Recently was requested to add Joshua’s memorial video onto youtube. It was an incredible tribute that was gifted to us by a wonderful graphic designer in jacksonville. We still love sharing him with others.

I bought a fancy glass pitcher the other day

At an elderly couple’s Estate sale.

It still had the sticker on it, as if it had never been used.

Then I brought it home

And asked my tall son to place it high up on a shelf

that I could not even reach.

Today I thought about my first son.

And how fragile he was.

He had heart disease.

Every moment of his life was a High Tea,

Served in a glass pitcher,

with good china.

We laughed, we danced, we celebrated-

unspoken clarity and understanding

that he was special.

Time was special.

and at any moment he could break.

And then he did

when he was eight.

And somehow we became plastic pitcher people.

We are protected and guarded-

In our health, our decisions

And even simple conversations.

We laugh less often.

My family is now tough and durable

My boys wrestle and argue

And grow

But I am realizing that every moment with them

is still fragile and temporary.

My response to my children,

Every look I give my husband,

All of life

really is that special.

They deserve nothing less than

the fanfare of the High Tea.

I should dress up

and laugh

and celebrate

more often.

And maybe even serve tea

In my new glass pitcher.

dedicated to Miss Kathy and her friends

and their High Tea.

I wanted to share how I was so blessed today, as I drove to Daytona, and once again, told our story, Joshua’s story, and all that God has done in our lives through grief and blessings. The women’s connections have a specific speech that is prepared and approved, so I know it well, but I am still amazed at how much God uses it to remind me everytime of how far we have come with Him holding us all the way. I know it is also impacting to the ladies (and some men in the room). The subject of grief is powerful, and for many, consuming, and it is difficult to even touch there, but the message does so gently and inspiringly, so as not to overwhelm with the details of our story, but to help them reflect in their own life. Many times the ladies will want to talk afterwards of their own circumstances, or sweet blessings in their family like Joshua. Sometimes God has moved on them in a powerful way, and they scoot out, without a word. Sometimes, like today, they fill out a connection card saying they ask Christ in their heart, with our simple prayer. I pray and believe, whatever the situation, God has impacted them all to reflect on their circumstances and see how He can help them SHINE, seeking their own hidden treasures and gifts. It is so worth it for me to keep these engagements on my plate whenever possible. I am looking forward to being in DeBarry on thurs, and then Ocala on Tues.

Telling our story used to be incredibly difficult for me, and after doing so, I would be very emotional at home for about a day  or so. This went on for a year or so. The impact on others made it all so worth the cost.

I say sometimes that the hole in my heart, as a mother, God has allowed to remain unfilled to an extent, because it helps me to be more cognizant of others who are dealing with loss and allows me to feel more compassion for them. There is an emptiness there that will never be filled. But once I spoke at a women’s group at Celebration, and a beautiful african american mom came up to me and shared very soflty, that there would be a day, further down the road, when my memories would only be good ones..ones that made me smile. I thought I understood her at the time, because I was so aware of the blessings and gratitude of my eight years of mothering Josh. But now, about 6 years later, I can finally see what she was talking about. The pain of those eight years of challenges, or the last few weeks of his life, seem like a small moment in time, way back when. But the joy and the smiles and the pleasure, just feel unspeakably rich. That is the only way I can describe it.  Each time I am sharing this story and message and God’s unending goodness in my life, I am overwhelmed again. Maybe it is a by-product of growing older, and the appreciative lens we look through to view our life. I am just feeling so blessed. My cup runneth over.

I do not feel that heaviness that used to accompany me afterwards. I feel invigorated and inspired that God has placed me right where I am just for such a time as this. So I will enjoy my mommy duties, my extra piles of laundry, my business meeting tonight, my birthday party plans and cake design, and anything else that is placed on my lap this week.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Well, and I think He is okay with me skipping the dusting and vaccuming for now.

Have a blessed day-

I ran across a great website called www.restministries.org  for those who are living with illness or consoling someone with illness. Lisa Copen and her husband started this nonprofit. 

As I have written and spoken on grief over the past 6 years, specifically on losing a child,  I try to help others understand that ANY situation that feels like a loss, IS grief.  Many times it is not a death, but a life of challenges and ongoing loss that we cannot change. It may be having a family member with special needs or dealing with divorce, but it is all grief.

I think the subject of grief is a place most do not want to venture until there is an actual death. I know I did not. Having walked through the valley with my son, I am more cognizant of the process and others that are living with loss.  I am so glad to find sites like this that are helping others deal with illness and loss and find answers. My article, Just Be There, explored the basics of consoling a friend that is grieving through the holidays, but Lisa has expounded on this by giving some very creative, hands-on ideas for getting into their life and making a difference. Her book, “Beyond Casseroles:505 ways to encourage a chronically ill friend“, looks like a must-read for those in the ministry of encouragement. As I am joining our CARE team at church, I just ordered three copies!

Quote from book: Friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief. – Marcus Tullius Cicero

This was just sent to me and it is long, but I thought it very eloquent and meaningful. It helps to offer an insight into how God’s grace has impacted us as we lived for 8 years with the possibility of losing Joshua, and then had to give him back in 02. 

This is an outstanding personal testimony by Tony Snow, President Bush’s former Press Secretary, and his fight with cancer.  As a commentator and journalist, he announced that he had colon cancer in 2005. Following surgery and chemo, Tony joined the Bush Administration in April, 2006 as Press Secretary. Unfortunately, on March 23, 2007, Tony, age 51 and a husband and father of three, announced that the cancer had recurred, with tumors found in his abdomen. This lead to surgery in April, followed by more chemotherapy. He returned to work in the White House Briefing Room on May 3, 2007, but resigned some time after that ‘for economic reasons and to pursue other interests. He wrote this testimony some time after his departure from the White House and it needs little intro . . . it speaks for itself.

MY TESTIMONY

‘Blessings arrive in unexpected packages, – in my case, cancer. Those of us with potentially fatal diseases – and there are millions in America today – find ourselves in the odd position of coping with our mortality while trying to fathom God’s will. Although it would be the height of presumption to declare with confidence ‘What It All Means,’ Scripture provides powerful hints and consolations.

The first is that we shouldn’t spend too much time trying to answer the ‘why’ questions: Why me? Why must people suffer? Why can’t someone else get sick? We can’t answer such things. And the questions themselves often are designed more to express our anguish than to solicit an answer.

I don’t know why I have cancer, and I don’t much care. It is what it is, a plain and indisputable fact. Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly, great and stunning truths began to take shape. Our maladies define a central feature of our existence: We are fallen. We are imperfect. Our bodies give out.

But, despite this, – or because of it, – God offers the possibility of salvation and grace. We don’t know how the narrative of our lives will end, but we get to choose how to use the interval between now and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.

Second, we need to get past the anxiety. The mere thought of dying can send adrenaline flooding through your system. A dizzy, unfocused panic seizes you. Your heart thumps; your head swims. You think of nothingness and swoon. You fear partings; you worry about the impact on family and friends. You fidget and get nowhere.

To regain footing, remember that we were born not into death, but into life – and that the journey continues after we have finished our days on this earth. We accept this on faith, but that faith is nourished by a conviction that stirs even within many non-believing hearts – an institution that the gift of life, once given, cannot be taken away. Those who have been stricken enjoy the special privilege of being able to fight with their might, main, and faith to live fully, richly, exuberantly – no matter how their days may be numbered.

Third, we can open our eyes and hearts. God relishes surprise. We want lives of simple, predictable ease, – smooth, even trails as far as the eye can see, – but God likes to go off-road. He provokes us with twists and turns. He places us in predicaments that seem to defy our endurance and comprehension – and yet don’t. By His love and grace, we persevere. The challenges that make our hearts leap and stomachs churn invariably strengthen our faith and grant measures of wisdom and joy we would not experience otherwise.

‘You Have Been Called’. Picture yourself in a hospital bed. The fog of anesthesia has begun to wear away. A doctor stands at your feet, a loved one holds your hand at the side. ‘It’s cancer,’ the healer announces.

The natural reaction is to turn to God and ask him to serve as a cosmic Santa. ‘Dear God, make it all go away. Make everything simpler.’ But another voice whispers: ‘You have been called.’ Your quandary has drawn you closer to God, closer to those you love, closer to the issues that matter, – and has dragged into insignificance the banal concerns that occupy our ‘normal time.’

There’s another kind of response, although usually short-lived, an inexplicable shudder of excitement as if a clarifying moment of calamity has swept away everything trivial and tiny, and placed before us the challenge of important questions.

The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change. You discover that Christianity is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft. Faith may be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution. The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks, reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies. Think of Paul, traipsing through the known world and contemplating trips to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain), shaking the dust from his sandals, worrying not about the morrow, but only about the moment.

There’s nothing wilder than a life of humble virtue, – for it is through selflessness and service that God wrings from our bodies and spirits the most we ever could give, the most we ever could offer, and the most we ever could do.

Finally, we can let love change everything. When Jesus was faced with the prospect of crucifixion, he grieved not for himself, but for us. He cried for Jerusalem before entering the Holy City. From the Cross, he took on the cumulative burden of human sin and weakness, and begged for forgiveness on our behalf.

We get repeated chances to learn that life is not about us, that we acquired purpose and satisfaction by sharing in God’s love for others. Sickness gets us part way there. It reminds us of our limitations and dependence. But it also gives us a chance to serve the healthy. A minister friend of mine observes that people suffering grave afflictions often acquire the faith of two people, while loved ones accept the burden of two peoples’ worries and fears.

‘Learning How to Live’. Most of us have watched friends as they drifted toward God’s arms, not with resignation, but with peace and hope. In so doing, they have taught us not how to die, but how to live. They have emulated Christ by transmitting the power and authority of live.

I sat by my best friend’s bedside a few years ago as a wasting cancer took him away. He kept at his table a worn Bible and a 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer. A shattering grief disabled his family, many of his old friends, and at least one priest. Here was an humble and very good guy, someone who apologized when he winced with pain because he thought it made his guest uncomfortable. He restrained his equanimity and good humor literally until his last conscious moment. ‘I’m going to try to beat [this cancer],’ he told me several months before he died. ‘But if I don’t, I’ll see you on the other side.’

His gift was to remind everyone around him that even though God doesn’t promise us tomorrow, he does promise us eternity – filled with life and love we cannot comprehend, – and that one can, in the throes of sickness, point the rest of us toward timeless truths that will help us weather future storms.

Through such trials, God bids us to choose: Do we believe, or do we not? Will we be bold enough to love, daring enough to serve, humble enough to submit, and strong enough to acknowledge our limitations? Can we surrender our concern in things that don’t matter so that we might devote our remaining days to things that do?

When our faith flags, He throws reminders in our way. Think of the prayer warriors in our midst. They change things, and those of us who have been on the receiving end of their petitions and intercessions know it. It is hard to describe, but there are times when suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you feel a surge of the Spirit. Somehow you just know: Others have chosen, when talking to the Author of all creation, to lift us up, – to speak of us!

This is love of a very special order. But so is the ability to sit back and appreciate the wonder of every created thing. The mere thought of death somehow makes every blessing vivid, every happiness more luminous and intense. We may not know how our contest with sickness will end, but we have felt the ineluctable touch of God.

What is man that Thou are mindful of him? We don’t know much, but we know this: No matter where we are, no matter what we do, no matter how bleak or frightening our prospects, each and every one of us who believe each and every day, lies in the same safe and impregnable place, in the hollow of God’s hand.’

T. Snow
deceased July 12, 2008