Kiss Your Miracle

Near the time of my dad’s death, my mom wrote a post on her blog about being her husband’s helper. When she was overwhelmed with the idea of caring for him through his cancer, she felt God reminding her that all she needed to do was the thing she’d always done: help him. Her words stuck with me, partly because I know she really lived that way. I have no memories of my mom belittling my dad, correcting him, or nagging him. Even during my self-centered teenage years when I was hyper-critical of my father and constantly pointing out his flaws, my mom never once agreed with me. She would always defend her husband.

Now that I’m older and married, her philosophy of helping has even more meaning, and I keep thinking about it. To be honest, it’s not really that difficult for me to want to help Adam, and I guess that’s mainly because he’s always helping me. I used to give Sky a bath every night, but now that my belly is big enough to make the process really awkward, he does it. “No, you put your feet up,” he tells me when I offer to help.

Sky just cut two new teeth and she’s been irritable this week (major understatement). But Adam still jumps right in with her when he gets home from work. The other day after he put up our Christmas lights while I sat in a lawn chair on the driveway, he took Sky for ride after ride on his old long skateboard. I grabbed the camera and found myself overwhelmed with gratitude for my husband, who takes such good care of his family. Things in our marriage are really good right now. But I’m also praying we have many more years together, and that will probably include some tough stretches. I hope I don’t forget my mom’s wisdom when those difficult times come, and instead of pushing my own agenda or trying to prove that I’m right, I hope I step back and focus on what God really wants us to do in our marriages: help each other.

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

When Thanksgiving is over and everyone is shopping their hearts out on Black Friday, Adam and I will be rolling down the highway as fast as we can. We’ll have Sky with us in the car, and the trip from my mom’s house in Michigan down to our house in Florida takes eighteen hours of driving time, not including stops or traffic or any other major problems. We have no idea when we’ll actually get back to Ocala; we just know that we’re leaving Friday morning.

The past two months surrounding my dad’s cancer and death have been a chaotic blend of traveling and living away from home. Skylar and I have basically been in Michigan since the beginning of October except for a five day stretch a month ago when we flew back to Florida to take care of a few things. Adam has gone back and forth a few times, both flying and driving, and because our car is here, we need to drive to get home this time.

But that doesn’t mean we’re happy about it. Sky is not what anyone would call an easy traveler, and she hates her car seat. She usually does okay for the first fifteen minutes, but that’s about her limit. Every now and then when she’s completely exhausted, she’ll fall asleep in her car seat. (The last time it happened I had to take a photo to remind myself that it is possible to ride peacefully in the car with Skylar.) Unfortunately, her car seat naps are almost always thirty minutes long. Then she’s up and fussing again.

And that leads us to this question: are we insane? I think the answer is yes. But if that’s true, at least we’re in good company. Plenty of new parents will be traveling at the same time we are, packing ridiculous amounts of baby equipment, suitcases, and snacks, and enduring a long, loud journey with little kids. So as we’re (hopefully!) flying along the road on Friday, I’ll be reminding myself that many people are doing the same thing we are – singing crazy songs while wearing ear plugs and feeding ice cream or chocolate or whatever else to our kids to keep them quiet for a few minutes and pass a bit of time. It’ll probably be agony to drive so many miles with Sky, but at least it’s for a worthwhile cause. I wouldn’t trade a single memory of these past two months with my family.