I am having a really hard time keeping that time in perspective.

It feels like 100 years ago.

It feels like 5 minutes ago.

I look at the obituary, and I can’t believe it.  That’s not her name there.  It’s some kind of joke.  It can’t be.  My grandma is at her house, sitting in her robe in her favorite chair.  She’s drinking coffee and watching Fox News and waiting for whoever has chosen to visit her today.

She’s not dead.  She can’t be.

She can’t have been that shell of a person I told goodbye 3 nights ago.  Whose unresponsive arm I rubbed, as I told her I loved her, and said goodbye.  She can’t be gone.  Because she’s my grandma.

I see solace in her home – in sitting in her space – only to have it torn apart.  Physically, by an aunt who is on a mission to get what she wants and get back to her own home.  Emotionally, by words flung in anger between siblings – all exhausted and grieving, because they just can’t agree on things and don’t want to be having to make these decisions anyway.  She can’t be dead.  She’s their mom.

There’s no solace anywhere.

Light and salt are so hard to be when all the salt’s being cried out in tears.

No hugs are being given.

No hearts are being comforted.

It’s just all cold.

Cold. Rejection. Anger. Hurt…on a beautiful day when she’d only been gone for one.

Now it’s two.

I can’t be there anymore.

But I can’t be here.  Can’t stand to have my eyes open.

Can’t stand to face the reality.

Reality of a body lying on the side of the interstate…cars passing by…gawking to see what happened.  That wasn’t her – it was another life – cut short on a joyride after too much alcohol, apparently.  But still dead.

I have a munchkin looking up at me.  ”I need you Mommy.  Want Peter Pan.”

Me too, Love, me too.  I want Peter Pan, where nobody really dies, and everybody flies, and Tinkerbell can make everything better.

Well, 5:30 if you look at the official death certificate, based on when the hospice nurse could get to her house and officially declare the time of death.

I take some small comfort in that.  For a time, my grandmother’s body sat here, in her home, with her children.

My mother called around 7 to tell me.  I was third on her list, after my brothers.  I’m not sure who told my uncle, who also lives here in town, but had chosen not to stay the night.

When I got to her house shortly after 9, it was a flurry of activity.  My aunt has never been one who could sit and do nothing.  For days, she has been cleaning, tidying, throwing things out outside of my grandmother’s room.  She drew the limit at that – being intrusive.  Apparently she and my grandmother had already done a great deal of purging, when Grandma was still well enough to be up and about somewhat.

This death, it wasn’t unexpected.

But that didn’t make the morning’s activity seem any less like a betrayal.  I couldn’t help but feel …her body’s not even cold yet, and you’re going through all of her stuff, tossing this, claiming that, making a pile to go to Goodwill or the homeless mission without a care.

Of course, some of the items will be given to various family members.  For years, my grandmother has tagged everything she has been given with the name of the giver – as she intended to have it go back to them on her death.  Odd, huh?  But, it is what it is.  She remembered that years ago I had given her a cardinal snow globe, matching a Pfaltzgraff dish pattern she had, and mom noted today that she remembered it was to go to me.

I’m sitting here now in her dining room – a room I rarely spent time in as it’s where all of the ‘adults’ always sat for holiday meals.  Everyone is gone but Bonbon and me.  Bonbon is napping.  The tv is on, but the silence still screams in my ears.

She’s gone.

I will never hold her hand, or talk to her, or tease her, or feel her disapproving glance, or bring her a frosty ever again.  Not in this life anyway.

I’m trying to be ok with that.  I really, really am.  But I miss her already.

His grandfather was taken to the ER as soon as the funeral was over.   He is ok, but was just recently treated for a collapsed lung, so…I fear we may be making another trip up there soon.

My grandmother…well…my grandmother wasn’t expected to make it to today.  On Saturday, I was told maybe 48 hours.  Now my mom says she said a week – she didn’t – but it’s neither here nor there.  It is impossible to tell, other than to say that death is imminent.  We had communion with her yesterday, with all those who could make it crammed into her bedroom, sitting on the floor around her.  My cousin is a pastor, and did a great mini-service, just as Gram wanted.  My aunt arrived from Texas shortly before we began, and we think that is all she was waiting for.  She does seem to look for more news of anyone coming as another reason to hang on a little longer, but I suspect it truly won’t be long now.

I am…

I know it is good she will be out of pain.  I know it is good she will be with Jesus (and I truly believe she will be.)

But, selfishly, she won’t be HERE.  She won’t be at every birthday party.  She won’t be at Christmas.  She won’t be sitting in her day room any time I want to see her, and stop over there.  She won’t be sitting there wanting a frosty any more.  She won’t be here.

So, selfishly, I am a little destroyed by that.

I feel myself sinking into a pretty big hole, and I know, it’s only as deep as I want it to be, because Jesus is right here with me.  But the hurt of knowing she won’t be there…it makes me just want to hide, and sleep, and not think about anything.  Not my husband, or my kids, or me, or my mother who will very much need me once this is over.

But the thing is…the ‘mormon.org’ commercials? They make me think of The Borg.

Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. And I’m a Mormon.

What I miss more than anything is just the connection that I share with my friends, real and e-maginary (online) friends. I love sharing funny things about my baby girl, or my crazy older children, or my charming husband…or songs that punch me in the gut….

But the point of it is…facebook is a grand distraction. It draws me away from my time with God EVERY SINGLE DAY. God and I still manage a dialogue, but not as intensely as I desire, when I put him on hold to go play words with friends!

Seriously. Marinate in that for a few seconds. Creater of ALL THE THINGS…”Hold please…Tracy’s trying to come up with a good word using HJWllEQ.” He might just hold for that one, to tell me that stack’s taking me right to H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS!!

But that said, as much as I have missed facebook in the last few days, it has served it’s purpose. One, I have not missed my Bible reading time in 2 weeks. That’s not a record for me, but definitely hasn’t been the trend lately. And, on many of those nights, I read with hubby, and prayed together.

Worship on Sunday took a bit to hammer through my distraction…but it got there. I don’t remember which song, but it got there!

So – some would call my fast light – they’d JUDGE me weak…but I would say it has already headed me toward my fast zone – time spent with my God with little to no distraction. In the time I devote, it’s like…worship songs just spill out exactly how I feel and I want to post every one of them on facebook. Listening to Christian talk radio brings a different area of conviction every hour or so! But I am loving it…this feeling of revival.

The rest of the family is fasting different levels of a Daniel fast, so in the evenings, I am eating what they would eat. But, I am getting a good lunch in without much worry;

Anyway – I would say 3 days in I’m amped up and ramped up…ready for the long haul. I miss facebook…but it’s emblematic of loving the things of this world TOO MUCH. Which sadly, as I read our Bible reading the other night…the admonition not to love our children or spouses or parents more than we love God…and I struggle with that one. I can express astonishing love to my kids. I express love to my mom. I just don’t know how to get completely ridiculous expressing my love to God – aside from getting on my knees and telling Him…but that seems weak.

So anyway…so far, so great.

The question asks to what extent they have been involved in alcohol, drugs, the occult, sexual activity, or same sex attraction.  Now…for the most part, I get to brag extensively about Cheesecake.  She has never consumed alcohol, she’s never smoked or tried illegal drugs, she’s never even had someone she was really interested in dating (regardless of gender), so none of that applies.

There is one glaring omission there.

Years ago, when we practiced an ecclectic collection of pagan beliefs, Cheesecake was a tween/teen who was also trying to figure out who she was.  As with many children, she wanted to do what we did.  Admittedly, our pagan practices were generally fairly benign and limited to positive things – usually just to acknowledge the equinox or solstice.  Regardless, we were NOT Christian, and we certainly were not educating our children about Jesus. 

As I thought about it last night, though, I remembered something.  At some point, Cheesecake had decided she wanted to be pagan too, and I took her out to purchase a pentagram necklace to wear.  At the time, I brushed it aside, but I very distinctly remember feeling slight horror at it.  I couldn’t tell her no – it was the faith I had chosen, and proclaimed to love.  How could I NOT want her to participate?  I bought her the necklace, educated her here and there about our beliefs, and gave every outwards sign that I was happy with her choice.

I was anything but happy about it.

Somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of my brain, a verse was nagging at me. 

“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.”  Mark 9:42 (ESV)

I knew what I was leading her into – and I think, even then, I knew I was wrong in my belief.  I wasn’t ready to lay down my own ego, my own ‘self’ yet…but there was a part of me that knew teaching my child to turn from Jesus was wrong. 

Years later, when I was finally broken enough to realize I couldn’t control my own life, Cheesecake never batted an eye.  When I went back to church three days later, she went with me.  She became heavily involved in her youth group, and a few months later, gave her own life to Jesus. 

We have never, at any point, told our children what they had to believe.  We have allowed them to walk their own spiritual journey.

Two and a half years later, I am thrilled at the woman she chooses to be.  I am thrilled at the choices she makes.  She has decided that, after high school, she would like to spend 10 months in our church’s leadership school.  That means eight months of intensive training in ministry, serving, and even physical fitness, followed by two months serving internationally in different global outreach opportunities. 

I try not to sit and marinate in ‘what could have happened’, but the reality is, it could have turned out much, much differently.  The people we associated with ‘back in the day’ were often people who chose to live by a different, far less socially acceptable manner.  She could have fallen in love with that lifestyle, and chosen to pursue that.  And really, how could I have told her she shouldn’t, when I had? 

Many years ago (18 years ago, approximately), when I made the decision, as an unmarried 19-year-old, to keep my baby, I cried out to God.  I didn’t cry out to some pagan diety, I cried out to the ALMIGHTY GOD.  I asked Him to make her an easy baby, because I had no idea how I was going to handle a difficult child.  To be honest, I didn’t like children.  Years of my mother running a daycare out of our house had convinced me that I NEVER wanted to be a parent. 

And yet, here she is.  I am sitting here next to a beautiful, intelligent, loving, courageous, servant of the Most High God.  At 17, when I was getting kicked out of my mom’s house, moving in with a boyfriend, eventually dropping out of college and having a baby…she’s making the decision to devote everything to God.  It just…could have turned out so differently. 

I know there’s no point in rehashing the past…I can’t do a thing to change it, and who knows, even if I could, that the outcome would have been better.

God has blessed me with her – far beyond what I ever could imagine, and far beyond what I ever deserved.

Give me Your heart, for the broken hearted…

One of the things that is hardest as a parent is watching your children slip.  I know that sometimes there are lessons you have to let them learn the hard way.  The bad thing is, many times there are ways we can step in – a call or email to a teacher here, a lie (exusing your child’s absence) there…and all of the sudden, you are the one who has created the monster.  Your child has no fear of the repercussions of their actions…because mom or dad always bails them out.

Since becoming a Christian, I’m often overwelmed by the concept that no matter how much I love my child, God loves me more.  WAY more.  It is a beautiful thing, really – having insight to the unconditional love of God…but overwhelming at the same time.  How can we comprehend anything that great? 

I understand, in a miniscule measure, His love for us….but also His heartbreak when we turn away. 

I was introduced a couple of years ago to a girl the same age as one of our daughters.  She’s a gorgeous girl – one you would think has everything going for her.  As many friends of our children have done, she friended me on Facebook, so I see any of the updates she puts out there.  The hurt, and the seeking I can see in her…well, it’s almost physically painful, as I remember my own life as a teenager, and even many years ago, when I was still seeking God. 

I believe that we were all created with a desire to be in relationship with God.  When we aren’t, there’s a piece of us missing that we struggle to fill.  Some try to fill it with sex, others with food, some with shopping or material things, and some with empty relationships.  I have definitely learned that empty people have a hard time filling others up.

The only one who can fill that void is God.  The bad thing is, you can’t just tell someone that.  Well, you can, but people laugh it off as trite, or as you being some sort of religious kook.  There are some people who will never be open to hearing, or feeling that, or who need to be at their very breaking point before they can see it.

Looking at our daughter’s friend, it’s like seeing a glass full of water.  As time goes by, the water just evaporates – it empties bit, by bit…sometimes the water level leaves a mark.  Sometimes the water becomes fouled as it sits there.  But bit by bit, it’s gone.

When I think back about the day I was saved – the first time I ever really physically felt God’s presence, I knew the true meaning of having a cup that overflowed – with fresh, sweet, water of the spirit.  I remember walking on air that day – fully filled by the Spirit, and knowing that, no matter what happened, or how anyone reacted, it was ok.  I was like walking around in my own little Holy Spirit bubble. 

I wish I could give that feeling to others.  I wish I could impart it to them, so they would understand the beauty of that puzzle piece snapping in to place – the feeling that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, you are completed because the part of you that longs for that spiritual union is fulfilled. 

But it doesn’t work that way. 

And in that understanding, I feel the heartbreak God must experience as we do more and more that drives us away.  More and more that makes it harder for us to believe He is truly there, waiting for us, forgiving us, and loving us no matter what we’ve done, what we’ve been through, what lies we’ve bought in to.  He never promised us the road wouldn’t be hard, only that he would be with us through it – and I know now that He heals every hurt we give to Him.

As a ‘fixer’, it’s hard to watch someone riding the train to more and more hurt.  It’s hard to watch a self-destructive life implode, never knowing how far down someone has to go.  We’re told we are the light and the salt in the world…that if we just keep letting God shine through us, others will eventually see, and seek for themselves. 

But I have never been good with waiting. 

Matthew 6:33-34 (NIV)

³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. 

I grew up believing Santa was real.  Every Christmas Eve, Santa (who sounded an awful lot like my grandfather) visited our family in person, with a gift for each child.  As we grew older, Santa’s voice changed (puberty?), and he started to sound more like my uncle.  But he would visit us each year, give us our gift, and then go back on his way.  Overnight, though, he would drop off toys and fill our stockings for a nice surprise in the morning. 

I believed, for the most part, until I was 6 or 7.  My bedroom window was at a 90 degree angle from our family room window, and I remember sitting up, looking out my window, and seeing my mom and stepdad stuffing stockings and putting santa presents into each of our piles.  I suppose it wasn’t much of a shock – I had suspected as much (thanks to the kids at school, and having MUCH older brothers), but that confirmed it.

I became a parent at 19, and I will admit – I was on a mission to keep all of those little charming childhood mysteries alive for my daughter as long as I possibly could.  When it was just the two of us, it was easier, and I delighted in every little tradition (including the long standing family tradition of Santa visiting on Christmas Eve!).  After our family grew to 4 children, we tried to maintain it, but the older kids did eventually spoil it for our youngest son.  However – now we have BonBon, and the question of what to do comes up again.

We were driving home last night, just Cheesecake, BonBon, and me.  A few of the houses and shops around our neighborhood have their Christmas lights up, and she delighted in each, yelling “KWISSMAS TWEES!” every time we passed one.  I asked her, Chloe, why do we have Christmas, and she yelled “SANTA!”  Yeah, not exactly what I was hoping for.

So it’s a decision now…do we keep that childhood fantasy going (as the world would say), or do we drop that altogether, and focuson the real ‘reason for the season’.  We want her to know Christmas is about Jesus – the greatest gift ever given to those of us in this world. 

I think what we are really against is promoting Santa to further the “Getmas” mentality.  We don’t want Christmas to be all about what we want in the physical.  While the real story of St. Nick, the original footprint for Santa Claus, is debatable, one of the common stories is that he was a young man, from a wealthy family, whose parents died, leaving him a wealthy young man.  Through various acts, he gave away his wealth, trying to remain anonymous, to help others in need.

THAT is a concept I would like our children to understand and embody.  Giving to help others – with the credit going to God’s provision.  I don’t see much in modern Christmas that shows that.

So what will we do differently this year….

Well, the bigger family Christmas will be the same – I can’t change them, but I can change what we do for our own family.  I think we will still have the children make out their Christmas list, but rather than just a big list of ’wants’, we will divide their lists into 3 categories - NEEDS, Wants, and wish.  Three things they need, 2 things they want, and 1 wish.  I also want each of them to research and present to the family one new tradition they would like us to do as a family – something that we can do each year to make Christmas time special for all of us – and hopefully that will carry on to their own families. 

I struggle with how Christmas will change, as the inevitable happens with my Grandmother.  In some ways, it will be freeing somewhat – it will be time to start these new traditions with my children.  But I will mourn the old traditions. 

And I will look forward to the new ones, and to the little girl who is going to be so excited over everything she gets to discover this Christmas – in particular that it is the day we celebrate the greatest gift we were ever given…Emmanuel.  God with us.

I submitted my resume/application for a job very similar to the one I used to have. I am slightly excited, but mostly terrified.  What if they don’t even consider me?  But the biggest fear is how both Bonbon and I will deal with not having each other, all day, every day.  She’ll probably be fine.  I will be a mess. 

My grandmother…she’s not doing well.  Family is about to descend for the holidays, and, well…I’m afraid it’s not going to be pretty.  The first to arrive, tomorrow night, is my cousin.  She will only be here for a few days, but she’s going to stay at my grandmother’s with her two young foster children, which is just…not well advised.  Grandma gets worn out very quickly, and having toddlers in her home for a few days is going to be a challenge for her.  She does not need challenges right now.

I was pondering yesterday the concept of being unequally yoked, and why the Bible says we shouldn’t be.  I had the mental image of a big ox, who although strong and able to do a lot of work, has to work that much harder when it’s partner is weaker – because the partner is still in the yoke.  So essentially, it has to do the work for two, PLUS drag it’s partner along with it – so it’s not double the work, it’s exponentially more work.  Not sure I have a point with this, other than…that’s something that popped into my head yesterday!

I need to start writing more.  Well, actually, I’ve been feeling rather nudged to write something else…which just seems like insanity given that I rarely even write HERE anymore.  So I’m not sure what that will look like.

I’ve dropped my BSF class, and haven’t gone to my women’s Bible study or mom’s group in weeks.  I thought I would feel…lacking…but instead I just feel relief.  I think that means I was trying too hard.  SO…peace instead.  At least for now.