“I love winter – I love snow!” She said unknowingly before she was a mom of three energetic little boys.
But if I am forced to look at non-snow-covered dead trees and grass from the inside of my house, then I’d rather just have spring. Ahem, let me rephrase that… But if I’m forced to watch my boys as they repeatedly jump across my furniture like they’re lily pads on a pond, then I’d rather have spring. Ha!
It’s completely true what they say: Boys need the outdoors!
I can easily place a this-was-a-rough-week checkmark in the box next to this past week. Being cooped up all winter, is hard on little boys – and hard on their momma! There’s only so much you can do within the four walls of your home. They unconsciously begged to be entertained all week but nothing I did with them could satisfy. Every toy was dull, even the ones saved for a rainy day. Playing Uno and Candyland for the hundredth time was one too many times. Netflix was down for the week. We attempted the library for Family Storytime, but we were back in our van before a story was even read.
The peak was Thursday (the 19th). I pictured what my house might look like from above: boisterous boys bouncing off the furniture into the clouds above the house…in slow motion, because that’s how all the commercials look; constant wrestling, biting and punching matches – because obviously our house is one big fighting ring. Basically, they looked like a trio of wild monkeys on an overdose of caffeine! Ha!
I watched as they crumbled with each passing moment, yelling at them for being so mischievous. I prayed and cried out to God. Overwhelmed and frustrated is an understatement; it can feel very isolating some days. “God, please, where’s Your grace?” Continue reading “Boys and Winter”
In the early morning hours of Sunday, January 8, 2017, a church in Juniata County, Pennsylvania (the area where I grew up) caught fire. When I scrolled through the pictures I choked up. The enormity of the situation is shocking, as the damage is horrendous. Though it was not the church I attended regularly, I knew many who did. It was also the church that held my dad’s funeral services. This is especially sad for me as it threatens to shake loose the memories of seeing my dad for the last time and saying goodbye as we closed his casket.
But, for those who attended this church, it is far more tragic. Continue reading “It’s All In What You See”
I promised myself I would not write another blog about grief without first writing about something else, because I don’t want to tire my readers with my sorrow. But here I am. Grief is a continual struggle. It is what occupies even the deepest corner of my heart. And so, I write some more.
I write for me. I write for those who cannot write. I write for those who are so burdened and swallowed by their grief as they struggle to sort their emotions. And I write because I feel God leading me to.
No matter if you know me or not, I pray my blogs may be uplifting and encouraging.
Grief is a lonely road. Not everyone has lost someone dear to them, but of the ones who have, few offer much support. Friends are to stand by you, through your darkest hours, through the most sorrowful and grief-stricken moments of your life. Yet few do. They tend to run like the wind when they realize their friend’s cry is turning monotonous. And oh no, the tears! Nothing like tears to send people into a tizzy; people squirm in their seats, excuse themselves or evade you by frantically searching for a box of tissues. But a friend, or simply someone who cares, should offer their time: willingly offer their shoulder for tears, their ears for listening and their mouth for encouragement. Because soon enough, the tables will turn and they will be forced to walk the same lonely road as you. Continue reading “Good grief!”
On the last day of the year, most people reflect on the past twelve months. We sift through things that went wrong and vow to change them. We recollect events we’d rather have never experienced. Or perhaps the memories are ones to cherish.
This past year was a rough year, a sad year.
On January 2, 2016, (I don’t remember exactly the context or reason, besides God had ordained it) I decided to spend the weekend at my parents’ house. My dad really wanted to show my mom and me this area on Jack’s Mountain that was full of rhododendrons; so much so that it looked as if a jungle had been picked up and placed on a Pennsylvania mountainside. Here on this hiking trail, marked some of the last and most cherished memories I have of my dad. He made sure mom reminded me to bring my camera along so I could take pictures. Little did I know they would be the last good pictures of him. (One of which we used on his obituary two-and-a-half months later.) Continue reading “The Last Day of the Year”