Love's Progress Notes

“Who is that”, I thought. There was a woman with bold, wild red hair with an even bolder personality. “This is my Aunt Lori”. It didn’t take long. She wanted to know where I was from, who my family was, what kind of job I had, and a million other questions. And it didn’t take me long to figure out how to be myself around her. 

As the years went by, I began sharing more of my heart with her. And she shared hers with me. She was a proud, devoted mom, and grandmother. Putting her husband above all others was one of her greatest joys and was totally obvious. Have you seen her watch David sing? Like a hysterical teen being struck with a case of love at first sight of the King, nearly fainting and having to be carried out. True love. 

There would be home cooked meals from scratch. “No one cooks from scratch anymore”, I heard her say. Her cookies, carefully wrapped in packages waiting for each guest to indulge in were a holiday hit. “I’ll bring over a meal”. Her homemade soups, breads, and goodies that she brought over after babies, surgeries, and even a miscarriage made you feel like a kid snuggling up to your favorite blanket while melting into the comfort of your mother’s arms. 

There would be parties, events, and decorations. Her vision and eye for each meaningful detail could not be matched. The dream weddings, birthday parties, showers, and daddy daughter dances. She knew each event and each guest mattered. Because they mattered first to God. What one could see with their physical eyes, she could see in the spirit. 

There would be handmade crafts and intentional gifts. “This was made out of Grandma Barbara’s dress”. After Grandma’s passing, she made each girl in the family a dress keepsake made from the swatch of Grandma’s 50th wedding anniversary dress. She even created Christmas bulbs containing a rose from her brother-in-law Joe’s funeral. We were gifted those at Christmas. Gifts that are remembered and cherished for a lifetime. Gifts that are felt and carry a lot of love. 

“Lori, can you make a Tinkerbell dress for Cady’s birthday?” She had made these gorgeous hand made dresses for her three oldest granddaughters. “Actually, I have enough material for one more.” But, this wasn’t a coincidence. Lori was always finding God’s hand in situations. Because she was always looking in awe at her Creator. 

”And God will generously provide all you need. Then you will always have everything you need and plenty left over to share with others.“

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭9‬:‭8‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The more I got to know her, the more genuinely amazed I was. I began to discover she had a gift for writing. She could write poems, letters, beautiful notes in cards, and speeches. She even had a column in the local paper years ago. 

I shared not only my writing but my writer’s dreams with her. Things I don’t share with a lot of people. And she shared hers with me. It’s an honor to be entrusted with someone’s dreams. We became encouragement for each other. “I really want to write a book for my kids and grandchildren”, she told me. And she started her blog. In the journey of online blogging, there can be discouragement. “I just don’t have a lot of subscribers”. But, still, she continued on, knowing she heard from God about the one. 

I’ve read many works from various writers. Some with small audiences, some that have gone viral. No one could write like Lori. Her gift was superior to most of the storytelling that is popular. Her creative retelling was a window into her life and her heart. You were like a companion in her life, joining along for the ride. God knew He could entrust her with such a potent gift because of her obedience and humility. She wasn’t gifted with a large audience but was gifted with a meaningful impact that would produce a large harvest. 

“Rejected art forms are always the best ones. They are hidden gems meant to be found by those that desperately need to experience the beauty within them.”

I wrote that quote not knowing what was near and not knowing it’s purpose.  

In her final post, she expressed that she felt regret. Like she had wasted time on decorating and parties. She planned to reposition herself to focus on writing: her true creative gift. 

If she only truly saw what all of us saw in her. There’s endless beauty in living a life for Christ and simply serving your family. 

I heard that the time was coming for Lori to be face to face with Jesus. I wept thinking I had lost my chance to share with her everything I had wanted to say.

I quickly typed out some things I wanted to say, while my husband called family so I could phone in. 

“Lori, you did it! You wrote your book. And you wrote it with the love you have for all of us. You wrote with the time you spent, your words of encouragement, and your affection. You wrote it all with emotion and with action. You didn’t need to write it down. It’s such a beautiful story! Thank you for letting me be a part in your beautiful life story. I have loved every part that you shared with me. I’m so thankful that I’ve been gifted an aunt like you. A wonderful cheerleader and friend celebrating us each step of the way. I love you with all my heart.” 

They say that loved ones can hear you in their final moments. I hope she heard every single word. 

And I believe it’s true. She wrote a chapter each time she gave a homemade gift, with each party and event, with each homemade meal, with each laugh, with each kind word. She wrote her chapters with the love she had for us and for God. With each chapter she brought Heaven down to Earth. 

Sometimes, God gives us a vision that we think is just for us, but it is actually for future generations after us. But the one with the vision lays a foundation and begins planting the seed. There are many writers in our larger family. It’s our turn to carry the mantle. There will be books written and published. There will be audiences moved to tears. There will be memories shared. There will be great stories to tell.There will be a great harvest, because you saw the one, and because you were a good steward to plant the seed. 

Thank you for your faith, your sacrifice, your love, your storytelling. Thank you, most of all, for serving the Lord. 

”May your Kingdom come soon. May your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.“

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭6‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Several years ago, our next door neighbor’s house went for sale. We had two young girls and hadn’t had many neighbors with young kids on our block. “I really hope someone with younger kids move in,” I told my husband. I prayed and really wanted my kids to have someone to play with.

I always thought it would be neat to have really great next door neighbors. Ones that you could literally ask to borrow a cup of sugar from or ones that would pop in. Ones that you see on 80s and 90s family sitcoms. Ones that become familiar like they were part of the main plot, part of the family.

One day, I noticed a car outside at a showing. “There was a car seat in there,” I updated my husband. Not long later, the “For Sale” sign was gone and a familiar face pulled up: my parents’ neighbor from the old neighborhood. The neighborhood I grew up in. “My daughter bought this house,” she said. And the daughter, who is more than a decade younger than me, has a daughter close to my girls’ age.

Over the next couple of years, we spent a lot of time outside, while the kids played. “Will you guys be out tomorrow?” And just like that, convenient play dates that kept the kids occupied with fun in the sun were scheduled.

We had days of watching our kids run in the sprinkler, afternoons of watching the kids jump in piles of leaves, evenings watching the kids catch lightning bugs, and nights of roasting marshmallows.

And soon there was a new puppy next door, whom our dog became acquainted with. The boys became best buds, running to each others’ yards and sneaking into each others’ houses.

Soon, we added another girl to our home. I would hold her while I watched my older girls play with the neighbor girl outside.

In the winter months, we would see less of each other. When spring came, we would re-emerge with our kids. One early spring morning, I told my husband that I had a dream that I walked outside and noticed that Mrs. Neighbor was pregnant. And sure enough, I saw her outside, and she had some news to share with me. Later that summer, they had a baby boy.

When kids bond with each other, there’s an opportunity for parents to get to know each other, too. We shared stories about growing up and funny antics. We shared a love for The Office, true crime, coffee, and Jesus. We shared dinners, game nights, walks, car pools, and group texts. When Covid hit, we found ways to connect and have conversation through windows and across our yards.

We’ve also shared funny antics. Like the time Mr. Neighbor was stuck on the roof, and we had to bring our ladder over. I think there was a time with their very tall tree, too.

Or the time we had them over for a murder mystery dinner. “There’s been a murrderrr.” I had even convinced them to dress the part. I went through all the planning and prep only to read the wrong line and totally blow the ending. Ooops!

There’s even a shared birthday in there. Somehow, it took us a few years to figure it out. And, somehow, we forgot a few years in a row after that.

“Is my kid over there?” and “are you sure it’s ok?” became routine texts as the kids got older. Spontaneous sleep overs and hang outs on a whim were something our kids lived for. It became the regular for their kids to just come on in and make themselves at home. My house and yard were filled with laughter, games of tag, a pretend wedding, cheer routines, and a play we never saw. I never minded. My kids were happier when they were around.

We got to know each others’ families and had a lot of conversations with each others’ parents. We became friends that our families knew well, and we were friends that invited each other to family birthday parties. “Those are for the kids to talk to each other from their houses,” an aunt said, while the neighbor boy opened his new walkie-talkies.

The Mrs. and I shared a love for the old neighborhood. “I never got over my parents selling the house I grew up in,” I told her. We talked about possibly moving one day and being neighbors again, possibly in the old neighborhood.

As neighbors, we’ve relied on each other. They became one of my supports while my husband was working the road on midnights. There were surprise treats when I was worried about my husband at work the summer of Covid. We’ve watered each others’ plants while the other was out of town. Our swing set became theirs. There’s been borrowed tools, advice, taco shells, and even a cup of vinegar. “That dude helped me load so many pieces of furniture,” my husband said about Mr. Neighbor. In a pinch, in a bind, in an emergency, we there for each other.

“That’s how neighbors were when I was growing up”, my dad said when I was talking to him about our neighbors. Well, you know what they say, they don’t make things like they used to. But every once in awhile, God creates something really special. God can gift neighbors that become part of the main plot, part of the family.

Today, our neighbors are moving back to the old neighborhood. I had felt something brewing for a bit. It’s strange how God prepares your heart for transitions. It’s a interesting mix of sadness of an end of an era but happiness for a new beginning for them. When you have neighbors that are more like family, you rejoice for their wins. They say you can’t choose your neighbors, but I believe God can. And when He does it, it’s pretty memorable. Immeasurable.

Dear Neighbors,

Thank you for giving us the the best years on the block. This neighborship was an unexpected blessing. There’s so many more moments and memories, but how do you sum up your kids’ childhoods in just one story. I know my kids are going to look back on these last several years and remember them as the good ol’ days. And so will we.

We love you guys, and we will miss you guys. You guys are family to us now. Our door is always open, we’re just a knock away.

Maybe, we’ll see you back in the old neighborhood…

Love,

Your Son’s Future In-Laws

From the first moment you discover you’re going to become a mom, you’re praying your child will be born perfectly healthy and beautiful. You have hopes and dreams for your baby. What will my baby look like? Whose personality will she have? Will he have talents like mine or his dad?

The last thing that most mothers are consumed with is the possibility of having a child with a challenge, with a disability. 

Sometimes, God gives you a child with a disability. It’s not what you feel prepared for and not what you prayed for. You might be shocked, angry, or sad. The fears, the uncertainties, and the doubts set in. What if I can’t handle this? What if I’m not good enough or patient enough? What if I can’t give her what she really needs? What if I mess it all up? Not to mention the guilt and the loneliness. What did I do to cause this? Who can I turn to?  Your whole world is different than you had been imagining. 

But, overtime, something starts to change. Something deep in your heart, in your being, begins to transform. Through the trials and emotions, you begin a refining process, smoothing your rough edges. Your flaws start to be supported by grace and start to strengthen. When God gives you a child with a disability, He molds you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

Your eyes become more watchful. You watch everything about your child. You watch for things and people to avoid that could harm her. You watch for extracurricular activities to enhance his strengths, and those that help strengthen his weaknesses. You sometimes just know. No one is more watchful than a mother.

Your soul becomes more courageous. You finally find your voice. And that voice gets the message across, and people listen. It may school the experts at meetings and appointments. No one has a more courageous roar than a mom at an IEP meeting or an appointment in which her concerns are being dismissed. And, if they don’t listen, you get a second opinion. You’ll surprise yourself with your boldness. You’re the best advocate your child can have. Hands down.

Your mind becomes more knowledgable. College reading has nothing on the reading you do. You learn what therapies work best, which medical interventions you should accept, and which educational goals you should suggest. You know, by heart, the parent rights, and you even quote them when you’re challenged. The experts of our children are us, not the professionals we hire.

Your soul becomes more hopeful. Your mother heart is able to hope for things that some say are impossible. You may have to hope beyond what your child can hope for. When not even the experts can see it, you have a clear vision of hope. You know it can get better and that things can improve, even in the most subtle of ways. 

Your arms become more comforting. Your child may cry or be overwhelmed with what he cannot control. The tears that come down in those private moments at home are heartbreaking. Your arms are soothing tools to anchor your child in the storm. A gentle embrace may be all she needs.

Your hands become more prayerful. The prayers of a loving mother are powerful and precious. Sometimes you pray for a miracle. And, many times, you pray for small progress. Seemingly small steps are such a huge victory! You pray for the right specialists and the right answers. You pray that your children will have a good day and that they’ll have good friends. You pray for things other parents never have to pray. Those prayers remain in our hearts even when they aren’t in our minds. Our whole mothering heart can be expressed in a tearful prayer.

Your heart becomes more loving and forgiving. We may have lived life striving for perfection. What happens when things suddenly are outside of our own efforts. Your genetics, the vitamins you took, the vitamins you didn’t take, the not praying hard enough, the things you didn’t know at the time, all the what ifs. We can drive ourselves crazy playing the self blame game. The fear that we somehow caused this disability in our child is the worst fear a mother can have. When we allow God to work through our flaws as mothers and our imperfections, that’s when grace takes over. And we need grace to do this kind of mothering. Learning to forgive and love ourselves is one of the best gifts we can give our child. Our children with disabilities need to see us loving ourselves despite our imperfections, so they can love themselves with their own. 

When God gives you a child with a disability, it’s not because He knows you can handle it. He knows you can’t handle it on your own. But, with each roadblock, tearful prayer, challenge, and triumph, He transforms you more and more, like the wonderful Potter He is, into the mother He planned for you to be, even before He placed your intricate child in your womb (or in the biological mother’s womb). You are a wonderful mother of a wonderful child with a disability. God made your child for you, and He made you, mama, for your child.

“Thanks for checking on me”. I think I said those words, or something similar, maybe a couple of times last year, while the headlines rolled and the outcry roared. It’s 2021, and the headlines are crashing again. Times like these are what make me miss my pastor the most. Our pastor was one of the few that went out of his way to check in on us. One of the few. When families were being followed home and harassed and badge wearers were more than just verbally criticized, our pastor didn’t rant and rave, he didn’t lecture or rattle on. He didn’t run out and buy a thin blue line something or other. He didn’t share his favorite snarky meme. He asked how he could pray. He asked how we were. He listened and cared. He encouraged. Oh, Pastor Larry, how we miss you!

It’s odd to have so much conversation about law enforcement with only a couple of real check-ins. It’s times like these I wish he could call or text. Losing a pastor at the end of 2020 was more than devastating. We lost our back up. Our counselor.

There’s a lot of opinions and arguments over facts. There’s a lot of one liner memes. There’s a lot of name calling and blaming. But there’s not many check-ins or prayers. It’s been a bit since we’ve had one.

It’s a strange and lonely position. To learn to Netflix and chill alone. To schedule your whole routine around when he’s home, awake, or both. To attend holidays alone. To feel disturbed by the headlines and lose sleep. To have to pray, “please God, keep our daddy safe and keep us safe” with your kids on the days he’s at work and to pray “thank you, God, that our daddy is home with us” on the days he’s off. We’ve not had a prayer without those words. To debrief him after a trauma he’s seen. When was the last time you had to debrief your spouse? To trust that his 20 something dollar an hour is enough for wearing a bullet proof vest. To be a family of color and a law enforcement family. To know you won’t be understood by either side of the coin. To have to trust that God called him to wear the badge during this decade and have to rest in His sovereignty. To go 23 hours or more without even a text. To love the sight of his unlaced boots and the sound of the velcro. To have your financial advisor tell you that you REALLY need life insurance in case something happens to him and not if something happens to you. To hope others see you as a person. To know that the only other people that understand are fellow law enforcement wives. To never wear anything that marks you as an law enforcement wife when in public, or really ever.

Check in with us. Call us. Actually ask how we are doing in regards to the headlines. We don’t want to hear if you think the officer was wrong or right, because our thoughts will change based on the circumstances. We don’t need you generalizing things in either direction. Because, at the end of the day, you may be able to forget and move on to the next topic, but we don’t. He’s still the one that took an oath. He’s still called in someone’s worst hour or worst day. He’s still the one responding to a trauma or arresting someone that doesn’t want to go to jail, even if they need to. And I’m still the one that held the Bible. I’m still the one managing the home (good thing I’m good at it), the calendar and finances, our kids, our social life, schedules, my own career, and, all the while, praying for grace, protection, peace, and the wisdom to simply know the difference.

When you see my dog, you may see an animal, but I see someone that is family.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog that’s loudly yapping at anyone that walks by, while leaving smudge marks on my window, but I see my guardian angel looking out for me.

When you see my dog, you may see an inconvenience, but I see a faithful, reliable, true friend.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog licking my face any chance he gets, but I see someone that loves me back.

When you see my dog, you may see just one more thing I have to care for, but I see someone that takes care of me.

I won’t deny my dog does doggy things and has his own quirks that are less than desirable. But what you don’t see are all the reasons he’s with me. The times I’ve cried, the times I’ve been ill, the times I’ve been anxious, the times I’ve grieved and been heartbroken. The times I’ve been filled with endless joy. The feelings of comfort and love my dog brings me that an observer can’t see but are real to me. They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. But have you ever seen a dog mom? She always has her dog by her side (more like in her lap). He knows no one loves him like his momma does. Because as much as I care for my dog, he always cares for me more. My family has me, and I have my dog. And I’ll be his person until the absolute end.