Kiss Your Miracle

It’s New Years Eve, which means today marks the end of 2009. And even though I’ll probably be fast asleep at midnight (unless I happen to be up for one of my many nightly trips to the bathroom at that moment), I’m looking forward to this holiday. I’m sure tomorrow morning will feel almost the same as this morning, but there’s still something nice about the start of a new year. I’ve always been grateful for beginnings and endings. I don’t think it’s a mistake that sunrise and sunset are the most beautiful, peaceful times of the day.

This year especially, the thought of a new start brings relief. I won’t say that ’09 has been all bad; it’s definitely had its share of blessings. In June we found out about miracle baby #2. We celebrated Sky’s first birthday in July and then in the fall learned that our second child is a boy. But this year also held financial stress and health problems for our extended family. And overwhelmingly, 2009 will be remembered as the year of my dad’s cancer diagnosis and his death on November 3^rd. The past few months have been difficult, so in that sense, I’m ready to move forward.

At the same time though, there is a part of me that actually wants to hold onto this year. The pain of my dad’s death is still new and shocking, and every first my family goes through without him stings. Sky still remembers her Papa, but she’s only seventeen months and I know that as time ticks by, her memories of him are fading. I don’t want my dad’s absence to become normal. But I also know that living in a state of grief indefinitely isn’t healthy, and maybe that’s part of why God steadily pushes us on to new months, new years, and new phases of life, even when we might not feel ready.

I hope that for Adam, Sky, and me, 2010 will include a good birth experience and a healthy newborn addition to our family. I hope this year includes a healthy set of twins for my brother and his wife in April, and I’m also asking our Almighty God to give miracle pregnancies to the couples I know who still struggle with infertility. I’m excited at the possibilities of 2010, but the unknown is scary too. I’m sure this coming year will include surprises, some so wonderful we haven’t imagined them yet, and some we would never choose for ourselves. More than ever, I can’t escape the fact that life is fragile. But God has promised that goodness and mercy will follow each of his children all of our days. And I plan to do what I can this year to take Him at His word, regardless of what the future holds.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea…” – Psalm 46:1-2

Christmas 2009 has come and gone, and I have to say that part of me is relieved. I hadn’t been looking forward to this first year without my dad, especially since the rest of my family was 1200 miles away in Michigan. But overall, the holiday wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. We spent Christmas Day with Adam’s sweet family, who lavished Sky with gift after gift. I couldn’t help but feel grateful for our Florida family as we sat around eating quiche and bagels that morning, taking turns pulling Sky around our living room in her new red wagon, which she still can’t get enough of (good job Grammy and Grandpa!).

My highlight though, was Christmas Eve. Our original plan had been the candlelight service at our church – until we found out there would be no childcare. At seventeen months, Sky isn’t capable of even five minutes of quiet stillness and it didn’t seem fair to ask that of her. Adam and I debated going anyway, but finally decided that it might be more meaningful to stay home together instead of trading off with Sky in the lobby. When Sky suddenly threw up all over the kitchen floor at 5:45pm, Adam and I were more than relieved to be at home instead of the 5 o’clock service. We ended up putting her to bed a little after 7, thinking we’d hear from her soon afterward, but apparently her “sickness” was just a little random puking because she slept straight through till morning.

Once Sky was in bed, Adam and I shared a little wine, ate grilled steak and baked potatoes for dinner, and read Matthew 5 together. It’s not a traditional Christmas passage, but for us that night, it was perfect. We sat at the table for two hours discussing the words of Jesus. Then before bed, we ate some of Jesus’ birthday cake with a little ice cream on the side.

I love my family with all my heart and I always look forward to sharing Christmas with them, but this year the grief of missing my dad made it easier to think about God and his promise of eternal life. My mom is constantly pointing out ways God has blessed us during this difficult year, and I think that Christmas Eve was one of them for me. A couple hours with Adam where we focused on God together – no dressing up, no socializing, no presents, no agenda. It was exactly what I needed for Christmas this year.

I know it’s December, but so far this year I haven’t felt very Christmasy. To me, the holidays are all about celebrating the gift of Jesus with family, and now that my dad is gone, my family feels very different. In a sense, this should be a very special Christmas; because Jesus came to earth, I have the assurance that one day I’ll get to see my dad again in heaven. But even though I believe that with all my heart, I still feel sad when I think about the holidays. There won’t be any more Christmases here with my dad, and sometimes eternity feels very far away.

Over the weekend, Adam and I decided to get a Christmas tree. We debated it for a while. “Is it worth it?” I asked. “Will Sky completely destroy it as soon as we get it up?” I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful, lit-up Christmas tree sitting peacefully in the corner of our living room without her trying to climb up it, or yank off all the lights, or maybe even pull the whole thing down on top of herself. “It’ll be okay,” said Adam, and I thought about how my parents always had little kids in the house and we always had a Christmas tree anyway (though I do remember a few tree-falling incidents). So off we went to pick out a tree, in the pouring Florida rain.

One positive thing about having a high-maintenance child – she doesn’t allow me much time for self-pity. I was too busy forcing her to hold my hand as we walked around the trees to feel sad that I won’t get to be with my mom and siblings in Michigan for this first Christmas without my dad. We grabbed a tree in five minutes flat and got back in the truck before Sky could take off running through the aisles of trees.

Once we got home, Adam pulled out our Christmas boxes and got to work trimming the tree. I sat on the floor with Sky and let her dig through the ornaments. Most of them are very old ornaments that Adam and I made when we were kids in Sunday school. Our moms passed them on to us after our wedding, and they’re almost all battered and falling apart. Sky was fascinated by them. And once we put lights on the tree, she was beside herself with excitement, shrieking and jumping around. She watched me hang a few ornaments and immediately began to imitate me. Sure, she’d pull them off right after putting them on, but Adam and I were still impressed that she was even interested in the decorating part.

I’m starting to realize that one of the best parts about being a parent is the way it forces you to get over yourself. You can still spend time moping around, convincing yourself that everything is miserable. But not as much time. Little kids have a way of pushing you forward, making you laugh, and reminding you that no, not everything is miserable. Some things are still okay. Some things are actually wonderful. Jesus came to earth with the promise of something more, and nothing, not even my fickle emotions, can change that.

Life is always full of questions, but sometimes it seems like the questions are suddenly huge. And instead of just appearing in one area of life, they’re all over the place. Adam and I are in that kind of stage right now, where the future is filled with unknowns. Neither one of us has any idea what 2010 will hold. Lord willing, it will include a healthy newborn arriving in February (or maybe January – please Lord? Can this one come early?), but beyond that, we just don’t know. Will next year mean a new job for Adam? Will that be a good thing? Will 2010 include a cross-country move? And if so, will we be able to sell our house here? What will it be like to have a tiny baby in our house again, this time with a high-energy toddler around? Will we be able to handle everything in store for us?

Adam and I have had many talks lately about our uncertain circumstances. In church world you hear a lot about the will of God and his plans for the life of each individual. People talk about how it was God’s will for so and so to get married or to be sick or to lose his job. It’s all rather confusing to me, and I can’t say that I know where the line is between our personal decisions and God’s sovereign control.

Recently though, Adam and I came across a short verse in 1 Thessalonians that has clarified things for us. It says, “Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (5:18). Neither one of us can get it out of our heads. Whenever we talk about the future, we end up back at that verse. Sometimes it frustrates us. When we’re asking which direction to go, that’s not the answer we want. The verse’s instruction isn’t easy. But it is simple. And it reminds us of where our focus should be – less on what we should do tomorrow and more on thanking God for what he’s given us today.

It could have been worse. A lot worse. Just thinking about driving 1200 miles in a little car with a very active sixteen month old is enough to make anyone anxious. But overall our trip home went well. It was a holiday weekend, but somehow we didn’t run into any traffic the entire way. Let me also say that whoever first thought to attach a playland to a fast food restaurant is a genius. Giving Sky a half hour to run out her energy every now and then made a big difference. Before we left my mom promised Sky would settle into “travel mode” and do better than we’d expected, and she did. She only had two full-on meltdowns and one of them was at the end of the drive when we were only an hour and half from home. (Nothing seems that bad when you’re that close.)

But the best part of the whole journey happened about fifteen minutes after we got home. My friend Amy from MOPS showed up with a carful of groceries for us. She’d called earlier to ask what kind of milk we like and said she was bringing over “a few things.” Then she showed up with enough food to stock our entire empty refrigerator. She’d collected money from our MOPS table to buy the groceries and she also coordinated meals for us for the next few weeks. After she’d gone I noticed there were flowers on the counter too, and a card from all the MOPS moms.

I stood in my kitchen and let myself cry for a few minutes. Though I’d really, REALLY been looking forward to the end of our road trip with Sky, I’d been dreading the moment when we’d arrive home in Florida, far away from my family in Michigan. Coming home means that life is moving forward even though my dad is not here anymore, and that just seems strange. It feels wrong. I don’t want to move forward into life without my dad, this life where my mom is a widow. Yesterday, November 29^th, would have been my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary and I couldn’t think of anything else all day. In Michigan we talked about my dad a lot. His clothes still hang in the closet and his change and pens and index cards still sit on his dresser. But here in Florida, just a handful of people have even met my dad. How could I expect anyone to understand how different my life suddenly feels?

But Saturday night when we got home I realized that someone does understand – Amy. She lost her father just seven months ago herself, and because of the way she’s reached out to me, I don’t feel the loneliness I’d been expecting. Whenever I open the fridge, I’m reminded of Amy’s kindness and the sweetness of everyone else at MOPS, and somehow this dark, draining time is suddenly a little less difficult. Please God, help me be that kind of person too, the kind who goes out of my way to comfort my hurting friends.

“All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”

~ 2 Corinthians 1:3-4