An Unexpected Journey

Do you believe dreams can be meaningful?  Did you know that God first cut a covenant with Abraham after he "fell into a deep sleep?"  Or that he repeated the promised covenant to Jacob in a.... yup, you guessed it- a dream!  Most of us in this left brain culture would have said, "Wow!  I ate bad pizza!" and forgotten all about it!  Interesting to me that God would choose to have such tremendously earth shifting encounters with people in, of all places, a dream.  Of course there are many other dream stories in the bible, but you can search those out for yourself if you like. I woke up this morning puzzling over a strikingly vivid but seemingly bizarre dream.  I shared it with my husband at breakfast and light seemed to wrap around his words and tears filled my eyes instantly and unexpectedly at his wise response.  Parts I will keep for myself, but the end I feel I should share.  Somewhere between early morning feedings I found myself deep in...

I follow a crawling baby into Makiah's room where she eagerly starts to plunder through  books. I gingerly open a book that had been one of her last Christmas presents.  The Little Red Book with Big Red Letters! A Story of Discovering Your Dream.   The inscription on the first crisp white page reads: " To Makiah... God has special plans for you! "  A gift from her grandparents.  Before I can stop myself the thought shoots through my mind.  What kind of plans?  Plans for a gruesome death a mere ten months after these sweet words were penned?  I shudder at my own antagonism and shove such questions aside.  I tell myself to keep playing chase and stay in the moment. Later, I am deleting old Facebook messages and see one dated January 16th, 2010.  Two years ago today and a short ten months before my baby died.  I am curious to see what I wrote back then.  I click on the message, and well, read it for yourself...    ...

Almost exactly two years ago today…   Makiah and I stand pressed tightly in a line of people waiting to get off the airplane.   I glance nervously at my watch.   We have been sitting on the runway much too long.   Our next flight leaves in 30 minutes… on the other side of the Atlanta airport.   As I wait, I am picturing myself hauling a protesting three year old and luggage through the crowds in a panic.   I think we need a plan so I say, “Sweetie, we are going to play a game.   We are going to pretend that we are in a race.   We are a team, and we have to help each other run.   But the most important thing is we can’t let go.   No matter what we have to hold onto each others hands.”   The scene flashes through my mind and I wince.    I didn’t want to lose her. Then in my mind’s eye I see us running breathlessly to the next flight.    I had envisioned dragging a screaming child through the airport, but in...

We can't totally "do Christmas" yet.  We escape to a beach in South Carolina.  A place I have never been.  To make new memories.  Try to avoid some of the old.  I pull aside heavy curtains the first morning to peek at crashing swells pummeling against white sand.  I catch my breath.  I have not seen it since she died.  I spent the last week of her life watching her chase seagulls and splashing in the blue.  Toes in the warm sand and ears held up to shiny shells.  Fortunately, little cries pull me away, and I really have no time alone to contemplate. Christmas Eve.  We give the girls presents and help them tear paper.  Capture their cuteness with a lens.  Try to freeze the memories in time.  Burn them deep into my mind.    'Oooh mouths' and tiny reaching fingers meet warm cinnamon rolls.  Slobbery kisses and snuggles in bed.  Brush aside the moments of nausea and missing.  H...

How do I describe the holidays in a life like mine?  It is hard to put into words.  Pain and joy are interwoven in a pattern unique to this season of my life.    The thread of thankfulness.  I thank God I have a reason to shop this year.   We buy the girls a few toys.   I ask Cameron if he can believe they are almost a year old.  His voice faltering, he says, “They saved our lives.”   I am caught by his answer.  Surprised at the deep truth popping so unexpectedly from his quivering lips.  A throbbing thankfulness shoots across my heart… The thread of aching.  One morning on the way to work I hurt so badly that it is physical.  A knife ripping through my chest.  Venomous thoughts tear through my mind.  A crushing desire for everyone to hurt this way so I won’t be alone in this bizarre alternate reality of holiday horror.   As if it would lessen my pain.   I hate th...

I wish I had something profound to write.   Something about the miracle of Christmas and time and hope.   But I can’t quite seem to conjour those words up to the muddy surface of my mind.   Maybe in another week it will seem clearer.   I catch a glimpse of the holiday light here and there in my swirling thoughts, but nothing I can latch on to yet.   I have had my feet washed this weekend, though, and for that I am thankful.   I mean I have been listened to and hugged and helped and my babies have been covered over with love by a very special visitor whose family sacrificed a lot to bring the water of herself to our raw and fragile lives.    And some others joined her, too. We did put up a Christmas tree, and the word HoPe   sits on my mantle all red and sparkly, drawing the eye and luring the heart.    Makiah’s green eyes laugh at us through a half dozen picture frames and old ornaments scattered about.   She would w...

We sit behind french doors overlooking the dancing ripples of the Tennessee River.  Orange and red are striking against the deep blue sky.  The leaves sway to the rhythm of glistening water.  Inside the melody drifts from the piano as my sister-n-law’s mother dances her fingers deftly across the ivory keys.  Powerful words pour from her lips and  move like a strong current through the hearts of the listening.  “His arms are fortress for the weak.  Let faith arise… I lift my hands to believe again… You are faithful God forever… Open my eyes…”  Lyrics from a song by Chris Tomlin.  I hold my daddy’s hand as tears stream down his weathered cheeks.  This year has aged us all.  I see it in my own face.  My tears join his.  We have sipped our coffee and listened to my Daddy’s deep voice read to us from Watchman Nee.  Words about eternity.  About finishing strong.  Written by one who died after many years in a Chi...