Category: Stories

Post 9 of week 9.  Revealing a little more of my heart today.  This picture, taken about 11 years ago, is of my son with his daughter and nephew on a beautiful summer day in Michigan.

It’s difficult to write about things that make you feel as if you have to go into long explanations or excuse behavior. You think to yourself, “I have this story I want to tell, but it’s not a simple story and it exhausts me to try and explain all the circumstances so that the reader will understand.”

I remember I was living in Arizona at the time. I think my second divorce was final by then but I’m not sure. I was working through a lot of emotional junk. I got a call from my son saying there had been an accident and the police were accusing him of hitting a young woman with his car, killing her, and driving off.

I felt so sorry for the young woman and her family. I felt sorry for my son who was convinced he hadn’t done this thing at all. He would have never knowingly hit someone with his car and driven off without stopping to render aid.

Not much happened for many months, then he was arrested, charged with vehicular homicide and leaving the scene of an accident with death, and my mother’s heart was broken. I emptied out my meager 401K to pay for his attorney. He went to trial, was convicted, then sentenced to 11 years in prison.

My son who had never been in trouble. Ever.

I was angry at God for letting this happen, and disappointed in myself that I couldn’t somehow ‘fix’ it. I was his mother, after all. It’s my job to protect my children.

I succumbed to the darkness of depression for some months. When your heart is full to overflowing with despair and sadness, there’s no room for light or love or laughter.

I began writing weekly letters to my son for encouragement. I poured myself into those letters willing the words to somehow help him.

What do you do with an injustice? How do you deal with the ongoing pain?

I remember demanding God give me two things – I wanted my son out of there and I wanted him to return to his faith. God said ‘yes’ to the second, and ‘wait’ on the first.

The second, of course, is the most important.

I moved here to Florida for the express purpose of visiting him every weekend. It’s a 5 hour round trip. But I couldn’t leave him there alone. I just couldn’t.

“God is good all the time. All the time God is good.”

I have to admit it took me a while to really believe those words in my heart. It has taken me many years to truly acknowledge that God loves my children more than I do and that he really, really, really has their best interest in mind. It doesn’t mean I don’t still ask, well, beg, for God to have my son released. But it does mean I can rest knowing God is in control of the bigger picture.

Why am I writing this, you’re asking? To say that I understand. I can see those hidden places in your heart. Those places you keep sealed up tight so no one can hurt you. Those secrets that bring anxiety and fear. It’s ok. Hand them over to the One who understands more than anyone else and let him begin the healing process.

One day you’ll realize it doesn’t hurt so much anymore, and you don’t feel the need to explain anymore, and you won’t be ashamed anymore.

Knowing you’re loved and valuable and cherished no matter what happened in the past, is freeing.

Believe it – God loves you as if you were his favorite.

Trust in his timing and trust his heart.

Post 8 for week 8 of 2019.  A new venture.

A few years back, a friend’s mother died, and I wrote a short little memorial as a way to honor her. Then about a year later my mom died, and I started thinking about what I could do with that prose.

“Love stops us cold, and memories keep us warm…”

After our loved one’s death, we keep their memory alive in in our hearts in many different ways. One of those is in pictures. We spend hours journeying through photo albums reliving snippets of life and happy celebrations. We gently trace their face with our finger and look into their smiling eyes one more time. We do our best to tuck the joy of their laugh down deep in our hearts so we can recall it when we’re extra lonely and missing them when we’re having a bad day.

I still have days when I hear something or see something and think “I need to call mom and tell her about this”, then I remember. She’s beyond the reach of my voice and I’ll never again hear her say through the crackly land line, “when are you coming to see me?”

I won’t get to eat her famous biscuits anymore. No one could make them like she could. Her way of saying she loved you was to offer to fix you a plate of food.

So, anyway, I got to thinking. I wanted to try and marry my prose with a photo and make it look extra special. Something to become a keepsake and bring a small measure of comfort.

My youngest daughter is an artist with photoshop. She takes everyday words and pictures and turns them into jaw-dropping art. So that’s what she did. I know that if my momma were still alive, she’d be very proud of her granddaughter’s labor of love, just as I am.

We’d love to make one for you, too. All you have to do is ask.

And here is post #7 for week #7.  See, I’m staying on track!  I’m going back to Arizona for a short vacation soon, and my mind was full of memories.

The suffocating heat is oppressive. The sun’s beat-down makes me wish I’d started my hike earlier in the day. I was almost there, but that last mile has been brutal.

I pause for a few minutes in the shade of a mesquite tree to catch my breath and drink from my water bottle. The water is quite warm now, but it’s wet and that’s what matters. My gaze seeks out the distant blue mountains, appearing closer than they are. I breathe deeply and allow my mind to rest, and I smile. The immediate scenery at my feet is brown and tan and varying shades of green with the occasional flowering shrub bravely brightening the landscape.

Tough. Patient. Resilient. These words describe the Arizona desert’s flora and fauna.

My back is covered in sweat and I can feel lines of moisture slowly tracking down my neck even as the wind lifts my hair to bring a teaser of coolness. Even with the extreme heat and sweating, my skin dries quickly because of the low humidity.

The never-ending bright blue sky remains, and only yields grudgingly to the evening by changing colors ever so slowly. The last half hour of light the sky explodes into neon orange as if the blue suddenly relinquished all hold to the day and bids us a farewell.

I pass by an acacia tree in bloom whose honey-sweet scent greets me, making me slow my steps and turn in my tracks for just a few moments to relish the beauty of sweetness hovering in the heated air. I gently finger a soft, fuzzy golden yellow ball of scent before I move on. The heat is intensifying and I’m getting tired.

I walk by a tortoise posing as a statue, his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate. Tiny lizards silently run quickly past flying across the ground and disappearing into the scrub on some errand of extreme importance and immediacy.

Cactus wrens remain perched up high peeking outside their nesting holes in the top of stately saguaros safe from predators. Their little ones strategically surrounded by razor sharp cactus spines chirp out their hunger and wait.

A road runner streaks past leaving a dust trail in his wake, agilely weaving around the scrub and cholla and small boulders strewn around the landscape like marbles that have fallen out of a bag and disappears down the path in a tumble of pebbles.

Life in the desert is precarious and unforgiving. It’s also patient and resolute. Single-mindedness of survival with the summer day beginning hot and increasing in its merciless heat until the earth incrementally turns and the sun sets. The night becomes almost cool and the air a caress as if apologizing for the inhospitable day.

The blackness of the night shrouds the mountains in a cloak of secrecy, where they appear in the morning light again like a wayward lover with a kiss of welcome.

The heartbeat of the mountains and the desert beat in sync with mine as we discover life together.