Five years ago today it was about 8 degrees in Lafayette, Indiana when we headed to the hospital to find out who would be joining our family that day.  Our third baby girl, little Elisabeth Anne, joined us and invited us along with her on her ride.  She is both sweet and sassy, snuggly and mischievous, a dainty flower and a spunky firecracker.  What she lacks in stature she makes up for in personality, which she possesses in spades.  This past year, her four-year-old year, she has really begun to show some signs of turning into a “big kid.”  She has really advanced at gymnastics, she finally moved out of the nursery at church, she got to play soccer for the first time, and maybe most importantly, she finally got to start school.  Lots of milestones for one little girl.  It’s so fun to watch her finally figuring out how to play with her sisters, and to watch her sense of humor crack them up.  She can be a little smart-mouthed, which thankfully so far has just been hilarious and not a discipline issue.  She takes us by surprise with her spunkiness because it is just so unexpected out of such a tiny person.  With all her spunkiness, though, she is still very shy and has to really feel comfortable before she’ll pop her thumb out of her mouth and let loose.  This has earned her the title of “angel” by those who don’t really know her well, but those of us who know the true Elisabeth hear the term “angel” and agree that this angel’s halo is slightly crooked most of the time!  She’s the child that is just so darn cute in her mischief that she manages to get away with more than her sisters ever did.  She absolutely keeps things hopping at the Hall house, and we can’t imagine a life without our little Bessie Anne.

Sweet  Elisabeth, I love you more than I can say.  When you climb into bed to snuggle with me in the mornings, sometimes my heart hurts with love for you.  I pray that your spirit remains sweet, your spunkiness takes you far, and mostly that your heart remains soft to things of the Lord.  May He be drawing you ever closer to the day when He makes you His own, and may you follow His lead throughout your whole life.  Happy birthday, sweet girl!  Have fun!

On the contrary, life has been pretty good at the Hall house lately.  We started the year off freshly rested from our cruise-for-just-the-two-of-us, and somehow we were able to carry that “We’re resting and relaxing and we’re not going to get upset about stuff” mentality forward.  I’ve felt a strong leading from the Holy Spirit to remain steadfast, refuse to freak out about every little wind that comes my way, and trust in the Lord to take care of us, and He has poured on the grace to help me maintain this attitude.  So those two mindsets combined have made the first 25 days of 2012 relatively peaceful for me.

This is not due, however, to an absense of “issues.”  Church drama continues, as church drama will.  However, Clay and I are really excited and encouraged about the leadership qualities in our new interim.  He seems to have the wisdom and experience necessary to deal with our issues, and I’m hopeful that we can resolve many things while he is with us.  Money issues are always with us, as they are with everyone, with medical bills still in a pile and none of our other bills taking a break while the medical bills are being addressed.  But He is faithful, and my attitude, through His grace, has been one of quiet trust.

He has been really working through the books that I’ve been reading.  I finished Loving the Little Years by Rachel Jankovic in lightning speed, and I highly recommend it to anyone raising small children, especially if you have a passel of them like I do. It was just a super reminder to look at every moment with my kids through eyes of love instead of frustration.  I’m now reading Give Them Grace by Elyse Fitzpatrick, and the principles in this book would remove the burden off of any parent’s back, I would think.  Another strong recommendation!  Also, I’m leading a ladies’ Bible study using A Place of Quiet Rest by Nancy Leigh DeMoss, and even though I’ve already broken my goal of spending some amount of time every day reading Scripture, this book is stirring my soul to sweeter communion with the Lord each day.  I love spending time in books written by such saints, and He never fails to minister to me through them.

And of course, He is always working on me through my family.  Every day presents countless opportunities to lay down my life for them, opportunites that I miss far too often, I’m afraid.  But everytime He enables me to see those opportunities for what they truly are–a chance to become more like Christ, a chance to die to myself, a chance to love my precious ones–I am the one who is blessed through my service.  I just pray that I would seize these opportunities more and more each day.

So, while I’ve been silent, He’s been working.  Working in my family, in my church, in my heart.  What has He been working for you so far in 2012?

*  Sending Clay out to cut our own Christmas tree sounded like a much better idea before it actually happened.

                *  Sub-point:  clear all small children and animals out of the room before your husband drags in the tree that he cut down.  If you fail to do this, you may not be able to find them for awhile.  When you do find them, you will be picking cedar splinters out of their skin for the next several hours.

*  Just because you finally got a tree that fits inside your house and got it in the stand and gave a half-hearted attempt at decorating it and it stood there for four whole days with no incidents, doesn’t mean that it’s not going to fall completely over on day five.

*  A family of seven traveling for ten days will require more than a five piece luggage set.

*  Our family is incredibly blessed to have four “family” celebrations plus four or five dear friends who loved on us this year with gifts–multiply all of that by five children and Geoffrey the Toys R Us Giraffe is at our house scratching his head in amazement at our own private toy stores.

*  When a mom and a dad leave their five children at home while they go on vacation for five days and four nights all by themselves, they will spend the first day reminding each other that they don’t have to get a highchair, ask the backseat if it needs to potty, or check to see if the bathroom has a diaper changing station.

*  When Mapquest tells you that it will take fifteen hours and nineteen minutes to drive from Somerset, KY to Ft. Lauderdale, FL, you should check the fine print to see if they wrote that on April Fool’s Day.

*  When they tell you that your timeshare tour will take two hours, they mean if you buy it, it will take two hours.  If you tell them no, it will take four hours because they will keep getting someone else to try to convince you why you’re being stupid to tell them no.

*  You will see all sorts of people on a cruise, especially one of the cheaper two-night cruises.  Enough said.

*  Not much is more relaxing than lying on a sunny afternoon on an almost empty beach with your best friend.

*  Gators in the swamp look really cool until they swim right up within chomping distance.

*  Not much is more relaxing than sitting past sunset on an almost empty beach with your best friend.

*  When Mapquest tells you that it will take fifteen hours and nineteen minutes to drive from Ft. Lauderdale, FL to Somerset, KY, they were just kidding again.

*  A five day break from the kiddos is awesome and much enjoyed, but those first tight hugs when you get back are priceless.

*  Children who swear up and down that they are not going to sleep before they watch the “ball of lights” can be easily convinced otherwise by placing them in a dark car for four hours.

*  The central time zone is a great place to be if you do in fact choose to keep your promise to wake them up in time to watch the “ball of lights.”  It falls at 11:00 here instead of midnight!

*  It takes two grownups thirty minutes and half of the living room space to unload the ten-days-of-luggage-for-seven-people and the new private toy store from two vehicles.

*  And finally, and most important:  WE ARE RICHLY BLESSED BEYOND MEASURE!!!  Thanks to all who made all of the above possible for us.  We love you and pray that God will bless you as you have blessed us.

*  I’ve learned that God at times uses trials upon trials to accomplish His purpose in our lives, and it is a very limited perspective that says, “It’s too much, I can’t handle anything else.”  Lord, continue to use these recent trials to become greater while I become lesser.

*  I’ve learned that a determination to “hupomene” (“hu-po-me-nay” literally ‘remain under’) in times of trial as James 1 exhorts us to do will be tested in greater and greater degrees as the pressure of the trial weighs heavier and heavier.  It’s extremely easy to start to become confused with each test seemingly offering a way out, but once the confusion clears, the assurance that we are exactly where He wants us to be, trials and all, is extremely sweet and carries us through the next test or temptation.  Just because a situation is hard does not mean that God wants you to get out of it.

*  And I’m learning, ever learning, that without Christ, I am nothing.  I am learning, ever learning, that I need grace for every breath, for every situation, for every task, for every heartache, for every joy.  If I have done anything well in 2011, if I have accomplished anything, survived anything, gotten through anything, made progress in anything–it is solely because of His grace.  May I grow even more dependent on His grace in 2012.

Happy New Year!

* Samuel was playing with my ipod. He said, “Mom, your ipod is wet.” “Samuel! How did it get wet?” “I ‘choo-ed’ on it.” “Samuel, you know you’re not supposed to put my ipod in your mouth!” “I didn’t put it in my mouth!” “But you said you chewed on it.” “No, I didn’t. I ‘choo-ed’ on it!” (Note: choo-ed and chewed sound exactly the same to a mommy who’s not following the three-year-old train of thought very well.) “I know! But you can’t put my ipod in your mouth!” Exasperated three-year-old sigh. “Mo-om! I….(I could see his wheels turning, searching for a way to communicate in a way his slow mommy could grasp)…you know…I bless you-ed on it!” Light bulb! “Oh! You sneezed on it?” “Yes!” Finally, Mom caught on!

* Leaving Fazoli’s, I asked the girls to pick up all the pieces of pizza and bread that Silas had thrown in the floor. They immediately began dividing up how many pieces each child would have to pick up. Samuel stooped down to help. As they stood back up to throw their pieces away, Clay said, “Did you get them all?” Abigail, in a very casual voice, said, “Yeah. Except Samuel ate his.” Sure enough, he was still chewing about five bites worth that had been on the floor way longer than the five-minute allotment!

* The girls got cookies at the end of Abigail’s musical theater class. Catherine gave half of hers to Samuel when she got in the van, but a few minutes later Silas started fussing because he saw them eating and he didn’t have anything. I asked Samuel if he was done with his cookie. “Yes.” “Did you have any left?” “Yes.” “Can Silas have it?” “Yes.” Pause, expecting him to hand it across the van, but he didn’t. “Samuel, can you hand the cookie to Silas?” “It’s hiding. It can’t come out.” “Um, please?” “It’s hiding.” This went back and forth for several minutes with Silas becoming more and more agitated before he finally said, “Oh, here it is,” and handed it across.

* When we got home and were trying to get them ready for bed, Catherine announced, completely out of the blue, “Mom and Dad, I need to confess. I have not been wearing socks with my boots!”

First of all, the status implies the attitude of most Americans today:  six kids are too many.  Or maybe we should back up and say that five kids are too many.  Heck, let’s just be honest:  most of us think that four kids are really too many!  I’m not sure–maybe if the six kids had not been screaming, then would it have been ok to have six?  Our culture is so prejudiced against having more than three kids that it’s becoming ridiculous.    We have had so many comments on our family size, most of which are just people trying to make conversation in a way that comes out kind of irritating, but not downright rude.  But I hear conversations among others around me regarding the size of this family or that one that are completely critical and judgmental.  When did it become a negative thing to have children?  When did it become one of the duties of Walmart shoppers to be the judge of the other families in the store, regarding size or behavior?  Every couple has the privilege of forming their own opinions regarding how many children they would like to have, and God opens and closes the womb as He sees fit.  I would think that that decision is a weighty enough one that we would be content to only make it for our own family and not try to then move on and decide for others when they should stop procreating.  Let’s show some grace here, people.  If you have two children and think that’s enough, great.  But some of us have more.  Please cut us some slack.

Second, some of the comments took the status to a whole new level, addressing the issue of large families being on government assistance.  This discussion started here:  “ I am guessing she gets a check for each and every one of those kids-you are in KY.”  Now, I will be first in line to agree that too many people are on government assistance, and that the “assistance” is often used in very questionable ways, with food stamps or WIC paying for way more than just necessities.  However, let my family be the case in point–just because a family has “a lot” of children absolutely does not mean that they get a check from the government.  The government has never bought the first gallon of milk for my family and I know that to be true of several other large families.  It’s insulting to me that someone would look at my family or another family with several children and make a critical assumption like that on the spot.

Finally, a couple of comments were critical of the lady simply because her kids were screaming:  “I have 5, but I assure you they don’t scream in Walmart, nor did they when they were that young,” and “I can honestly say that that I never allow my 2 boys to act like that at Walmart or any places period………..not even at home…..”  I used to say things just like this.  Until one day it was my kids screaming in Walmart.  I have a hard time believing that the children of the people who wrote these comments never disobeyed in a store.  As a general rule, our children are pretty well-behaved, but we have had our moments.  Even out in public.  When you’re out shopping or at a restaurant and there are children going wild or crying, please do their parents a favor and give them grace.  Maybe those kids have been in the van for ten hours that day as they travel to visit family.  Maybe they’ve been sick for three days and this is the first time they’ve been out of the house all week.  Maybe this is the 8th errand their parents have drug them on that day and they are worn out.  Maybe they just came from a birthday party and are still keyed up.  Children are children.  They will not always be on their best behavior.  Yes, parents should be always training, always dealing with behavior that is less than socially acceptable.  We should, no matter how many children we have, teach them to be respectful and calm in public places.  But children will have days when they just don’t behave in the store.  (So do grownups, you know.  Ever been shopping on Black Friday??)  So regardless of whether you think the parent is handling their misbehavior appropriately or not, please just give them some grace.  If your kids are still little, they may be the one going wild at Walmart next week, no matter how much you swear that they never will.  For those whose kids are grown, since we tend to look backward with rose-colored glasses, my guess is even your kids did disobey in a store at one time or another.  Yes, it’s annoying to be shopping next to screaming children or to be seated next to the wild kids who throw food and are running all around the table at the restaurant.  But that in no way excuses the annoying critical attitudes of those who make judgments about them on the spot.

Ok, maybe this rant was not justified by one little Facebook status.  But my family has been the recipient of judgmental, critical attitudes on more than one occasion so this is a soapbox issue for me.  Somehow in our society, everyone is an expert and feels justified in making snap assessments of those around them with no background information and then moving on without ever realizing how destructive that is, not only to the people they are criticizing but also to themselves.  We are so critical of others, and once you fall into this habit, you will be annoyed everywhere you go because everyone around you will be doing things the “wrong way.”  There are many things that are right or wrong, black or white.  But there are many more areas of life in which we all have the freedom to decide for ourselves what we believe and how we will live. Where there is room for grace, give grace.  No one will do things exactly like you do, which means that no one will do things exactly how you think they should.  That’s ok.  Give them grace to be different from you.

The next time you see a woman with six screaming kids in Walmart, pray for her to have the strength to parent them well.  Pray that someone would come alongside her and offer her the respite she may need, or the mentoring she may need, or just be her friend.  Don’t say things like, “You’ve sure got your hands full!” or “Someone’s not happy!”  She already knows those things, and those comments in this moment will only stress her out even more.  Just move out of her way and let her get her shopping done without making things worse for her with your condescending attitude.  And please, for heaven’s sake, don’t throw condoms into her cart.

There were some moments this week that were just hard for me to get through, and because those moments came my way I’m assuming they came for everyone in the family.  But there were sweet moments this week as well.  We began the week with Abigail’s baptism, a moment we’ve prayed for since before she was born.  And we finished it by celebrating Grandmother’s 85th birthday with almost all of the family and several dear friends from church, and sharing the celebration with the residents and aides at the nursing home.  Even though it doesn’t seem like it should since so much has changed, life goes on.  And His faithfulness hasn’t wavered.

My family is walking through a time when grief will hit again unexpectedly, triggered by a word or memory or conversation and we don’t even see it coming.  We’re walking through a time of adjusting, even still after almost a year, to Grandmother’s new reality.  My parents are walking through a time with questions still unanswered about their own new reality with the sale of their business.  And Clay and I, along with our whole church family are walking through a time of unanswered questions about our future as a church as we wait for a pastor.  One thing Clay and I have learned throughout our marriage is this:  no one knows what the next year will bring.  And that has been driven home in lots of big ways since December 7 of last year.  So much has changed, but His faithfulness has not wavered at all.

I believe that God is completely Sovereign, so I know that He had the power to prevent or change each situation.  He didn’t.  He allowed the hard things into our lives.  I also believe that God is good.  So He must have a good reason for doing so.  And that is what I cling to.  That is how I can be thankful.  I’ll be honest, I can’t say that I’m thankful Grandmother had a stroke.  I can’t say I’m thankful that Granddaddy died.  I can’t say I’m thankful for broken marriages, miscarriages, or church controversies.  But I can say this:  I’m thankful that God keeps His promises.  I’m thankful that He will use each situation to work good in my life and in the lives of all those affected by it.  I’m thankful that God is in control and none of these things happened randomly or without His permission.  And I’m thankful–even though it’s painful at first–that life goes on.  We don’t have to stay in our place of sadness.  It feels strange starting out when so much has changed, but life goes on.  Children still alternate between playing and arguing.  Someone still needs to put ice in the glasses.  There will still be tons of leftovers even though everyone ate too much.  And this year, we adjust our dinner conversation to tell funny stories from the nursing home happenings that inside we wish we had no reason to know.  We slowly adjust to the change in fits and starts, and life goes on.  And we see that His faithfulness never wavered through the worst of it.

Mostly, though, I’m thankful for the life that’s going on just beyond our sight–the eternal life that Granddaddy is already experiencing.  I’m thankful that one day, no one will ever have to adjust to a stroke, a death, a miscarriage, a broken marriage, a broken dream again.  I’m thankful for the mind-boggling truth that I will get to hug my Granddaddy again and understand what Grandmother is saying to me.  I’m thankful that even though we can’t understand it until we get there, we can bank on the promise of walking with Jesus on a New Earth where all things are right and we will see clearly how and why He orchestrated our lives to include these temporary pains.  And I’m thankful that that’s the life that will go on without end.  And I’m thankful that His faithfulness will never waver.

*  Probably the biggest “things” going on in our lives recently have been our alternating medical procedures.  Clay has had one test and one procedure so far for his ulcers/scarring and he goes back Thursday for a second procedure.  Then I had my wisdom teeth removed last Friday and that has been a little more difficult recovery than I had anticipated.   It’s all minor stuff, of course, but we’ve been joking that we’ve saved up most of the “in sickness” part of our vows for this fall.  Actually, we’re just trying to squeeze it in before our insurance deductible goes up in January.  Still praying about how to pay all the bills though, even at the better coverage rates!

*  Kids are great, hilarious as usual.  Abigail has a Christmas show with her musical theater class coming up on December 10.  She’s really enjoying that class, but we’ve made the decision to drop it after the show.  Two separate trips to Paducah each week for drama classes created a little too much, well, drama in our schedule and checkbook, so we had her choose which one to continue.  She chose Footlights, the Saturday morning class at the community theater, so we’ll be saying goodbye to our Thursday night trip in just a few weeks.  Catherine had her first gymnastics meet Saturday, making a very good showing for her first time!  She really had a great time, bouncing around during the warm-ups and showing off what she’s been working so hard on.  She and Elisabeth are both still doing great and loving gymnastics.  Elisabeth read her first book in Phonics last week and was extremely proud of herself.  She is doing great with her letters and reading.  Samuel–or I guess I should say Superman–continues to save the day quite frequently.  This morning he came in our room looking worried and said, “Where’s Abigail?  I can’t find her and I need to rescue her!!”  Silas still talks all the time, and we’re actually picking out a word or two here and there.  He is running around with the big kids more and more each day and still loves to make us laugh.

*  Church continues on in transition.  We are in the process of calling another interim pastor after our last one finished up at the end of September.  Clay, with lots of help, pulled off his annual fall event–NightStrike–a couple of weeks ago and a big fundraiser cookout on Saturday.  I am planning to start a ladies’ Bible Study in January, and the kids are practicing for their Christmas musical.  We’re praying hard that God would see fit to bring us a Godly, biblically-minded pastor very soon.

*  We would really appreciate prayers as we continue on the journey God has for us–that our marriage would continue to strengthen, our parenting would be consistent and Christ-focused, our church would be revived and refreshed, our bills will be paid, and our hearts would be ever more like Christ.  Thanks for your prayers!

We held our children as they cried and tried to process what they had seen, we buried Midnight in the backyard, and we all cried a little (or a lot).  Later that night, as I was thinking about it and just wishing that we had a do over, I was picturing my family starting out on their walk.  The girls were probably skipping around, talking 90 miles a minute.  Samuel was probably running ahead, pumping his little elbows back and forth in that adorable way he has.  They had no clue that around the corner, trauma was waiting for them.  My heart hurt as I pictured it.  Then a thought struck me.  They didn’t know what was coming, but God knew.  I pictured God looking down on them and whispering, “Hang on, my little children.  There is something difficult directly in front of you on the path, but I’m watching you, and I’ll be right here with you as you go through it.  When you get there, don’t be afraid because I am still here, and I wouldn’t let it happen if it wouldn’t achieve something good in your life.”  Of course, they didn’t hear Him then.  They walked on, blissfully unaware.  But that image stuck with me, and it comforted me.

I’ve written much lately on the recent/current trials in my life and in the lives of those I love most.  But until today, when we were struck with yet another private blow–possibly more devastating than any of the rest–I had not applied the image God gave me the day Midnight died to any of the rest of the trials.  In the days since my Granddaddy died, I have been almost numb.  I knew that I needed to be seeking the Lord like never before, poring over His Word to find my comfort, but I just didn’t for many days.  Only this week have I finally felt tiny pieces of my heart coming alive again.  Yesterday I found myself singing for the first time since the night he died.  Then today I found myself square in the midst of the next trial on my path.  It almost felt cruel–here we are just barely beginning to breathe again after such a huge, heartbreaking loss, and already being struck again.  What is God doing, I asked my husband.  We don’t know, but He does, was his answer.  And with those words, the image came back, and this time I saw it through all of the last so-difficult months.

He knew, last Thanksgiving, that it would be our last with our grandparents all in good health.  Did He whisper to us that day, “Something is about to happen that will devastate you and change your family forever, but don’t be afraid because I’m working a good work through it and I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

He knew, when our pastor left last December, that our church was headed into some difficult days and that many of our members would begin to grow weary amidst all the dissension.  Did He whisper to us, “Do not grow weary in well-doing, beloved children.  The next days and months are going to challenge your faith in my church but don’t give up.  Keep serving and keep loving, and I will be with you and with my church.”

He knew, one morning this past February that before the week was out my sweet friend would watch her husband of not even two years pack up his things and move out, completely unexpectedly.  Did He whisper to her during those last few days, “Something is coming that you will think is crushing you beyond healing, but I won’t let it crush you completely.  Although you will be more broken than you’ve ever been, I will put the pieces back together into something more beautiful than you’ve ever been.  Don’t be afraid when it comes, I am with you.”

He knew, one Sunday morning in August as my sister-in-law walked to church as usual, that instead of church she would end up in a hospital after a car slammed into her as she walked.  Did He whisper to her as she left the house that morning, “You’re not going to make it to church today but I will be with you and you will be ok.  I will let the car injure you, but I will not let you be injured more than you can bear.  Do not be afraid when it happens, because I am with you.”

He knew, a few weeks later, that He was about to surprise us with an unexpected pregnancy that would momentarily freak me out.  Did He whisper to me sometime before my suspicions began to grow, “I’m about to test your faith in a big way!  When you get the news don’t freak out and don’t worry because I know what I am doing.  Trust me, and don’t be afraid.”

He also knew, just five short days later, that He was going to take that baby on home to Him.  Did He whisper to us, as we celebrated with joy that Friday night and talked about baby names all weekend, “Soon, my children, your joy will turn to tears but I promise I am working for your good.  Your hearts will be heavy with loss, but I am still good and I will be with you–don’t be afraid.”

He knew, on September 6 as I visited my granddaddy before his surgery, that it would be the last time I would get to talk with him.  He knew, those blessed two days after the surgery when Granddaddy was doing so well and we were all breathing a sigh of relief, that the end was much nearer than any of us realized.  Did He whisper to us then, “Beloved children, your hearts are about to break.  He is going home and it will devastate you.  But even through the sharpest pain you’ve been allowed to experience yet, I will still be with you.  I will hold you up when it hurts to even breathe.  I will catch all your countless tears in the bottle I’ve prepared for you.  Do not be afraid for he is going to the place I’ve prepared for him.  If it were not so,  I would have told you.  Your loss is great and the pain will seem unbearable, but I promise it won’t be more than you can bear.  I am with you.  In the days ahead, when you become numb from the pain and you do not feel my comfort or even my presence, I will still be there.  When this happens, do not be afraid.  Trust me…”

And He knew, this morning, as I contemplated the spark of life springing back into my heart, that within a few hours we would be in tears again in the next trial He has prepared for us.  Did He whisper to us, as we dared to lift our heads again, “Oh, my beloved.  You’re not quite to the meadow yet.  There is yet more confusion, more heartache, more tears in your path.  But, my bruised reeds, I will not break you.  My smoking flax, I will not quench you.  You have been through much, you have been stricken many times, and another blow is coming but do not despair!  No matter how dark it seems, no matter how hard your mind tries to convince you that it’s just too much, do not despair!  I am with you, I have been with you through all of these heartaches, and I will be with you though this next shadow on the path.  Do not be afraid.  Trust me…”

We could never have known, at the beginning of last December, that so much was ahead of us on our path.  If we had known, I think the knowing would have paralyzed us with fear.  We didn’t hear His whispers ahead of time, but no matter how much our flesh, or our greatest Enemy wants to convince us otherwise, all of those whispers were true.  He knew, and He has been with us through every shadow.  We hurt, we cried, we experienced a wild range of emotions, but His presence has never left us and His grace is measured out in just the right portion to face each day and what that day holds.  No more, no less.  God knew His plans for us.  He knew how those plans would hurt us.  But He knew His purpose in allowing them.  I don’t know His purposes.  I have no idea what He has been doing and is continuing to do.  I didn’t know on any of those days, what would happen before the day was over.  But God knew.  And for me, that is enough.

The past six days are a blur of a confusing mix of ordinary and terrible moments experienced through too many tears and too little sleep.  When I left Salem Wednesday morning to head to Somerset for what we thought would be the last few days with my granddaddy, I was in the minority for having not experienced what almost all others my age have:  the death of a grandparent.  When I left Somerset today to head back to Salem, I am probably again in the minority for having experienced what not many people my age have:  keeping vigil over the last 12 hours of life and being at the bedside when a beloved grandparent went home to Jesus.  I knew why I was going to Somerset.  I had the heartwrenching experience of packing funeral clothes for myself and my children while my granddaddy was still alive.  But I had no idea that I would see the things I saw and experience what I experienced firsthand.   The blur of the past six days is constantly swirling around in my mind and different moments insist on coming to the forefront. Some terrible, some sad, some heartbreaking, some ordinary, even some funny.  I’ve written elsewhere a straightforward chronological narrative of the events from Wednesday at 5:30 when I entered my granddaddy’s room to Thursday at 12:30 when my grandmother finally cried herself to sleep after being told that her beloved husband had gone to Jesus while she slept.  I needed to do that for my own way of processing and so that I would remember, but the whole story need not be related in this public format.  However, some of those broken moments that won’t leave me alone, I share here, again as my own way of processing all that went on in those few days:

*  That first terrible moment when my dad, my mom, my grandmother and I were in Granddaddy’s room and we realized that it was time to call the family to come.

*  Watching my grandmother realize what was going on–she had been sitting with him almost round the clock since he arrived at the nursing home Monday night, and she knew that this moment was different.  She couldn’t speak clear words, but her weeping and pleading with him spoke volumes.

*  The long, excruciating evening that turned into night that turned into morning.  Sitting in the chair by his bed, I didn’t even get up for the first four or five hours.  Cousins came and stayed, friends and ministers came and went.  Little snippets of conversation but mostly just watching him breathe.  We were told “By midnight” but my granddaddy was a fighter and midnight came and went.  Eventually there were only nine of us left:  my grandmother, my parents, aunt, uncle, brother, sister, my “second mother”, and myself.

*  The moments that were so frustrating we had to chuckle when my grandmother would ask us questions in the words we can’t understand.  We would guess this and that, trying to figure out what she was saying, and she would eventually just start laughing at us.

*  Sitting in my chair, rocking back and forth and praying two prayers over and over and over:  “Jesus, take him home.  Please stop his suffering.”  And “Jesus, loosen her tongue.  Just for one night, please loosen her tongue.”

*  The absurd moments when we found ourselves telling funny stories about this or that, and laughing around my granddaddy’s bedside.

*  The defining moment when Sheryl, Stacey and Eric decided to go on and leave, and I had to decide whether to stay or go.  I didn’t want to intrude on my mom and aunt and uncle, but I could not make myself leave.  I said I’d stay, with a profound consciousness that I was entering waters in which I never thought I’d swim, but I just could not leave.

*  Those final unspeakable moments when, although Mom and Dad and I had all dozed off in our chairs, we all seemed to wake up at the same time and realize that the end was just a few moments away.  Grandmother had finally gone to bed about two hours before, and my uncle was in her room and my aunt was in the activity room asleep on the couch.  The nurse asked if anyone else was still here and I knew what he meant.  I watched my granddaddy breathe one last heartbreaking time, went to wake them up, and got back to see that he was already with Jesus.

*  Riding home with my mom, waiting for my children to wake up–not sure what to say to them until Elisabeth bluntly asked, “Did Granddaddy die?”  Telling them yes and watching them just go on and eat their breakfast.  It wouldn’t sink in for them until later.  Going to sleep at 8:00 am just to be woken up at 9:00 to get ready to go back to the nursing home to sit with Grandmother while my mom, aunt, and uncle went to the funeral home.

*  The most terrible moments of the whole time:  being there with my sister, watching our mom, aunt, and uncle tell our precious grandmother that 2 1/2 hours after she had finally gone to bed after staying awake as long as she could, her husband of more than 64 years had died.  She made us take her back down to his room so she could see for herself and when we rounded the doorway and she saw the empty bed, she just broke, and we all broke right along with her.  There are no words to describe how heartbreaking that moment was.  I will never get that moment out of my mind.

*  The strangely simple moment that was one of the hardest things I had to do:  closing the door to Granddaddy’s room that morning after we had gotten all of our things out.  Mom’s hands were full so she asked me to close the door.  I walked up and placed my hand on the doorknob, but I couldn’t pull it shut.  I just stood there–looking at the spaces where the extra chairs had been for all of the people who loved him most, looking at the chair where I had sat for most of the night, and finally staring at the empty bed, seeing it all as it had been just a few short hours earlier while Granddaddy was still alive.  I couldn’t shut the door.  It felt like shutting the door would be putting the period on my granddaddy’s life.  But I had to do it.  Somehow I made myself shut that door, but my heart broke a little bit more.

*  Sitting on one side of Grandmother’s bed stroking her shoulder while my sister sat on the other side of the bed holding her hand while she cried herself to sleep, pleading and speaking in the language we’d give anything to understand, after they left for the funeral home.  We just wept right along with her.

*  Waking up on Friday morning and having the startling realization that this was the first day that Granddaddy had never taken a breath.

*  Watching my cousins family walk into the funeral home Friday night, already crying, and realizing how intensely difficult the next few hours were going to be.  Walking into the chapel, all of us together for the first time since before Grandmother’s stroke, and walking up to his casket. We gathered around my grandmother–again, there are just no words.

*  Watching my 15-year-old cousin–who was always Granddaddy’s special “favorite” because he was the only one who used to say “I’m going to Granddaddy’s house” instead of “I’m going to Grandmother’s house”–stand behind Grandmother’s wheelchair, his hands on her shoulders and occasionally stroking Granddaddy’s suit coat, for the entire three hour visitation.  He did not step away from her once.

*  The confusing moments when someone would speak to us and things seemed ordinary, only to have them walk away and find ourselves in tears once again.

*  That sweet moment when I saw the windchimes and the flowers that some of my sweet Salem friends had sent to me.  I felt so loved and thankful that they had cared enough for me to let me know they were thinking of me in that way.

*  The moments I wasn’t prepared for–watching the youngest of the great-grandkids who actually were old enough to know him well–my little girls and Tiffany’s little girls–breaking down in tears over and over again.

*  Sitting at Grandmother’s bedside all that night, catching little spurts of sleep, but dreading the day to come.

*  The moments on Saturday morning when we were doing something so completely ordinary–getting dressed–but it was so incredibly difficult because of where we were going.

*  The long, drawn-out moments sitting in our reserved pew waiting for the funeral to start, when Clay couldn’t sit with me because he was a pall-bearer.  Watching friends and family arrive and greet my mom or some of the rest of us, causing a fresh wave of tears every time.  The bizarre juggle between surviving my own waves of grief, helping my girls through their waves of grief, and then parenting them through their ordinary moments of fidgeting, arguing, or needing to go to the bathroom throughout all of that.

*  The funeral itself.  Being so thankful for the life he lived, the Lord he loved, and the legacy he left, but just wanting to hug him one more time.

*  The almost-disturbing moment when I realized that the funeral director was having the great-grandchildren roll the casket out to the hearse.  There was something that was just painful about watching my little girls roll my granddaddy out like that.  He carried all of us, and it was just bizarre to watch them carry him.

*  The absolutely normal yet hilarious conversation in our van on the way from the funeral home to the cemetary.  Elisabeth, through her tears, said, “Mommy, are all yard sales like that?”  I was flabbergasted and asked her to repeat herself.  “Like Granddaddy’s that we just went to.  Are all yard sales like that?”  I have no idea how she got a funeral and a yard sale confused, but it provided the comic relief that we needed at that moment.

*  The last moment–turning my back and walking away from his gravesite, a rose from his casket flowers in my hand and in my daughters’ hands.  It was over.

*  The surreal moment of pulling into my grandparents’ driveway and walking into their house Sunday afternoon to take a bunch of leftover food from the dinner after the funeral.  I had not been there since sometime before my grandmother’s stroke.  The last time I was there they were both healthy and strong and there–holding babies and cooking dinner and writing poems.  I was broken from the time we pulled in the driveway.  We set the food on the counter and I just stood there staring into the living room.  They weren’t here this time, and once more, I am left with no words to describe what was in my heart at that moment.

*   The awful finality of the moments on Monday when we were packing to come back home.  Coming home was so hard.  As my dad said, we wanted Saturday to hurry up and be over, and Sunday to never end.  But Monday came as Mondays do, and we had to come home.  It didn’t feel right that life should go on before I was ready.  Clay offered to stay another day, but I knew that I wouldn’t be ready tomorrow either, so home we went.  I cried our way out of town.  Leaving, knowing that this was the last time I would have come to Somerset with four living grandparents, and from now on my life would be touched by the pain of this loss, seemed almost more than I could bear.

I am home now.  Tonight we watched our kids play soccer, tomorrow I’ll unpack the suitcases and put everything away, and Wednesday we’ll start school again and go back to church.  People will ask me how I’m doing for a little while, then eventually they’ll stop.  Life goes on, as it should.  But I will have to figure this out.  This is new territory for me.  Not only did I have the rare blessing of having almost 32 years with all four grandparents, but I also had the rare blessing of growing up in the same town with all four of my grandparents, so I have very close relationships with all of them.  There is a huge hole in my heart now. I will have to find away to work life around all that I have seen and experienced in the last six days.  The only way possible for me to wake up tomorrow and get on with my life is the hope I have that the faith of my granddaddy was real, and was in a real God.  In the midst of my brokenness, He is there, and He will be there tomorrow when I wake up in Salem for the first time without my granddaddy.  Hold me, Jesus.