ten painful years we did not buy a Christmas tree. We did not decorate the house for Christmas. Although we celebrated the holiday in the homes of friends and family, exchanging gifts and sharing meals, I could not bring myself to touch the ornaments Scott had touched his last Christmas on earth. I could not decorate a tree when our family would never be

together

again this side of eternity.

I remember thinking, "How long will I go on like this?"

In a feeble attempt to conquer the pain, we decided to try a

different

Christmas tree farm, and we actually purchased a tree for Christmas in 2005 - ten years since the tree we decorated all together. We bravely brought it home, but that was as far as my courage could take me. The tree remained outside, leaning against the side of the garage.

Christmas 2006 again found us able to purchase a tree for our home. We again bravely brought it home. This time, we placed the tree in the stand, and stood it in its rightful place beside the fireplace in our family room. But, sadly, there it stood; we never decorated it. It just stood there throughout the Christmas season; its bare, empty branches a metaphor for my heart. It was Christmas, but something . . .

someone

. . . was so obviously missing.

Then last year, we purchased one of those

fake

trees, only about four feet tall, that already has lights attached to it. We set it up in its rightful place and I slid the bins out from under our bed. As I opened each bin, I was hit with waves of emotions that brought all the pain and sorrow of losing Scott right back to me. There were the ornaments celebrating his early years. There were the precious trinkets he had made in school. There was the box of

glassables

, what Scott called our breakable ornaments when he was little. I pulled out a few items for my grandchildren to hang on the tree and slid the bins back under the bed.

Well, Christmas has come again. This year we decided to have a few friends over to celebrate the season with a Christmas brunch. It sounded like a good idea until I realized that I had set myself up to

need

to decorate. How could they come to my house and have it not look bleak for Christmas? Yet, how could I face my sorrows stored in those bins under the bed?

I asked Amy if she and the grandchildren could come over to help me. I pulled the bins out from under the bed. Almost immediately upon opening the bins there were once again, shouts of glee as my grandchildren spied some of the decorations for the first time. They joyfully decorated the house and stood back to admire their work. Yes, it was painful. Yes, it was difficult. But it was then that I realized I had to let go of the tight grip I held on my old traditions and embrace new ones . . . new traditions that would have been created even if Scott was still here.

I share my experiences with Christmases Past because Christmas can be one of the saddest times for those who have experienced loss.

If you are one of those who grieves the loss of a dear one, I hope my own experience can bring you some comfort. Everyone's grief is unique and you have the right to

own

your own journey. It took me ten years to begin to feel like I could face Christmas in a familiar fashion. And then it took another three years to come to the place in my heart where I was ready to create

new

traditions to build on the old ones. This Christmas, give yourself the gift of listening to your heart. Honor the memories of Christmases Past, take care of yourself this Christmas Present, and look forward to Christmas Future.

If you know someone who is having a hard time this Christmas, be present to their need. Do not hurry them to leave their grief behind. Do not ask them to experience Christmas through your eyes. Listen to their sorrow. Respect their reasoning. Honor the memories they hold dear. In so doing, you will companion them toward experiencing peace with loss.

For the very Babe of Bethlehem came to earth as the Prince of Peace, and He will reconcile all things to himself in time, and make all things beautiful. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

Seven Cows

Many centuries ago in the land of Egypt there lived a Pharaoh who had strange dreams.

One night this Pharaoh dreamt he was sitting on the shore of the Nile River. Suddenly, a herd of seven plump, attractive cows came out of the water and began to eat the lush grassy reeds along the banks.

Then, another herd of seven cows came out of the Nile. But these seven cows were thin, very ugly and poorly fed, not at all like the first seven cows. To Pharaoh’s surprise, these skinny cows did not begin eating the lush grassy reeds. They walked feebly over to the seven plump cows and DEVOURED all seven of them!

When Pharaoh awoke, he was disturbed by this dream. He called for his magicians and wise men, but they could not interpret his dream. Then he called for a young Hebrew man named Joseph.

Joseph, with wisdom from God, explained to Pharaoh that the cows in his dream represented years. The plump and attractive cows stood for seven good years of plenty and pleasure. The seven thin and ugly cows symbolized seven bad years of want and hunger.

Then Pharaoh asked about the strange ending to his dream, recorded in his own words in Genesis 41. “And the thin, ugly cows ate up the first seven plump cows, but when they had eaten them no one would have known that they had eaten them, for they were still as ugly as at the beginning.”

Joseph explained that the ending of this dream indicated that the seven needy years would be so terrible that when they came, it would be difficult to remember the seven years of plenty.

You may be thinking, "Why is Bonnie sharing about “Seven Cows?"

Thanksgiving is just a week away; I recognize that I need to do a little

preparation

for the season. I’m not talking about cleaning the house or baking pies. Thanksgiving seems a perfect time to evaluate my perspective on the years of my life. You know, is my glass half

empty

or half

full

? Is my life

skinny

or

plump

?

I remember a time in my life when I was emotionally and spiritually “thin.” My mother passed away. My father became estranged from us. I focused so much on my pain that I could not see past the sorrow and abandonment to remember the wonderful childhood and loving relationships I shared with my parents for 40-some years. My friend and wonderful counselor reminded me of Pharaoh’s dream. She gently said, “Bonnie, don’t let the skinny cows devour the fat cows.”

I think of Pharaoh’s dream often . . . especially at Thanksgiving. I’m asking God to bring to mind the “plump years” in my life. I want to recall God's faithfulness. I want to remember His promises. I want to redeem the future. Most of all, I want to glorify Him and draw others into His Kingdom as they see a joyful heart of thanksgiving and praise.

May your skinny years

not devour your fat years.

And may you and your family

have a “plump” Thanksgiving –

filled with memories of God’s faithfulness

through the years.