A Mother's Life

Tiny fragments of a larger picture

2008-11-09T07:14:00.002-06:00

Spent the last week or so pulling together what Dan left behind; his pictures, meager possessions, and the fragments of our hearts.

We have spent hours going through pictures, and days in surgical and ER waiting rooms. They are still pulling out pieces of glass from Tom’s neck and arm.

Yesterday, his stitches fell out, leaving a gaping hole in his neck from the surgery. It was awful.

I watched him lay on the hospital bed. I couldn’t see his face behind the doctor. All I could see was his arms, stomach and legs. Without making a sound, his hands turned into fists gripping the sides of the bed, his stomach tightened and sunk as his knees began to buckle with pain.

I am so weary from watching my children suffer physically and emotionally. Emily crying at night, now watching him on that bed. I could just feel my strength run out of me. As if someone had tapped my heart and siphoned the life out of me, and let it run out onto the hospital floor.

I came home, exhausted and retreated to the comfort of my robe and covers, wanting nothing more than to end the day.

Tom’s sewn back together, and feels better I’m sure. He brought home friends last night. I wondered through the living room and found three 6’ foot frames draped over the couches and spread out on the floor. That’s a good sign. They are lifelong friends, holding each other together. No one here has escaped the summer without pain, or scars.

Today promises to be a better day. Wait. Does it? Does the dawn ever promise us anything? No. That is the bitter lesson of these past summer days. The dawn breaks with beautiful color and majesty on a day of death and destruction, just the same as it breaks on a day of birth and rejoicing.

So what to do then? Pray. As the new day dawns, it holds only the promise of the love of Christ, and His mercy no matter what the day will unfold.

Our only promise is love and redemption as we walk through our appointed days in a fallen world. But this new day brings hope because of His love, and the seeds of blessings He has planted all around us. Most of which, we aren’t aware of until He brings them into bloom.

We just have to make sure our eyes are not tight with tears, or hands with clinched with fists, that we can’t see them or reach out and take what goodness has God brought into today.

Is the sword of the spirit refined by fire?

2008-10-22T10:53:00.002-05:00

A young mother stood up in church and asked for prayer.

She explained that she had been suffering with pain in her arm, just months away from graduating college; she faced a diagnosis that could not only force her to drop out of school, but permanently disable her.

As she asked for prayer to fight off her circumstances, my mind began to drift to my own struggles. The Lord seemed to answer my questions, by painting this picture deep in my spirit.

What if the sword could speak? Would he cry out to his master, “No, don’t put me in the fire! I won’t go. It hurts.”?

Yet, it is only the fire that brings cold steal to a place where it can be molded into a useful tool in the hand of its master.

As I stand in the fire, and the hammer of life beats my heart into submission to accept what I cannot change, will I refuse to allow the fire to mold it?

Would not the real tragedy to be put in a fire, to be brought to a place beyond endurance, and come out unchanged?

If we want to be refined, changed, and made into the image of Christ, we must trust that our lives are in the hands of the Master, who loves us, and wants us to fully become what he has designed.

A new chapter

2008-10-08T14:17:00.000-05:00

A page has turned.

The leaves have begun to fall and the corn is showing its age; fall has arrived. The hot summer days have faded with the flowers, all that’s left is the memory and remnants of what was once brightly colored and bursting with life.

It is another step away from what I once knew as my home, my family, and my children—even myself. It’s another reminder that everything has changed, and there is no going back. If I look back too often, I fear I will turn into a pillar of salt; hard, frozen in time, unable to move onto what God has prepared for me and my family.

One foot in front of the other, eyes straight forward... I am pulled by those who love me and need me to keep walking. For I know that Daniel, is with Him, and does not want to come home to us, but us to come home to him. My prayer is that God will indeed wipe away our tears, and show us His glory. That He will heal our wounds with the salve of peace, and dress it with His joy.

Prayer for today: Father, bind our wounds with your joy, and anoint us with
the peace that passes all understanding. Let the words of our mouths sing only
of your praise, and not answer the call of despair. We lay before you our
hearts, our minds, and our hands. Use them father to care for your creation, and
see your love for us.

Another bride leaves the nest to feather her own

2008-10-08T14:02:00.000-05:00

Sandboxes, brides and boys

2008-09-01T20:18:00.001-05:00

In last week’s column I wrote about our sandbox and this Magnolia tree that has been a friend to my children for over a decade, and now my grandchildren have discovered it. Together they watched the wedding. I wanted to share it with you.

My column week of the wedding...

There have been several amazing things that have occurred in my garden this summer. We have had some down right strange things like the mysterious foam that appears over night. And wondrous things, like the swarm of dragonflies that visited us one Sunday morning and filled the air until nightfall. Yet, nothing has compared to what I saw out my window yesterday, and what is yet to come.

If you peek out of any of the upstairs bedroom windows, you have a beautiful view of our yard and my flower garden. Dividing the yard between where I want flowers to grow and children to play, is an island of old trees, bushes, and indestructible daylilies.

One particular tree is an old Magnolia that has grown at a slant. All of its branches bend to the side like a ballerina swaying to the north. When my children were small we put in a huge sandbox (that holds a full ton of sand) made of railroad ties, under the shelter of its outstretched limbs. It has always been the center attraction in our yard.

For years my children have delighted in playing in that sandbox; especially when we bring in new sand. They would stay busy for hours on end. Which, truth be told, is why this busy mother loved the sandbox—it was the best babysitter a mother could ask for. It was always available, and the children were never out of my sight.

That sand box beckons children of all ages, girls and boys. Early this summer, I caught two 13-year-old boys digging and forming the sand with precision and purpose…sheer childhood fun. Today I witnessed two 12-year-old little girls digging and sculpting a pickup trunk in the fine, fresh new sand. But this year, something has been quite different.

You may be thinking that this is the oddity I saw out the windows. Children, who, in our world today seem to be thrust into a false adulthood, instead actually playing like children.
No, that’s not odd around these neck-of-the-woods. We get a lot of that, and I am thankful. I love to see children play and pretend.

But that wasn’t it. What I found so amazing was that this year, it has been filled with my own grandchildren. A new generation has discovered the same sandbox that my children spent so many summers playing in.

Other than the perennial big kids rediscovering their first love, I hadn’t realized how empty it had become. One by one each of its inhabitants, that once kept it fully populated, have grown up and stopped visiting it.

Looking out that bedroom window, and seeing another generation busily building and creating a new world of castles armed with guards, and filled with highways was quite a stunning view. They bare the resemblance of children I once saw, sitting in the very same place.

Once again, I am reminded that time not only pushes us on when we want it to stand still, but it also slips by. No matter how hard we want to stop it, or are too busy to notice it slipping through our fingers; it is ever changing and living.

This week our sandbox will undergo yet another transformation. The little girl that once swung from the branches above, and built tunnels with her brothers below, will walk past it without giving it a glance, or thought. No amount of new sand will entice her to come and play.

She will walk past, arm-in-arm with her father, seeing only the sparkle of her groom’s eye. Sand and trees all wearing their wedding attire, will say good-bye to the little girl they once knew, and we will marvel at God’s plan unfolding before our eyes.

Catching up

2008-09-01T20:10:00.000-05:00

A lot has happened since my last post, I apologize for not keeping up. Between a house full of the flu, the wedding and a traveling computer, it's been nearly impossible. Now at long last our PC issues are resolved, the chaos of the wedding is over, and I can catch up, and begin a new routine.

I had spoken too soon. After my last post, I went to bed and woke up early with the flu…the Tuesday before the wedding—mother of the bride knocked out cold.
Three days to go
At first most everyone we counted on to help stayed clear of us-- as they should. A few brave souls came in later in the week and made all the difference in the world.

Brian came over that Tuesday and talked to Emily in the yard. (Deb told him to stay out of the house.) He asked her what he could do outside to help us get the house ready for the wedding. She told him I was worried about the porch.

I was. It was in sore need of paint, and there was a hole in the floor that had been there ever since we bought the house 12 years ago.

Emily crept into my room a few hours later, too excited to wait till I was coherent. She wanted me to see what Brian had done. I vaguely remember her telling me that he tore of the siding. She said it was beautiful! I took her word for it and rolled over.

I soon learned that Brian and I have different ideas of what is worrisome. He was more worried about the porch falling off the house, than paint.

The next day, while Hannah and I surveyed the yard and the work yet to be done, she asked in a very soft measured voice, “Are you worried that its three days before the wedding and the front porch is missing?”

I really wasn’t. I told her we may have paint brushes in hand the day of the wedding, but it will all be done. Besides, it wasn’t missing. It was in the front yard.

I have had a strange lack of stress and panic over this wedding. Not that there wasn’t plenty to stress over. I think its just system overload. There are only so many emotions you can handle at once.

Besides, when it comes right down to it, most problems seem to pale in light of the past three months. We have gained a new perspective.

Once again, the church pulled together, lifted us and carried us through, and gave Hannah and Travis a beautiful wedding in the garden.

5 Days left

2008-08-18T23:01:00.000-05:00

Ok, so we made it through the night and all day without anyone running to the bathroom or sleeping with a bucket beside their beds.

Perhaps tomorrow we will actually get enough done to make us believe we can really have a wedding here this Saturday.

Pray we get through another night without anyone getting sick.

Rhonda

6 Days Left

2008-08-17T22:14:00.000-05:00

We have the stomach flu.

7 Days Left

2008-08-16T07:42:00.000-05:00

The countdown has officially begun.

One week from today Hannah Robinson will become Hannah Keagle. There are so many things left to be done I feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

Today will be filled with lists; shopping lists, cleaning lists, repair lists, decorating to-do lists…

The garden is in pretty good shape. Thanks to Esther, and her crews of workers. They took all the real hard labor out of it for me. They worked so hard, and there were so many people, I have to wonder if I would have made Tom and Dan hate helping me garden by the time this time.

It still isn't quite as full as I would have thought it would be. The rains that came the week of the accident washed away a lot of seeds that I didn’t have time to replant. Plus, I lost the entire month of June. But a lot can still happen in a week, and it will be beautiful. All-in-all it's the prettiest it has ever been.

Hannah spent most the day in tears when she found out that they were calling for rain on her wedding day. Only scattered storms and 60 percent chance at that. Nothing a little prayer can’t ward off. I would feel better about it if it was only 40 percent chance, but who knows, maybe that will change as well. Truth is, the roll of thunder and dark days has framed this entire summer.

Today is “finish all projects and cleaning day.”

I always dreamed of one of my girls having their wedding in the garden. Be careful what you pray for…you just might get it.

Rhonda

Beauty in the eyes, soothes the heart of the beholder

2008-08-06T07:03:00.001-05:00

In the days that followed after we lost our Daniel, the Holy Spirit set within my heart guideposts for my grief.

One was to take in, and appreciate beauty and goodness where ever I could find it. As you can see, I sought refuge in the beauty of the handiwork of the Father’s hands in the garden. But one of the most intriguing elements of a garden is not the flowers, it’s the butterflies.

The photographers in my house (and there is a growing number of them) delight in taking pictures of our butterflies.

I wanted to share some with you.
Rhonda

2008-08-06T06:42:00.001-05:00

"Blue Like That" is finished!

2008-08-02T23:03:00.000-05:00

Brian called today from Tennessee to say that Dan’s song is finally finished. He emailed us a copy to download. It is absolutely beautiful. I know he worked some long hours to get it to this point.

The man that did the mixing for it has also lost a son recently, just ten days ago. He told Brian it blessed him. Isn’t God amazing?

Over the next couple of days we will establish a MySpace page for Dan so that we can have the download available.

This song has been one of the most precious gifts our family has ever received. It is truly our “song in the night.”

A time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to plant...

2008-07-29T05:48:00.000-05:00

Dan’s birthday memorial was all we had hoped it would be. Brian sang Dan’s song for us; we never tire of hearing it. It was a sweet gathering of friends telling “Dan stories” and there were a lot of them—he is quite a character. I say is, because have no doubt that his charming personality remains in tact for eternity.

Last night we watched some old home movies. It brought a lot of laughter. My, what changes one decade of time can bring. Our house full of children, Dan and Emily just one and three years old—my hair was still brown. We had forgotten that when he was little, he would growl at you if you wanted him to do something he didn’t want to, or if he was mad.

The house is filled with activity, working on projects that need to be completed before the wedding. It seems every time I step out into the garden it becomes more beautiful. We have finally turned the corner; we are finishing all the mulching and planting today. Esther has gathered friends to come and help for that one last push. She has been such a blessing. Her strength seems to pick up where mine has fallen short.

We have also been working on Tom’s room. Jami has been heading up that project. He and Dan shared a room with bunk beds. He has not slept in there since the accident. We hope to get it changed, painted and rearranged while he is out of town for a couple of days. He needs his room.

The birds are calling me to the garden time to go.

Happy Birthday My Love

2008-07-27T08:22:00.000-05:00

Today is Daniel’s 14th birthday.

Since almost the day of the accident, my children have asked, “what will we do on Dan’s birthday?” My standard answer has been, “cry all day.” Although tears have already been shed before the sun was fully up, I have determined in my mind that I will not mourn the day of his birth. June 3rd will be a day of annual mourning; the day of his death—but not the day of his birth.

My mind and my will have given orders to my heart. We will rejoice in all things good today. I don’t expect my heart to accept these orders without question, or carry them out without a fight. But that is the battle to be won today.

Well meaning people say, “You never get over it.” I’m really not sure what that means. Does that mean I will go on living, trying to find my way through this fog of pain and sadness with no hope of happiness? We were not created to live in continuous sorrow. God created joy and sadness, mountains and valleys, each to be traveled in its season. There is a mountain top hiding behind the clouds that one can’t see from the lowest crevice in the valley beneath. Even the deepest ocean has an end below, and a sky above.

“Getting over it” what is the “it”? The simple and trite phrase does not define “it” enough to be of any comfort; in fact it is most depressing. Like calling out to a drowning man, “you will never come out, just keep treading water.”

I have no intentions of “getting over Dan.” But who do I grieve? Do I grieve for Dan, because he is not here to be a part of our lives? No. Without a doubt he has the better lot. I don’t question that Dan is with his Savior. A place I hope to be one day. I believe he is complete. The glimpses of his spirit I was allowed to see are fully known now, and he is living in the way Adam was intended; to commune with God. If I could, would I take that away from him now. If I truly love him, I must say no.

Do I grieve for my lost motherhood?

Yes.

My sorrow comes from the same depth of love a mother has for her child. There is a mutual need for one another from the time of birth, each needing the other almost as if they are one. In fact, they start out two in the form of one; two very separate beings, living in one body.

Moments after birth, a cord is cut. But that is only physically. The mother and child feel the need for one another as strong as the will of survival itself.

Only after years of slow growing together, in the normal course of nature, does a mother trade her need for the child into the pleasure of watching him grow into a unique person.

While there is a certain amount of sadness that comes with an empty nest, it is not the same as the sorrow over a nest that has been robbed.

Daniel was just beginning to blossom into the person God had so carefully designed. He was such a delight to have in our home.

How blessed am I?

To have been given a son, a teenager, that was a joy in our home. We loved to watch him delight in boyish things. We joked that is was so good for Dan that Jami and her family (four little boys under eight) came to live with us, because now he had someone to play with.

Like his mother, he pondered questions and got lost in his own thoughts, then cornered some unsuspecting soul and talked endlessly about what he had been thinking. He was always so grateful when someone would have enough patience to listen to him without cutting him short (as I often did). He made up jokes, inventions, stories, and contraptions.

He loved playing chess, dreaming about airplanes and pretty girls, building trains, and considered a homely retriever among his closest friends. He still kissed his mother good morning, and wasn’t embarrassed about loving her.

We still enjoyed each other’s company. He would bring me coffee to say I love you; he heard me say it when I would watch Lord of the Rings with him—again.

The sorrow comes with the flood of things not done. I didn’t learn to play chess with him. He never got to ride on an airplane, or a train. I didn’t get to hear his whole story he was formulating in his mind, that was to be his novel. I know he would have told me more, if he had not perceived me as too busy to listen. I’m always busy; usually too busy. If he only knew how much I loved his story, and loved to read what he wrote. I wish he had written more. I had planned to put him in a writing class this fall, my spirit told me to have him write through the summer—I didn’t listen.

The severing of the invisible cord between mother and child has pain no nerve endings could produce. And yet, the one, becoming two is the way of creation. He was created as an eternal soul for intimate communion with a Father that loves him more than I. I can accept that. I will not grieve that end.

For now, please forgive my tears; don’t let them grieve your spirit. My soul rejoices that you are living in my Father’s house. And I am thankful for the gift of you.

So, Happy Birthday my love. For you it must be the most glorious, as you celebrate your birthday in your Father’s house, and enjoy the room Christ has prepared for you.

In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice

2008-07-20T07:32:00.000-05:00

Give ear to my word O Lord, consider my sighing. Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray.

In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice: in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. Psalm 5:1-3

There are few things more refreshing to me than the cool early morning air of summer. The sun is not yet in full force, and the breeze is most always cool. The sounds of the birds fill the air, seldom interrupted by motors or voice. It’s a time to listen.

I’ve found many scriptures reference seeking God in the morning. I understand why. I have begun to read the Psalms in the morning; it’s my daily prescription for strength.

Early morning is also when I water the garden.

This week I had to water well. One morning I was moving the sprinkler around the yard every so often, in hopes that I would get it all watered before noon.

I should have known something was amiss when little boys began coming in the house with wet heads.

Sure enough, when I went out to move the water, it was spraying straight up like a fountain. Next to it were two wet little boys.

We had to make a new rule: We water Grandma’s flowers in the morning and little boys in the afternoon.

It makes sense. We water plants early in the morning so they will have the nourishment they need to withstand the heat of the day. We too need nourishment of the living water of God to withstand the trials a new day brings.

Update on “Blue Like That”

2008-07-16T10:51:00.001-05:00

Brian and Aaron Henningsen spent several hours in a Nashville studio yesterday recording the song they wrote for Dan, “Blue Like That”. Brian is now doing the main vocals with Aaron singing harmony.

If you read the lyrics posted to the left, you might notice that the words have changed just a little. Brian originally wrote this song the day of Dan’s funeral. Then fine tuned it later in his home in Tennessee.

I love the new revisions. Lines like;

“Built machines made for flying and you out grew your clothes
And the girls would line up ‘round the block, I suppose
Just to gaze deeply into those eyes-- so blue

And they’d never seen blue like that
Yeah, they’d never seen blue like that
Like a faraway place that a girl could get lost in”

And

“No, we’d never seen blue like that
It’s a sadness that hurts you down deep in your bones
We’d never seen blue quite like that”

One line changes now in the chorus to underscore the meaning of the preceding verse.

The plan is still as I understand it, to put this song all over the internet for a dollar download.

I will keep you posted. No doubt I will have available here if possible.

Dragonflies

2008-07-13T22:03:00.000-05:00

The strangest, most wonderful thing happened today. All through the morning and most of the day the garden was filled with dragonflies. Not just a couple; swarms of them. They were as thick as evening fireflies.

We tried to get pictures, but none would land. The camera on my phone just isn’t sharp enough to catch them in flight. They would just fly and in patterns around the yard, and throughout the gardens—hundreds of them.

If you stood still long enough, they wouldn’t notice that you were there, and they would buzz right by you and you could get a closer glimpse of them--absolutely amazing.

By evening they were gone. What a wonderful treat.

A day redeemed

2008-07-02T22:04:00.000-05:00

Last night I grieved all night in my sleep. My own painful sobbing in my dreams woke me. I got up and headed outside, thinking some fresh air would help.

Usually, the early morning garden can lift my spirits. The beauty of what ever is blooming, and the physical work of turning the soil, calms my spirit. Not today.

There was no solace in the garden.

There is an unmistakable groaning a mother makes just before she gives birth. I now know that there is also another groan a mother makes when her child dies. It comes from so far deep in your soul that it contracts your entire body.

I stayed in the garden as long as my strength would hold—but grief is a cruel task master. Hannah came out to help just as I went in.

I think Hannah made some calls. Next thing I knew the yard was buzzing with teenagers, the second shift had arrived. Katrina came over to drop off kids, and stayed to help.

They worked all through the heat of the day.

Then the third shift arrived.

Travis and his friend Brandon came. Soon after, Travis’s mom came, then Ester Rocke, and a long lost friend Annette Ferguson. They jumped in where the last shift left off. By day’s end we could see hope of a wedding really taking place in this garden next month.

As I write, I am exhausted, but blessed. The day was redeemed, and I don’t fear sleep. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth.

Small things

2008-07-01T10:04:00.000-05:00

Good-bye June. Our family calendar for the month of June consisted of a graduation, a surgery, death of a son, a funeral, a wedding, another surgery, a birthday, an anniversary, another surgery, and finally the death of a 12 year old family pet.

Looking back over the last few days, it’s hard not to see God’s hand. Sometimes I don’t always recognize it at first; it takes looking back.

I woke up yesterday with a severe headache. I got up, put on the coffee, and went back to bed—big mistake.

The smell of coffee woke me again, this time as I opened my eyes I realized it wasn’t just my head that hurt, but my entire body. It seemed every muscle in my body hurt.

I pulled myself up thinking I would go to the porch and write. When I got there, I knew I should take my tired bones out to the garden.

While on my knees I remembered that God had given me a prescription for my achy body years ago—my garden; the gentle movement of bending and weeding is the best medicine for my body and soul.

The peaceful cool breeze of the early morning is so soothing. At times I want nothing more than to listen to the birds, and let my mind wander among the flowers and bees.

Other times, I long for company in the garden; someone to share the beauty with--yesterday was one such day.

Guess what I found walking down the garden path? A dear friend and sister in Christ, Bonnie.

We sat most of the morning together sharing our hearts, and God’s goodness in the midst of pain.

It was in sharing with her the comings and goings of the last few days that I could see God’s hand.

It’s not hard to see his hands and feet when I look at the body of Christ. “The body of Christ” sounds like just Christian jargon when you write it down. The words have been used to describe a lifeless entity so long, the term seems trite.

But I have seen His hands in the believers I call my brothers and sisters. Like when they sat with us through the night, just to let us cry. Like when they mowed our lawn, cleaned our closet, and put up a bed for Tom to come home to. I came home from the hospital with Tom and found my favorite place to sit and write, the back porch, now had a new ceiling fan, and a new screen door to keep the raccoons out.

God asks us to be faithful in the small things. I’m beginning to understand why. It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And the little things that mean the most. An early morning visit, a fan, a door, and a clean closet are small things that bring an immense amount of peace and joy.

When we are weak He is strong

2008-06-28T23:17:00.000-05:00

We spent most of our 32nd anniversary in doctor’s offices, and each others arms—crying.

The grief comes in waves. I’ve found that like the waves of the ocean, the grief can knock me down--and carry me away.

I heard the disappointment in one daughter’s voice, when I said I wasn’t up to having her children over for the morning. I saw the sadness in another daughter’s eyes as she watched me drift away in sorrow. She needed me. But I was out of her reach. Her wedding is just a couple of months away; she feels alone—she needs her mom. I wanted to be where she is…but I’m not.

I didn’t lose my brother. I lost my son. I lost him in the springtime of his life. He was just beginning to blossom into the person he was going to be. His budding creativity had begun to spread into drawing, writing, inventions and the wonderful world of firecrackers. Thankfully, he had not yet suffered the plights of the teenage years; the maladies that erode the sweet spirit of boyhood. I lost him when we still needed each other, and enjoyed each others company.

This morning I woke to the resolve to not begin the day weeping. If I am to still be the mom I want to be, and the mother and grandmother my children need; I must keep my eyes from looking back too far, or into a future that will never be. They must be fixed on the beauty God has set before me. In order for me to do this, I must bathe my heart daily in thankfulness and praise; lest I let my hand slip from His, and be lost to wander in the darkness that surrounds this path.

I don’t know the way on my own. I feel like a child afraid to let go of my Father’s hand; frightened and trying to hide behind his leg. I don’t want to go down this path, I want to go back home, where Daniel lived. This is not the road I wanted, and there is no turning back. Still, I know He alone can guide me safely through, although my steps are unsure and I’m weary.

As the sun peeks over the horizon and through the trees this morning, I choose not to listen to the whispers that call me to sorrow. Instead, I’m listening to this song over and over. I wrote the words down.

Little by little it silenced the voice of grief, lifted my eyes, and strengthened my spirit.

Praise You in This Storm
by Casting Crowns

I was sure by now
God, you would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
stepped in and saved the day
But once again
I say Amen—
and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear
you whisper through the rain
I’m with you

And as your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I’ll praise you in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who you are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in your hand
You’ve never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise you in this storm.

I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my crying
And raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can’t find you

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear you whisper through the rain
I’m with you
And as your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I’ll praise you in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who you are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise you in this storm.

I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of heaven and earth

I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of heaven and earth

I’ll praise you in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who you are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in your hand
You’ve never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise you in this storm.

And though my heart is torn
I will praise you in this storm.

Life always renews in the garden

2008-06-24T19:02:00.000-05:00

The hollyhocks this year are by far the most beautiful they have ever been. The colors are so rich they even coordinate. Each clump seems to accent the next. There is something so peaceful and joyful taking in God's handiwork.

I lured Tom out to the garden by telling him about the six foot hollyhocks. I knew he would love it. Up until this year, it has been mostly Tom in the garden with me. But this year, he went to work for his big brother, leaving me and Dan to get the garden ready for Hannah and Travis’s wedding.

Once he was out there, he began to see all the work that needs to be done. (Some of us don’t see the weeds for the flowers, and some can’t see the flowers for the weeds.) He went straight to his frog pond. The one he dug by hand when he was only ten.

He grabbed the nearest little boy and started having him shuffle rocks. He began to claim the yard chores that he and Dan did together. He didn’t want anyone else to do them.

For just a bit, I began to see a glimpse of my boy that has been hiding behind a wall of anger and pain.

Dan left his mark on hearts and trees

2008-06-23T21:51:00.000-05:00

We are home; and life just marches on.

The hollyhocks are in full bloom and more beautiful than I have ever seen them--life goes on.

The weeds have taken full advantage of my absence—life goes on.

We witnessed a beautiful wedding this weekend, we shared laughter with those who wept with us--life goes on.

We shared joy in the announcement of a new baby on the way--life goes on.

Mike went back to work today--life must go on.

Hannah is planning her wedding in the garden--life must go on.

And still, life will never be the same. It will never be normal. Because normal is Danny begging to make a pot of coffee for “me” at two in the afternoon. Normal is Danny sneaking out to the barn or behind a door to scare some poor unsuspecting soul. Normal, is Danny and Emily bickering in the kitchen over who should wash the dishes.

Life goes on—but it can’t be normal, it has changed.

It is as though my life has exploded into thousands of little pieces. Daily I strive to carefully pick up another piece. What I am finding is that each piece is part of a puzzle. And I have to ask God where each piece fits.

To my surprise, the picture of my life that the pieces are forming is a much different picture than the one I knew before.

I’m okay with that. Only because I believe it will be more beautiful—He is the giver of life, and life must go on. Like the tree in Tennessee that bears his name, his imprint will be forever engraved on our hearts-- and life goes on.

The narrow path that divides peace and despair

2008-06-18T08:28:00.001-05:00

This morning I write from Brian and Debby’s front porch. Their country home is so peaceful. The trees sing to you. There is a small cardinal that has come to visit, or perhaps he thinks I have come to visit.

I hoped it would be here that I would find the words to describe the way I have been feeling.

It is as though we are walking in slow motion along a narrow path. Sometimes the path is rugged, and we struggle to simply put one foot in front of the other. To my right, there is a steep drop overlooking a vast blue sea of calm water. It is cool and inviting. The wind blowing over the water whispers to me. It tells me of the man I never knew in the boy I lost. It reminds me of his long hugs, his sparkling smile and what might have been. It tells me to come in and wade through these waters.

But the Holy Spirit squeezes my hand, pulls me back, and gently forbid me…for in those waters are the depths of despair. I am only allowed to look over those waters, but never to wade through them.

The Holy Spirit reminds me to keep my eyes on Him, and He gently turns my head from the sea of hopelessness. He comforts us with drops of joy that follows streams of tears, and bursts of laughter in the midst of sorrow. The journey through these emotions is exhausting.

Even so, I know we must continue to put one foot in front of the other, and stay on this path one step at a time. My heart holds His assurance that we will not be washed away by a sea of despair; instead, if we keep our eyes on Him, he will lead us to peace, and make all things new.

Comforting words

2008-06-17T22:57:00.000-05:00

We have been blessed with a large amount of cards, flowers and plants. It’s hard to express what a comfort they have been. On Saturday, Mike and I went shopping for and found an album to put all of the precious words of encouragement we have received. One by one, I have enjoyed reading them and placing them in the album. Along the side, I am writing who sent it, and who they are. It has been very healing.

Also, I have taken each plant and plant basket, and carefully repotted them. They line my back porch, they too have given me so much peace, it is so important to me to keep them thriving.

He continues to give beauty for ashes.

The winds of grace

2008-06-13T20:30:00.000-05:00

My last column came out today. As I opened it and saw my familiar picture and byline, somehow, I didn’t expect to see my son’s picture and obituary almost parallel; my heart sunk deep into my chest, it was hard to breathe.

The night we found out we lost Daniel; I knew our lives would never be the same. I thought it would be forever darkened. Everything I considered important melted into a puddle of contempt: my column, book, and gardens, even Hannah’s wedding plans. Dan was gone, nothing else mattered.

I was right. Life will never be the same. That sounds so cliché and empty, but I mean it in every sense; not only will it never be the same, I won’t allow it to be the same. I want to be forever changed by it. When we are weak He is strong; I want to feel His strength, I need to hear His voice, and I want His peace. He is my comforter and my strength.

He is making everything new, priorities realigned, relationships healed, and souls have found Christ. It is painful-- but so was childbirth, and so was the crucifixion.

One of the verses in Dan’s favorite song we sing has been swirling in my heart today, “death of the one who gave life to the rest…who could have guessed…who could have guessed?”

Some of the personal e-mails I have had that have brought peace, even joy in the midst of our grief, and breathes life into us.

"This entire experience, this horrible tragedy, has opened my eyes…Nothing
will ever look quite the same.”

“…as a result of being forced by Danny's
death… I'm praying this revelation of truth is going to result in some real
changes in me. I pray that God will use this river of pain to make me more and
more like Jesus…”

We have gotten several calls from people saying that after the funeral, a brother, grandmother, or a long lost friend reconciled with them. Some after years of estrangement- most never knew Dan.

We have been engulfed by love from our Christian brothers and sisters. From that horrible night, when Brian and Debby, Cristal and Brian, Katrina and Paul stayed the night in the hospital with my entire family, just to cry and hold us…to the women, who served the meal after the funeral, to the stacks of cards, gifts and flowers we have received…we have been blessed beyond measure.

No, our lives have changed forever.

For those who don't get the paper...

In the grip of grace

It didn’t come in the middle of the night. That’s how we always imagine it, the shrill sound of a phone piercing the night. And an unfamiliar distant voice uttering those words, “There’s been an accident.”

It didn’t happen that way. But it happened nonetheless.

My phone call came from one of my best friends last Tuesday evening. My husband and I were in Springfield with our daughter, who had just undergone surgery on her leg. It had been a long day in the waiting room, and just before seven, we were told we could go upstairs into her room and help her settle in for the night.

The warning shot was fired in the elevator; the first phone call. “Do you know where the boys are?” Scott Douglas asked.

I explained I had been with Hannah here in Springfield all day, but I knew they had an impromptu basketball practice at the Arthur Christian School. Scott sounded more confused than concerned, and explained that Brian Lowery was looking for the boys.

As we entered my daughter’s hospital room, the phone rang again. This time the caller ID said “Brian Lowry.”

When I answered the phone, it was his wife, one of my closest friends, Cristal, who had to say those awful words out loud, “Oh, Rhonda, there’s been an accident.”

All she knew was it was that it was bad, and one boy was air lifted to Carle. I knew my son Tom was driving, but I had no idea who she said was in the car. My heart, mind, and hearing all but stopped at the words “air lifted.”

The trip home through the wind, rain, hail and tornados was spent with both of us on the phone frantically trying to find where the boys had been taken. We were told each boy had been taken to different hospitals. But none of the parents knew whose son was where. Everyone scattered to hospitals looking for our boys, while we sped home calling one emergency room after another, our children, and the other parents.

Cristal’s words slowly dawned on me, and I realized who she said were the four boys: My Tom, Schuyler and Sam Binion, and my youngest son Dan.

As we pulled onto the interstate; an unknown caller appeared on my phone. It was the Chaplin at St. Mary’s Hospital; he had been assigned to Tom. He said he was “responsive” but we needed to come quick. But where is Dan? No one could tell us.

By the time we pulled into St. Mary’s Hospital, all the boys had been located—except Dan.

In a small room, behind closed doors, two strangers doing their best to be kind, said to us the most horrible words I have ever heard, “Dan died at the scene.”

When God took our precious son, Elijah Daniel, it ripped a whole in the fabric of our family that we can never repair, or replace. The edges of the hole are still sharp and unbelievably painful.

We are surrounded by a community that has wrapped its arms around us and lifted us up in prayer in a way that we could never have imagined.

The four boys are lifelong friends that are as close as brothers. Both families feel as if all four boys are our own.

To help in the healing process friends have set up a blog for updates on the Binion brother’s progress, comments from concerned friends, and memories of my Dan. You are invited to visit it often.

If you will, excuse me for a little while, as I withdraw into the arms of my Savior, friends and family.

A garden without Dan is filled with toil

2008-06-12T09:04:00.000-05:00

Last night in bed, as we tried to shake the images of the day, Mike reminded me that I haven’t tended the garden since the accident. He was right. I just haven’t had the strength. I have walked through it several times; it is starting to miss me and Dan.

The four monstrous tree roses we bought for Hannah’s wedding has just begun to bud. Dan wrestled those for me almost everyday; rescuing them from wind, and bathing them in the sun.

Sleep is no refuge

2008-06-12T05:03:00.000-05:00

Sleep has never been my friend—I’m trying not to make it my enemy.

We went to see the truck and the accident scene yesterday. As traumatizing as that was, it helped to see it. I could see clearly that Dan must have died on impact. One minute he was a goofing off with his friends on his way to basketball, and arrived at the feet of his Savior. It also showed me what a miracle it is that we have the other three boys.

I carried the weight of the day into the night. I thought sleep was supposed to be an escape from grief. Its not; I’m grieving even in my dreams.

I’ll post more later today. Debby is going to call with news about Dan’s song. Their producer will hear it for the first time when they are in the studio. I can’t wait to hear his reaction.

Facing Giants and Remembering Daniel

2008-06-11T06:38:00.000-05:00

In an odd way, I’m looking forward to today. I want to attack it first-- before it can attack me. We have hurtles we have to overcome today, and a couple of giants to face, but at day’s end I believe we will have more peace.

My prayer for Tom is that he is protected, and surrounded by strength and faith.

I have been asked to publish what I wrote about Dan for the funeral in the news-paper—I think not. But I will share it here with all who would want it.

Elijah Daniel was the strongest Christian name we could find for him. We used to
tell him when he was a baby, “You’re going to be a mighty man of God.”
Our hearts break that we will never see him as a man, or hold his children; so we
seek comfort in the memory of him, the precious gift we had for the last
thirteen years.

Many of you are here because you love Mike and I, and are here to help us bear our burden. You may not have had a chance to know our Danny, so if I may, I would like to give you a glimpse of our Dan through his mother’s eyes.

Danny was a character. He sported a Sylvester-the-Cat style lisp until he was five. This only made his unique observations all the more hilarious. Like when he came walking up to me with his pant pockets pulled out and asked, “Are theseth earsth?”

At times I swore he would create diversions for me so he could get into something, like the time he turned the sink on and made it over flow, while I was cleaning up the
water, he escaped outside.

I remember praying, “Lord, I’m too old for this kind of child!” And the Lord spoke to my heart and said, “You asked for a mighty man of God. Did you think that kind of strength and tenacity came as an adult?”

He loved building trains, planes, rockets and crazy inventions. He drove Tom (brother and room mate) crazy by collecting bags full of bottles, foam plates, tape and glue to make his contraptions, and flying things.

When he was little he built with Brio wooden train tracks.
And amassed a large amount of trains and tracks, and Knex that occupied most of
his childhood, until the day he died, he was not afraid to play like a boy.

He loved fishing, turtles, football, creating armies, and scaring Jamie Henderson in the barn.

He was an inventor, and a writer. His imagination knew no bounds. He loved JRR Tolken’s Lord of the Rings and created entire country. He wrote about its battles, and valiant, courageous leaders. His writing was amazing for his age. His country of The Great Aaralyn had a history and its own heroes—it was to be his first novel.

His inventions were nothing if not imaginative. Last Christmas he needed to save
money to buy presents, so he rolled up his money and attached it to a mouse
trap. That was Dan’s idea of a money clip.

I love to share the story about the airplane he and Tom built together. Made solid with 2x4’s and a 5 foot wingspan complete with a pilot seat—it was awesome. Just couldn’t figure out how to make it fly. Then he figured out a way. He said, “Hey mom, can we get a coffee can and fill it up with gas? We could just drop a match on it to make it go!”

To this day I’m not sure if it was the airplane he wanted to get going or me.

I believe his last creation was a smaller wooden airplane. Complete with a Raid can fastened on the bottom. He would fly it through the yard and bomb swarms of knats.
He wanted to be a fighter pilot, he loved the civil air patrol and hoped to go to the Air Force Academy in Colorado.

Looking back I can honestly say I had only three complaints about Dan, he was never in a hurry, he would get too quiet and sulk, and he attracted girls everywhere he went.

That boy had an entourage of girls everywhere he went. It didn’t take us long to figure out that Dan wasn’t going to the pool to swim. If we lost him in a crowd at the pool, park or football game, we just looked for the crowd of girls and found him in
the middle.

There was a reason for that. Dan was genuinely sweet. A natural writer, made him good with words, and he had no problem talking with the girls on a real level.

But he was that way with his mother, and his sisters. Hannah would forget to turn off her light at night. So she would call Dan and tell him he forgot to kiss her goodnight. He would jump up come kiss her goodnight, and Hannah would remind him to turn off her light on the way out.

Seldom did a day go by that Dan didn’t tell me he loved me, and was free with his hugs.

Dan made friends everywhere he went. But he had one friend he truly loved, that was closer than a brother—Wesley Henningsen.

We are blessed to have had the rare privilege of having a son, who never gave us grief, and rarely anger. He was a delightful person to be around. His smile is forever etched on our hearts, and our full house will still feel so empty without him.

We take comfort in knowing that he gave his heart to the Lord at age 6, and saw evidence of it everyday.

Mike and I want to thank God for the privilege of giving us this precious son, Danny, even for a short 13 years.

God's Fingerprints

2008-06-10T07:24:00.000-05:00

Instead of taking my morning walk around my gardens this morning; I brought all the flowers in from the funeral. They had dropped them off on our back porch while we were in St. Louis visiting Karin and Gaylin yesterday. There are so many beautiful flowers; it will be nice to find a place for each one this afternoon.

I have always loved the early morning hours and feared the night. Night-terrors had always plagued me as a child. Now the nightmares are different.

On the way to St. Louis yesterday, I drifted off to sleep for just a moment. When I did, I had a quiet snippet of a dream. It was Dan chasing Emily, both laughing and playing. It took my breath away and woke me up. It was such a mixed feeling of longing, pain, and the beauty of seeing his face. It left me with the temptation to escape into sleep, in hopes of seeing a glimpse of him again. At very the same time I fear of falling asleep and seeing him because he will once again disappear, and I will face the morning without him.

It was good to see Karin and Gaylin yesterday. It was really good for Tom. I watched Gaylin put his arm around Tom and speak soft words of comfort to him.

We had to say good-bye to Brian and Debby last night. They stayed overnight and will be leaving for their home in Tennessee this morning.

It was so hard to let them go last night. Ever since the night of the accident they have been a constant presence for us. Like two parents running behind a kid on his first two-wheeler, with outstretched arms, balancing us, catching us when we fall, and picking us up when we couldn’t get up on our own.

We know they had to go. They have a wedding in a matter of days. And they want to get back in the studio and record Danny’s song. Their producer agreed to put it on the internet, and will put their internet person on it so it can be downloaded.

God’s finger prints were all over that song. Aaron heard God in the morning. That song has brought us so much joy and peace; it’s like a healing salve on an open wound.

So was the funeral. Who could have imagined that such a horrible thing as the funeral for your son could be described as beautiful—but it was.

People lining the walls, you could feel the love and support hanging in the air. Clara tried so hard to overcome her grief so she could sing Dan’s favorite song for us. It broke my heart to see her struggle so.

Then in true Christ like spirit, those who knew the song started singing along side her, her brother put his arm around her and sang in her ear, then when we got to, “there is a greater mystery, almighty God nailed to a tree! Taking the place where I should have stood…” her voice broke through, and you could tell it was flowed from her soul.

That’s what was so beautiful. Over and over we felt the hands of the body of Christ, sooth us, and sit with us, until we found our voice.

2008-06-08T08:03:00.000-05:00

For the third time, I awoke to the sounds of Mike’s grief. The first time was in the hospital, but it has been every morning since we have been home.

I was glad it was thundering and lightening yesterday when we got up. It seemed fitting, and even comforting. The roll of thunder and lightening strikes seem to echo how I was feeling.

Today it looks like its going to be hot. I will have to make sure everything is watered well. I can’t bear the thought of seeing anything die in my garden. Danny worked so hard with me out there. He was my right hand man this spring, and he took such pride in it. I told him I needed him, and he stepped right up.

He made sure the entire garden was mulched before he went Home last Tuesday. Just another indicator that Dan walked in the spirit; only the Holy Spirit could have known how that would protect my heart. It would have been too hard for me to go out into the garden and finish anything he had started. It would have robbed me of a refuge, now I can still find peace in my gardens.

I thought last night’s visitation was going to be the hardest thing I ever had to do. Looking back it wasn’t. Nothing compares to the night we learned he was gone. But then too, we had the loving support of brothers and sisters in Christ, many who stayed through the night with us, just to help us cry and keep breathing.

Although I’m dreading the hour the funeral home car pulls up to take us to bury our son, I found that I can keep my heart from jumping out of my chest by remembering that like last night, God will bring the strength for the hour, and my brothers and sisters in Christ will not only mourn with us, they will continue, as they have all through this, to help us bear this too.

I learned a lot last night. I think for the very first time in my Christian life I learned the depth of what it means to share one another’s burdens. The moment I saw Karin, and we embraced, each of us felt the full weight of the other’s burden.

When I came face to face with the hurting children, who had lost a good friend, my grief hid behind my heart just long enough for me to try to speak some peace and hope to them. My prayer is that the death of one will bring about the salvation of many.

Time to face the hot sun, and a day I thought would never happen.