Dear Sister

Dear sister,

Is this the day it ends, or is this the day it begins?

It’s possible that both can be true at the same time.

Since your recent Independence Day, I have spent every day walking beside you. Sometimes literally, mostly figuratively. (Oh, the miles we’ve put on our shoes and the minutes we’ve logged on our phones!)

I have carried your burden. I have cried your tears. I have screamed your rage. And I have lamented your loss.

That burden, those tears, that rage and that loss: they have permeated everything. Every waking moment, and your sleeping moments too. The cruelty that has been directed towards you is enough to squash your soul and it provides massively strong building material for you to wall off your heart for the rest of your life.

Because, after being a victim of this sort of damage, who in their right mind would ever trust another again?

Ah, but not you, sister. Within 48 hours of your unwanted Independence Day explosion, you set in motion a plan for your healing. While that plan has been adjusted, scrapped, and rewritten many times already, I can’t ignore the strength you’ve shown by even wanting to pursue wholeness.

I would have crumbled. I would have sought vengeance. If I was going to burn, I’d for sure take the arsonist down with me.

Again, not you, sister. You lavished grace upon grace. You (shockingly and immediately!) forgave the terrorizer and sought healing for everyone involved. I’m still not even one percent as far down that road as you are, but you’ve modeled love for me yet again.

I say “again” because over the years, I’ve watched you love in a way I’ve never seen - a way that was not modeled for either of us. You kept your word. You sacrificed yourself. You forgave as you’ve been forgiven, and protected the very person who left you unprotected.

You don’t deserve what has been done to you and neither do other parties involved. Because an explosion of this magnitude didn’t start and end with your one heart. The shockwaves have affected every relationship that even remotely shared space with yours. The rot that was exposed has spread like black mold and will continue to spread until it is exposed to the Light.

I am proud of your courage to pursue that Light in your own life.

I am proud of your honest self-assessment and efforts to seek guidance to learn another way of living.

I am proud of the work you’re doing to erect boundaries that will protect your future.

I am immensely proud that you have begun the hard work of fighting for yourself.

Because, the truth is, you’ve always been worth fighting for and you always will be. The person who can’t see that is someone who is a blind, self-serving, cowardly peacock. (Full of strutting but lacking something to truly be proud of.)

As much as it hurts to carve a new path that you never thought you’d have to carve, you and I both know you’re already better off walking this road.

I started this letter with a question and a statement: “Is this the day it ends, or is this the day it begins? It’s possible that both can be true at the same time.”

I choose to mark this day as a beginning and claim it as an Independence Day - one that’s ever more important than your first one.

Today is the day you walk away with your head held high, knowing you are loved beyond measure and your best is yet to come.

I’m with you, and I love you!

Always,
Poozie

Happy 14th Birthday, Katie! (Give or Take 48 Days)

Katie,

You've been 14 years old for 48 days now, and I'm just now getting around to writing your birthday letter. Yes, I am definitely in the running for 2017's Worst Mom of the Year Award. Yippee!

There are two reasons I haven't written your annual letter until now:

1. We have been BUSY this summer. (Lame excuse, I know.)

2. I've been staring at you for 48 days now, waiting for this current acceleration to slow down for one cotton-picking minute so I can recover from the whiplash and collect my thoughts. But that hasn't happened yet... and tomorrow is your first (gulp!) unofficial day of high school.* It's Transition Day for 9th graders, also known as The End of Denial for all the freshman mommies.

*Cue all the "oh-my-gosh-where-did-the-time-go" comments, except I know exactly where the time has gone. This link will tell you!

Yes, we are in a turbo growth period this summer. If you don't believe me, let's look at a side-by-side comparison of you on May 28 and July 27.

At first glance, the hair has obviously changed. But look again. Do you see the slight change in the shape of your face? And what's even more apparent to me is the confidence slowly solidifying in your character. Maybe you can't see that in this photo, but I can. And I've witnessed it for the last two months.

It started the first week in June when we were at youth camp together. I got to share an especially holy moment with you and Jesus, and I won't forget it as long as I live. (In fact, this moment will ring into eternity, so I'll be reliving it for a loooong time!)

Your June birthday was also a milestone moment. That night for the first time, we turned on the new patio lights that Daddy installed. We opened your gifts, then had private time with you when Jackson went to bed. We gave you a special ring, talked about your future, then Daddy invited you to dance with him to the song "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran. (I tried not to think of the foreshadowing of this moment, but it was hard to keep my mind from wandering and wondering what your wedding day will be like. That night was the first time I could actually picture it happening one day.)

We went fishing on Father's Day, and I watched you through my camera lens as you sat with your grandfather. The look of contentment on your face spoke to your new ability to sit quietly at peace without forcing yourself into a situation. Does that even make sense? What I mean is: just a few years ago, a fishing trip like this would have meant constant busy-ness and intensity as you moved around and about, wanting another worm or a hook or skipping to a new spot to catch fish. This time, you relaxed and waited for the world to come to you - instead of running out to chase it.

The rest of June involved your first high school class (online freshman health), some new babysitting gigs (what maturity!), your first visit to Six Flags with friends and without an adult (what growth!), and your very last softball game (what an athlete!).

Daddy left for a week-long fishing trip to Canada in July, so you and Jackson and I went on a few adventures and you had a "sleepover" in my bed every night. The second week of July, we drove to South Carolina with your friend Ashleigh so we could spend a few days with Aunt Mimi at the beach.

You earned new freedom at the beach: you and Ash walked the dog by yourselves, stayed up late, watched more "mature" movies we wouldn't have seen a few years ago, and you got yourself up early enough to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Heck, I even let you drink lots of Coke! Say what?! One morning, you made a special plan to watch the sunrise with me. Man, this moment was priceless!

Then you started marching band camp.

And all of a sudden, the accelerated changes went into hyper drive. I can hardly describe it! When you were a preschooler, I knew you were changing regularly but couldn't quite see it until hindsight gave me clarity. But the last two weeks of July, I saw growth every single day. It was as if your soul was thickening right in front of my eyes, like the concrete foundation of your childhood was now strong enough to support a substantial structure. I gasped the day you came home from band camp and spontaneously decided to get a hair cut. I about fell over at the hair salon when you decided to cut off 10 inches so you could donate it to Locks of Love. Flabbergasted.

You've been painting your nails. Sporting jewelry. Wearing your hair down! I mean, I can't even...

I don't want to gloss over the growth and changes that gradually appeared in the year before June - before you turned 14 - but I can hardly remember the person you were before this lovely, vibrant, 14-year-old young lady emerged. Now do you understand what I meant when I spoke of whiplash at the start of this letter?

I am having the time of my life, exploring you and watching your personality unfold. I know the relationship I have with you is special. You tell me often that your friends don't talk to their moms like we talk. (You know this because your friends tell you this!) I wonder if I should be waiting for the other shoe to drop when you'll become a surly, eye-rolling, harumph-ing teenager. Maybe that phase is on its way, and maybe it isn't. At this point, I'm enjoying myself too much in the present moment to be distracted by any possible angst on the way.

You delight me, Katie. I can't believe I get to be your mom! What a fun ride we're having.

I love you,
Mommy

2016 in Review

January started with the waters receding after major December floods in St. Louis.

Personally, January was marked by raging mercy and a promotion for Dan. That promotion set the tone for the year to come in more ways than one.

The highlight of February was the first weekend, when Katie and I went on our church's youth retreat called WinterBlast. It was a fun (tiring!) weekend.

My third Holy Yoga retreat started March off with a bang. I thoroughly enjoyed the photography sessions I had and the women (and one man!) who became more than clients to me: they are now my friends!

I also spent a glorious March day with my friend Cindy as we went on a photography hunt in a field of thousands of daffodils.

In March, the kids and I took a spring break road trip to my hometown Marietta, GA. It was my high school's 50th birthday party.

I also had a senior photo session with my niece Peyton.

April was a book launch team (Looking for Lovely), the annual International Pillow Fight Day, and an earthquake of a conference by author Dan Allender that Dan and I attended.

I also had 3 photo shoots in April, plus our own extended family photos in celebration of my mother-in-law's 70th birthday. (April also meant her big birthday party.)

May was a daytime Cardinals game with my friend, a visit to the Botanical Garden (and LOTS of beautiful photos for future devotions yet to be written), a senior portrait session, hail damage, a solo trip to Arlington Cemetery, a business trip with Dan to Las Vegas, the end of the school year, and a mother-daughter art retreat.

We started June with a trip to Asheville, NC on the way to my niece's high school graduation in Pinehurst, NC.

Almost as soon as we got home, Katie and I left for a five day church youth summer camp.

Right after that, Katie became a TEENAGER. Eeeek! That was followed by our church's baptism blowout party, and the start of a deep funk for me.

June further unraveled with me and the kids sick on the couch, followed by a mouse (or mice) invading our house. We clung desperately to happy by adventuring out to Knockerball as a family, just before our piano arrived.

This brings us to July and some summer adventures: fireworks on the 4th (this year at Innsbrook), our annual day at Six Flags, graduation parties, and camps. Dan's job had become even more high pressure with a larger time commitment. At the end of July, we traveled to Kansas City (on fumes) for the wedding of our friends Brad and Andy.

August started with one last summer adventure with friends to Anheuser Busch's Warm Springs Ranch.

The Olympics found us on the couch a lot, being inspired by the world's best athletes. School started back up, and I flew to New York City to help my sister move into her new home.

August ended with another trip: this time, Dan and I flew to North Carolina to celebrate my brother-in-law Wally's military retirement.

September marked the beginning of the Mizzou football season as Dan and I escaped on day trips to CoMo for the games.

September is also when I waved the white flag and started seeing a counselor again. Right after that, our friend Sean died and we're still struggling to grasp the loss.

In early October, Dan and I took another trip - this time to New York City to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday.

October included more photo sessions, fall break, more Mizzou games, camping, and having coffee with an author whose book deepened my faith and changed my perspective.

The end of October brought the 20th anniversary of my brother Jackson's death, and I marked the day by finally getting the tattoo I've been planning for years.

Jackson started wrestling at the end of October. We had another funeral to attend, another Mizzou game, and we sputtered into Halloween with hardly a fall decoration on display. (I felt drained, y'all.)

November's election just about did me in, as well as the rest of the country. Thankfully, I had some distractions to keep me moving: more photo sessions, lots of Katie event (a trip to MOYIG in Jefferson City...

...a smashed iTouch screen, science project, and Metro8 performance where she was selected first chair), a last Mizzou game, and a Blues game to celebrate Dan's sister's 40th birthday. Whew! We made it to Thanksgiving. Just barely.

Our family attended our first ever wrestling tournament at the start of December. Dan and I were in desperate need of connection with each other, so we had an adventure day with a St. Louis city scavenger hunt.

I made my last trip of the year, back to North Carolina to see our niece Hannah graduate from college.

Katie and I attended a Christmas concert, an ice storm hit St. Louis and wrecked lots of plans and property, and we finally had our siding repaired. (Remember that hail storm back in May? Yep. It took us THAT long to get the work done.)

Dan and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary with a lunch date and a visit to a new float spa in the area.

Christmas Eve services at church involved bell ringing, hearkening back to the 2010 services that will forever be our favorite.

And, there you have it: 2016 in a nutshell. I didn't describe the ick in extreme detail, because I do want to honor privacy. Plus, if I open that can of worms I'm not sure the lid will fit when it's time to shelve it. There are parts I want to forget, but I know forgetting only results in repeating the same patterns. So I'll remember 2016, but I'm hoping the good stuff outshines the pain that 2016 brought with it.

I'm praying 2017 brings rest and joy and hope to you and to my family, too.

10/25/96

When I grieve my brother Jackson's death on October 26, 1996, the painful memories find their genesis in the night before the 26th.

10/25/96 dealt me the first blow. It's the night my sister Mary called me after she visited Jackson in Augusta, Georgia for the last time

Dan and I lived in Kansas City and had friends over that night. We were eating chicken wings in our living room, laughing and having a great time. The phone rang and it was Mary on the line. I knew she had planned to visit Jackson that night, so I took the phone to my bedroom to talk privately with her and not disrupt dinner with our friends.

Mary's voice was tense and serious. She told me, "Poozie, you need to come home - sooner rather than later." I thought she was being overly dramatic.

I gave her excuses why I couldn't simply pick up right then and drive 12 hours to Augusta: I told her I had to work. And, besides, I already made plane reservations to fly down a week later to spend time with Jackson. His wife, Bonnie, had asked for caretakers to help so I bought tickets just the day before.

"Mary," I said, "I'm coming soon enough."

I went back to chicken wings and beer and laughing with my pals. I even have a photo of it; I kept it because my later regret wagged its finger at me in shame.

The next morning, Dan and I slept in. I worked weekend nights in my TV news job, so we were having a lazy morning before I started getting ready for work. I was just about to head to the bathroom to shower when the phone rang.

I answered it, and the words I heard shattered my world. It was Jackson's wife, Bonnie. She was crying and simply said, "He's gone."

Tonight, I type this story and still feel regret about the decision I made twenty years ago, right around this very moment.

I regret that my sister called and told me to hurry, and I placed my excuses in higher priority than my family.

I regret my naivete that made me believe the biggest lie I've ever bought: "There will always be more time."

I regret the chicken wings and the belly laughs I had while my brother lay dying.

Have you ever read the verse in Isaiah 61 that says God will bring beauty from ashes? This promise of God's has come to fruition in my life; God has redeemed the October 25ths of my past.

I can now say God was generous when He allowed the experience of 10/25/96, because He knew my regret from that night would change the days of my life yet to come.

God knew my "no" on 10/25/96 would echo for the rest of my life. What I learned that night was not to wait. When someone asks for help, 10/25/96 taught me to say yes. It taught me to show up and shore up the people who matter to me no matter the request or the excuses I so quickly rationalize.

God shaped a new core value in my character through my experience of 10/25/96: the value of NOW because later doesn't always come.

On Arlington & Memorial Day

The car came to a stop. I looked to the right and I looked to the left, and as far as my eye could see were little jagged teeth planted upright in the grass. Knowing there were more white monuments on the other side of every hill around me added to the weight of the moment.

I stepped out of the car and my sandals sank into the wet grass and mud. It had rained buckets just an hour before, but the sky was clear now. The rain made the colors around me pop: the green grass, the blue sky, the white tombstones, and the flowers and mementos left by loved ones.

My family skittered ahead in search of a specific friend on this hillside of comrades, but my steps were slowed as the names on the tombstones whispered to my compassion: Richard. James. Bruno. John. Patricia.

A bird landed on her tombstone and I stopped to watch him tweet and flit about, as if this field of stones was like any other random field.

But this one isn't like any other.

The names kept pulling at my memories. Edwin. Carl. Robert. Don't I know someone by that name? What if this field were full of MY friends instead?

Oh, but these are my friends. These are my brothers and sisters, my human companions in this world, and my national compatriots. These are the ones who stood for me, fought for me, endured training schools for the "privilege" of standing knee-deep in a muddy field or pushing forms and paperwork through the system (if they were the soldiers who protected and processed in the administration of office duties).

I'm not going to over-romanticize and pretend every grave in the fields of Arlington holds a soldier who died on the battlefield. Some soldiers who died in battle never made it home to American soil, and are buried in Normandy and Iwo Jima and throughout the world.

We have 147 national cemeteries across America, where our brave fallen find their final rest. But these cemeteries also cradle their spouses and some children. These graves hold the soldiers who returned home from battle, suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. These graves also hold people who died from other causes, like my brother's grave in Louisville's Cave Hill National Cemetery. He didn't die in a battle for his country; he died in a battle for his life, against cancer.

I stood knee-deep in the sea of Arlington's graves, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of graves around me.

It's easy to look at the tombstones and think of them as things, simple stone markers in freshly-cut grass. I refused to detach from the moment, and started imagining the people these markers memorialized. It was easy, once I started looking around and seeing trinkets and tokens left by the people who grieve for the dead.

I read a poem left at Chris Campbell's grave. It was written as a tribute to his mother, given to her just a few days prior, on Mother's Day. The thought of losing my own son and having to spend Mother's Day at his grave in Arlington brought tears to my eyes.

My family caught up to me then and my brother-in-law, Wally, pointed out the graves of some of his friends. He told us about Heath, and his personality.

Then my sister, Mary, pointed out her friend Jerry's grave nearby. Jerry died during training preps for Afghanistan, and left behind four sons and his wife, Molly. Molly is still friends with Mary and their families remain close.

It's hard to visit the grave of a close friend when all that's left is a cold stone to represent a life that was vibrant and full.

The heaviness I felt in the fields of Arlington was only outweighed by the sense of honor and overwhelming gratitude I felt - and continue to feel - for the people who paid the heaviest sacrifice for my freedom.

I owe a debt I can never repay. And on this Memorial Day, may we remember we ALL do.

"There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends." (John 15:13, New Living Translation)