A Year in Reflection

Dear Mom,

You've been gone over a year.  Your son and husband (yes, my brother and father) went on vacation so no one was home for the anniversary of your death.  I went to see you cousin and your son-in-law (yes, I know, my husband) preached a short message for the first time in seven years.  The month of August is nearly over and we're finally getting around to celebrating the anniversary of your death or maybe it's a memorial.  You know I'm terrible at these things, pretending to care about something I don't really care about.

You're gone.  I've accepted that.  I've learned to live with hit.  I've managed to move on with my life, even if that life has a huge hole in it shaped like you.

Your sister called me and gave me her chicken korma recipe.  That's what started the whole thing.  After I hung up the phone that I realized how much she sounds like you, the way she talks.  But then she's your sister so she should sound like you.  The way she said I should use half ghee and half oil and it'll taste good but maybe not so good for health.  I could hear you telling her that in that big sister tone you used.

You're happy aren't you?  I mean you're where you always wanted to be, in the arms of your Father.  How could I want you to be here with me?  That would be selfish and it seems I do love you enough to be ok with you being gone because I know you're happy.

It took us a year but I think we're getting there.  You said to me that you weren't worried about me because you knew I was going to be all right.  I think I am getting there.  You said that it was better this way and I'm starting to believe it.  It is better with you gone.  Somehow, when you were here you kept us together, you cared for us, you loved us.  Without you, we had to learn how to do all that and in a way, we are a lot better than we have ever been.

It's a new kind of better mom.  In a way, like your son said, you did water us, your own personal garden on earth and we have thrived under your care.  With you gone we suffered but our roots are deep so we have managed to bounce back and thrive.  You know, only God could do that, give us beauty for our ashes, joy for our sorrows.

Today I am happy.  I didn't think I would be.  I am tired and so is Dad.  He and I spent the entire day cooking, arguing, and cooking.  The food isn't exactly as good as yours (because you didn't make it) but it's pretty close.  I nearly had a mishap with the chicken but he insisted I believe it's going to work.  So I made it work.  We'll see tomorrow.  I was nervous about the rice so it didn't come out exactly like yours but he fixed it and made it work.  We did the rice pudding, it tasted the way yours used to taste.

We talked a lot about you.  We missed you.  We remembered you.  He said that I could do all the things you could.  You know, that was the nicest thing he has ever said to me.  He even insisted that I focus on my writing and get published.

Tomorrow we're having a memorial.  This is mine to you.  

A Recipe for Happiness

I love to cook.  I didn't know how to cook until I met my husband.  I learned how to cook from him.  My mother was always very disdainful of my use of recipes.  A real cook didn't need recipes.  These days I don't use recipes much maybe occasionally as a guideline.  Two compliments my mother paid me in my life regarding my cooking that I never forgot were that my julienne potatoes and Indian fried egg was exactly like my grandmothers.  Coming from my mother this was high praise indeed.  She wasn't someone who believed in handing out praise like candy at Halloween.  It could make you prideful and the Bible calls us to be humble.  She and I had a very different definition of humility and pride.

After her first cancer recovery I had the pleasure to cook her 60th birthday dinner.  She didn't turn her nose up at any of it and actually ate my cooking.  I'll take that as praise as this was the best I was likely to get.  But the last thing I ever cooked for her was at the Father's Day barbecue at my cousin's house in 2014, not too long before she died.  This time she took the time to praise my chana chat and the barbecue chicken.  She took the time to say a lot of things to everyone.

Since she died, I haven't been able to really cook good Indian much less Bengali food.  My lately, I have been craving chicken korma which is a curried chicken cooked in a  yogurt sauce.  I found recipes online and in books which didn't work very well.  My father suggested I call my mother's sister in Atlanta and ask her for the recipe because she cooks it very well.  Ah the wonders of modern technology where you can leave a Facebook message for your aunt and she calls you on your cell phone at work to tell you the recipe so you can cook it when you get home.  What's not to love?  I was excited.

As I hug up the phone and walked away, I was filled with a sense of elation.  With a few words scribbled on a paper and a conversation that was a mixture of English and Bengali, a piece of me was restored to me.  I work with my Dad so my next stop was to go see him.  He handed me a $20 after a short conversation of the recipe so I could make some for him.  This was a big deal because ever since my Mom died, my father and I have lived in the same house and he has resisted all attempts on my part to cook anything for him.  But that's a story for another day.

I picked up the chicken and a white Spanish onion as I really can't stand the smell of regular onions.  Haven't been able to since my first pregnancy where I stood two houses down from my parents because my mother was cooking and the smell was making me nauseous.  Thankfully my friend and neighbor at the time had pity on me and decided to take me to breakfast.  That chicken came out amazing.  The smell that permeated through the kitchen and the house reminded me of times when my mother would cook it.  No it wasn't her recipe but her sister's but I figured they had to learn it from the same place, my grandmother.  In a way, my aunt's recipe connected me back to my mother and for the first time, I felt happiness swell up in my heart since she died.  It was the first time when memories of her wasn't a deep aching loss but filled with sweet nostalgia.  Both my father and my brother loved the chicken.

I know....where is the recipe already!

Here it is....but a word of caution, it doesn't have measurements.  I eyeballed it all.  If you are an experienced cook, you'll be able to make adjustments.  The eyes and nose are the key to this recipe.  So here goes.

This is what the season chicken should look like

I used chicken thighs and drumsticks (perhaps 3-4 lbs of meat), four pieces of thighs, cleaned and cut in half and six pieces of drumsticks with the bottom and skin chopped off.  I seasoned this with whole black peppers, cloves, cardamon, cinnamon sticks, ground coriander, and ground garam massala,

Step 1
Freshly diced onions, garam massala,
and bay leaves cooking on olive o

Step 2
Once onions are soft and caramelized add
freshly chopped ginger, garlic, ground coriander
and a little salt

This is what it should look like when
it's ready for the chicken

Once they had softened I added the chicken, brought it up to heat, covered it and let it simmer at low until the water started to render.  I did this for maybe 30-40 minutes.

Step 4
Mix ground coriander and sugar with
plain non-fat yogurt

Step 5
Push chicken to side and add yogurt
mixture slowly into the sauce

Mix the rest of the chicken and
sauce together.

I covered it and cooked the chicken it on low for another 30 minutes or so.  The key thing to remember is that the total cook time was about an hour.

What it looks like when it's been
cooking for over an hour

Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
That's how you reduce the sauce
Very crucial to recite Shakespeare at this point

At last you have Chicken Korma

Remember - depending on how thick you like you sauce this could be between 15 - 30 minutes.

Happy 6 Year Anniversary of Our Birthday

He was born, the love of my life, on this day, over 6 years ago.  He was purple and I remember my mother's careening cry and his father repeatedly crying "this isn't how it's supposed to be."  You see, he was purple and wasn't breathing.  That was but a moment and for that moment, he was whisked away from me to spend the first two days of his life in the NICU.

Our first meeting

Today, I feel the passing of my mother, that old wound like it was made yesterday.  The missing part of me, the broken part of me, the grief that overwhelms me, I feel it more keenly than I have in a long time.  I knew this day would come.  It was inevitable.  Now it's here.   

the newest link on the unbroken chain

I am choosing to move through day, not as if nothing ever happened but rejoicing in what did happen, the birth of my son.  You see, that little boy impacted my life more than anyone I know.  He changed me in ways I never anticipated.  He showed me the depths of me, the breadth of me, and when I thought I couldn't go on anymore, he showed me exactly how strong I really am as he anchored me and pulled me back from the abyss.  

my son and me, motherhood

Happy birthday, my love

We all seek a connection, a link to another living person.  I was linked to someone, the woman inside of whom God fearfully and wonderfully created me.  Then she simply slipped away, leaving me alone to figure it out on my own.  She was right though, when she said she knew I was going to be ok.  Since she left me, I have found a way back to myself, granted its a new self, but I am moving forward, holding onto a little pair of hands, that's quickly growing big everyday.

Today, despite the grief and pain that rings loud within me, I am celebrating life, the life of a little boy who came into mine and completely changed it.  Somehow, he made me better.  

the "Dear Mom" letter....

I walked by your picture the other day and your smile staring back at me seemed like a distant memory.  You’ve become someone I used to know, like the elderly Korean neighbor you used to always greet, whose grandson is now in middle school.  I hardly remember her.  You’re an image from my past, like your neighbor slowly walking past your house on her cane who always stopped with a friendly greeting but in the impatience of my youth I simply wanted to move on.  Except I can’t seem to move past this grief.  Like countless amputees, you’re just the ghost of a limb I once had.  I can feel you there if I reach far back in my memories.  I was surprised by your image as I walked past it.  The fleeting thought entered my mind that you were my mother.  There are pictures of you everywhere.  The one that still cripples me is the one with you and your grandson.  You both have the same exact smile and the way you are holding onto each other it’s as if you knew this moment would have to last. 

I drove over six hours with the husband and son you left behind to a place where I had always dreamt of going.  I’m sitting here in the dark, on bench and writing beneath the light of the moon and street lights.  The sound of cars and trickling water from a small fountain with a pineapple on it, serenade me.  Your grandson were so excited to go on vacation.  I needed to desperately sleep on a real bed.  If you hadn’t died, I would have bought my bed months ago.  The mattress has a huge dent from my ever changing weight through two pregnancies.  It really needs to be replaced.  Except for some strange reason I keep remember that it was an anniversary present from you. 

I dreamt of this weekend but then I dreaded it too.  I don’t remember when we last went on a family vacation together.  I think it was my cousin’s wedding.  You would have been proud of him.  But then you don’t use that word.  You preferred humility.  Maybe because English is our second language that our take on the words vary.  Or maybe we were never meant to be of one accord.  Yet there are times I catch a glimpse of myself, a limb, a silhouette, a gesture, something that’ll catch my breath.  Out of the corner of my eyes, I think I see you but I know you’re not there. 

This is your timeshare.  You should be here.  You should have seen your grandson, how proud he was that he overcame his fear and actually swam.  They can’t wait to go back in tomorrow.  I’ll probably join them.  You would love the cruise we’re taking tomorrow.  You liked that sort of thing.  We passed a Walgreens on the way here.  My dad remembered how it’s your favourite store and talked about you always finding one near every hotel where you happened to be vacationing.  But like your pictures, these reminiscences are pointless.  I have a life to live and since you’ve been gone, your absence seems to take me farther away from who I was.  Or maybe it is in your absence that I am finally coming into my own, removed from that large shadow you cast over my life. 

Truth be told, I miss your shadow.  I grew into the woman I am beneath your shade.  Now the sun scorches me.  Yet, I am still standing because while I stood beneath you, my roots had grown deeper than I realized.  There is a serenity here in the dark, the sound of the night enfolding me in its embrace.  It is an unusual place to write.  But then I was never usual was I?  I wish you could have simply told me the truth and not hid behind the pretense of humility.  In the end, the legacy we leave behind are our words.  I made sure to tell your grandson how proud I was of him.  It was a big deal for him to go for a swim.  He overcame his fear.  He is an over comer. 

I think in death you finally became the mother I needed.  I can cherish your memory and who you inspire me to be without dealing with the myriad facets of your personality.  I don’t think there is anyone who doesn’t feel your absence tonight.  But I think we are healing.  We are beginning to see a picture of what your family looks like without you.  It is hard.  Maybe it will never become easy.  But we are trying.  At the end of the day, it is what any of us can do. 

So after all the dreading and the stressing, I have come to a simple conclusion.  God never gives you more than you can handle.  So you have to trust him and yourself, because if he’s allowing you to go through the valley, not only will he see you thru but he has already equipped you to deal with what the valley holds.  Waiting and asking God what his will is for your life is fruitless.  If you really want to know what God’s will is for your life, you have to stop and listen to the answer.  But most importantly, you must find the courage to not only boldly accept the answer but act on it.  Sometimes, you really have to remember to look past the trees and notice the forest in all its majestic vastness.  Only then can you truly appreciate the raw beauty that surrounds you.

I hate it that you are gone.  But like any amputee, I am learning to live without you.  I am living better without you than I did with you.  Perhaps that is the real lesson of motherhood, letting go, of your mother and your child.  Life is but a fleeting moment.  We are born and we will die.  The only thing that really matters is the size of our footprint while we were here.  It’s not about fame or fortune because they come and go with the wind, it is about the impact we have in the lives of those who allow into the sanctuary of our family.  

Reflections Upon Psalm 30

“I’m Trading My Sorrows” was one of my mother’s favorite songs.  I haven’t actually been avoiding it, rather I have been not actively sought to listen to it.  I’m not sure if it’s one and the same thing.  However, the chorus hasn't been far from my mind.  So I Googled the verse.  I have finally found a tool that actually lets me look up Bible verses when I have a vague idea of the words that’s in the verse.  It directed me to Psalm 30:5.  How could I possibly just look up the verse without reading what came before and after? 

Now, I don’t claim to be a theologian, a biblical or rabbinical teacher, or pastor, or preacher, or anything other than myself.  I've read Psalm 30 before.  Only this time I was facing personal stress inducing situations, and feeling overwhelmingly depressed and discouraged.  I was simply trying to find something to latch onto, a word, anything to try to find my way out of this sea of despair I was quickly sinking into.  I wanted God’s reminder that “weeping may endure for a night, But joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).  What I found was more than anything I expected.  The heading for this psalm says it was a song of the blessedness of answered prayers and it was sung at the dedication of the house of David.  However, as I read the words, a picture began to form of a night in Gethsemane, a man praying with such passion that his sweat and tears became droplets of blood.  In the midst of David’s psalm, a picture of Jesus’s grief, his obedience, his suffering, his victory, his resurrection began to emerge. 

¹ I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up, 

And have not let my foes rejoice over me.  

² O Lord my God, I cried out to You, 

And You healed me.  

³ O Lord, You brought my soul up from the grave; 

You have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.  

⁴ Sing praise to the Lord, you saints of His, 

And give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name.  

⁵ For His anger is but for a moment, 

His favor is for life; 

Weeping may endure for a night, 

But joy comes in the morning.  

⁶ Now in my prosperity I said, 

“I shall never be moved.”  

⁷ Lord, by Your favor You have made my mountain stand strong; 

You hid Your face, and I was troubled.  

⁸ I cried out to You, O Lord; 

And to the Lord I made supplication: 

⁹ “What profit is there in my blood, 

When I go down to the pit? 

Will the dust praise You? 

Will it declare Your truth?  

¹⁰ Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me; 

Lord, be my helper!”  

¹¹ You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; 

You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, 

¹² To the end that my glory may sing praise to You and not be silent. 

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever.  

~ Psalm 30:1-12 (NKJV) 

Yet what stood out the most, literally shouted up at me, were David’s bold words “I cried out to You, O Lord; And to the Lord I made supplication: “What profit is there in my blood, When I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise You? Will it declare Your truth?  Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me; Lord, be my helper!” (Psalm 30:8-10)  This is no meek cry of desperation!  This is no wail of the broken heart!  This was the cry of a King to his God, boldly making his needs heard before his God.  This is the cry of one who is confident of God’s love and care for him.  This is the bold declaration of a child secure in the love of his heavenly Father. 

Why is my heart faint?  Why am I afraid?  Is His promise not the same for me as it was for those who came before me?  His words says “whoever believes” “should not parish,” does that not also include me?  Where is that boldness?  Will I allow my emotions to drown out my praise?  The lyricist wrote, “I will praise you through the good or bad” because “praise is what I do.”  It is not enough to simply cry out to God for help but like David I need to boldly claim God's blessings and continue to give him praise.    

Shall then be like Mary the sister of Martha who chose to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to his words?  I have dreams and goals which are secular of nature.  Shall I be divided between my two selves and live forever with one foot in the spiritual and one in the secular?  I am Martha, concerned with the care of the secular aspects of my life.  But I long to be like Mary, to indulge in the spiritual without reservations.  Martha invited Jesus into her home and wanted to gift him with her best hospitality.  But Jesus saw to the heart of her, her worry about all the little details which really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.  Mary didn't just invite Jesus, she chose him with every fiber of her being.  Why then should this choice be taken from her? 

Free will is a powerful concept.  We think of our basic human rights, the right to life, liberty, and prosperity.  Our government gives us this.  But have we ever considered what it really means to really have those rights?  Circumstance happen and will continue to happen and very rarely can we actually control them.  The more we try, like Martha, the more overwhelmed we will feel.  But what if…like David, we choose to boldly cry out before God, pour out all our miseries, our worries, trade our “yolk” and take up His instead?  What if we “yolk” ourselves to Christ and choose life, to boldly praise Him always and forever? 

Does it mean we need to accept our circumstances and repeat that overused cliched phrase Christians love so much?  “I’m too blessed to be stressed?”  I stopped to think about it because it just seemed insincere to me.  Upon closer examination, I've come to the conclusion that it should be spoken with boldness, as a reminder that we have chosen Jesus and we are recipients of His blessings.  Those inconsequential details of our everyday life that cause us to despair, to become stressed, cause us to falter, we can simply give it over to Him.  As it says (1 Peter 5:6-7), “therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” .

I am blessed, with a promise that “the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, [will] perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle [me].” (1 Peter5:10).  I have seen death.  I have stared it in the face.  I have spent many hours in its presence.  Like David, I can boldly claim that I “have put off my sackcloth and [am] clothed…with gladness…[I] will sing praise to [God] and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever” simply because like Mary, I am choosing that which is needed, the good part and it will not be denied me. 

I realized that unless I boldly accept God’s blessings in my life and continue to praise Him and thank Him, I will continue to slip into that quicksand of despair and hopelessness.  In all circumstance, let’s not forget God’s advice, His promise, and finally His commandment to Joshua, "be strong and of good courage" God will never leave us or forsake us; he’s always with us, where ever we go.  Armed with this knowledge, I realize that I am free to make a choice.  I chose to get up and get on with my life.  I chose to take my blessings with both hands and accept them with a heart filled with gratitude.  The heartaches are a part of the blessings because they have allowed me to value my blessings.  My pain has shown me the depth of my courage and strength.  I am determined, like David to sing His praise and give Him thanks forever. 

Choosing to Let Go…

Life doesn’t not wait but it ever marches forward to a beat that matches the rhythm of the living heart.  The dead do not care, they do not dream, they simply sleep an eternal slumber.  If faith in Christ gives us anything it is hope that one day this hollow pain we feel, this thorn in our flesh that reminds us of our loss, will one day end and we will see those who have gone before.  So the choice is clear isn’t it?  Or at least it should be, maybe.  It’s been months and here I stand at yet another crossroad.  Like petals torn from a flower, it’s time to let them go and watch the wind sweep them out of your hand.  The flower is dead.  You ripped it off.  The petals would have fallen off with time anyway.  But at least for a moment, you held it in your hand, smelled its fragrance, taking in its beauty in wonder.  Now it’s time to let it go and walk away.

Perhaps the most powerful realization we can have is that of free will.  I am not burying my pain.  I have embraced it.  I am not ignoring my loss and letting it fester like a deep wound inside of me.  I acknowledge that it has healed and there are scar tissues that has formed in its wake.  I will feel them when I least expect it.  It’s a reminder that I am still alive.  I get to choose how I will live my life, if I will live at all.

I have keenly felt this medical history that has been handed to me without so much a by your leave.  I do wonder if I will be struck down in similar fashion in the future.  Will cancer kill me or will dementia make me forget all the wonders of my life?  Perhaps God allows the storms of life to come so that we can learn to be still and acknowledge that he is still the God upon the throne.  It feels as if everything in my life is coming to a headlong collision all at the same time and the biggest obstacle at the head of this brigade is my loss, specially since tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  I keep thinking, maybe, just maybe if I can get through this then I will be fine. 

I read two articles today, one written by a mother and another written by a father.  They were both about the loss of a child.  These articles reminded me how close I came to losing my own son on the day he was born.  My mother’s cry of anguish still echo in my ears as I remember by body finally expelling this wrinkly purple looking child after over twenty hours of labor.  He didn’t cry.  His father’s face broke as he kept saying this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.  I remember only this absolute peace that everything was going to be just fine.  He wasn’t breathing.

I knew something was wrong because my midwife called the ambulance.  One of the other midwife actually got to the Birthing Center before the ambulance.  His father would later tell me of singing Amazing Grace to our son.  Before they took my baby to NICU, the midwife brought him to me so I could kiss him good-bye.  I forgot that my mother was there or anyone else and I just saw this perfectly pink little boy and he was really quite beautiful.  I didn’t get to hold my son until the day after he was born.  He was so tiny but the moment I had him in my arms I knew I would never be the same.  He changed me.  He made me a mother.

Today I am choosing to take off my hat.  I will stop straining to hear the faint echo of the word “daughter” from the past.  I will stop being angry as my anger doesn’t serve any purpose but to steal from me moments in the present.  I told her I am letting her go so today I am doing just that.  I am leaving behind the daughter and embracing the mother.  This is who I am.  I am a mother.  I don’t need a day to remind me of what I have lost or one to celebrate who I am.

All I need is this immense gratitude that I had an amazing mother who loved me the same way I am now privileged to love my sons.  One day it will be my turn to step into the doorway of eternity.  When that time comes, I will leave them behind but until then, I can’t be distracted by grief.  I need to love them as much as I can, while I have the time.  I will be with her again.  Until then, I’m here, so I’m choosing to let her go and move on with my life.  I need to.  It’s about time.  

My IT Moment

So we have taken the concept of positive thinking and attitude to a whole new level since my other half’s car accident.  As my 5 year old and I head out to the car, his father sees us to the door and together we recite Psalm 118:24.  “This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it.”  (NKJV).  When we get into the car, my son’s godfather, who has been a heaven sent blessing taking him to and picking him up from school also recites this verse with us before we say a quick prayer heading off into our day.  Words in general have enormous power. 

When my husband was in a car accident earlier this year, January 24^th to be exact, the verse he couldn't escape was James 1:2-3.  “Consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”  (NIV).  Usually these days the reaction most people have to our family is “OMG, you guys just can’t catch a break.”  Yeah sometimes it does feel like that.  If it’s not a person then it’s something or other that’s usually going wrong.  But I have to say, that verse did give us both pause.  

It’s hard not to listen when God speaks specially when your arm is broken and four of your ribs are cracked.  The road thus far hasn't been easy.  I won’t bore you with the details because to be honest, the shorter version of this story is the one that has any meaning at all if any.  We've managed with help from family and friends to get here.  But this story isn't really about me or us.  If my mother was here this is the story I would be sharing with her excitedly.  She would get it, and marvel at it with me. 

Jesus said to his disciples in Mark 10:14-15 “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. ¹⁵ Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” (NIV)  Lately my 5 year old has been very intrigued about Sunday school, the Bible for Kids app on my tablet, and Chris Tomlin’s song, “Whom Shall I Fear.”  Not sure how the 5 year old mind works so far be it for me to deny him when he wants to go to Sunday school or do his Bible for Kids app or listen to that song for the 1000^th time. 

He’s been on the precipice of something and I wasn't quite sure what exactly.  I was eager to get him to salvation and accepting Christ.  His father pointed out that salvation is more than just saying what is called the “sinner’s prayer” in Christian circles.  It’s a point of acceptance at the wonder of who God is.  It’s that moment when you realize that you are loved by this amazing God so much that He sent His son to die in your place. 

So did we try to explain this to our son?  Yes of course, since the moment he was old enough to ask about the whole Easter business.  That was a few years ago.  He was quite young and I’m not really sure what his 3 year old brain thought about such things.  Earlier this evening, I had a choice to make.  As my father and sister-in-law headed off to the Friday night prayer service at our church I had to decide whether or not it would be worth my while to go to church today.  After all I have made this renewed commitment to seek after Him whom my heart loves beyond all else. 

I was tired and feeling lazy.  After everything else, I really just wanted to head over to the diner and hang out with my family.  Which is what we ended up doing.  Then something amazing happened.  It was so subtle, that I could have missed it if I had blinked. 

Christopher:  Daddy do you know what would make God really sad?

Daddy:  What?

Christopher:  If you said “I don’t love you God.”

Me:  That is true.

Christopher:  I will never say that, because I love Him so much.

Breathe my heart.  Inhale, exhale.  As Jesus said to his disciples when they tried to turn the little children away, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. ¹⁵ Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”  Mark 10:14-15 (NIV)

If I had to do it all again, I would, in a heartbeat oh God.  You have made me glad.  The sorrow will last for the night because as you promised, my joy will come in the morning.  How can I have anything but joy as I face these trials set before me?  I know you are with me every step of the way.  Where ever I go, you will never leave me or forsake me.  How can I regret anything in my life when you have showered me with such abundant beauty and grace? 

I sat there and finished my dinner.  Tonight was a moment, I never want to forget.  We make choices in life.  I chose not to go into his house tonight but to spend it with my son.  Because of that choice, I got to witness that moment in my son’s life where his young heart was handed over to Christ.  I could hear his name being etched into the Lamb’s book of life.  Maybe I didn't get a lot of things right in my life.  But at least God has allowed me to get this far with amazing grace and mercy. 

That was so my IT moment!

Birthdays in Memorium

So today I turn 37.  That brings me 3 years closer to 40.  Good grief.  I am getting old and I can actually hear my biological clock ticking.  Never thought I’d ever say those words. 

My 1st birthday

Five years ago I realized that birthdays are significant to two people.  Obviously it's important to the person whose birthday it is but it's also a very important day for the woman who gave birth to that person.  I spent my 33rd birthday with my mother at the hospital while she was waiting to have an operation that would remove the tumors they found in her colon.  I walked into her room and the first thing she said to me was happy birthday.  Then she apologized for being in the hospital for my birthday.  It's then that I realized that this day was a shared experience for us both.  This day marked the day her life changed and she became a mother.  I was the one who changed her into a mother.  This was our day. 

My 3rd birthday

My 5th birthday (my brother sharing it with us in utero)

So today I remember the woman who's no longer on this earth.  She the one who brought me into this world and loved me from the moment I drew my first breath and she drew her last.  Mom, I haven't got enough to words to express how much I miss you today.  Here's to the beginning of a lifetime of birthdays without you.  

Maybe my 6th birthday

Could be my 7th birthday