Remembering Carol Jean

 Last Saturday, my family and I attended a memorial service for my father's sister, Aunt Carol Jean. It was a beautiful service, and I was happy that my mom, my siblings, and I had been able to fly up to Indiana despite heavy snow in the north. 

Gathered in a meeting room in the retirement center where she had lived for decades, we listened to many heartwarming stories from her 96 years of life. Here is what I shared...

One thing I remember about Aunt Carol is being shocked to learn that she was the only person I'd ever met who could eat as much homemade ice cream as I could. Both of us had good eating habits, and we loved talking about healthy recipes, especially gluten-free breads and desserts. Still, we both lost all control when the ice cream freezer came out at family reunions. Even though we knew we would suffer a lot of discomfort for it, we each decided it was worth it to indulge in one, two, three bowls of ice cream covered in Aunt Carol's decadent homemade fudge sauce. 

I got close to Aunt Carol after staying with her in her apartment at the retirement center on a couple of trips to Indiana. My favorite part of those stays was playing Scrabble with her and Aunt Donna, her younger sister. Although I have a great vocabulary and like to think I'm pretty intelligent, playing with Aunt Carol was humbling, to say the least. I might as well have been a beginning reader compared to her. [Listening to Aunt Donna's tribute at the service helped my self-esteem. It turns out that Aunt Carol had played as many as three Scrabble games per day!]

When I went through very hard times during my divorce, I confided in my aunt, often via email. She always had an encouraging verse and prayer for me, and she was faithful to lift me up in prayer for as long as I needed it. I wish I could remember exactly what she said to me. One thing I do remember is that she urged me to read the book of John all in one sitting. She said it would help me understand Jesus's love. I took her advice, and she was right: ever since that day, I have thought of myself as Sarah, the woman Jesus loves. 

I will miss Aunt Carol, especially when I'm eating homemade ice cream. But it gives me great joy to picture her in heaven with her brother, my father, who died about a year and a half ago. Aunt Carol always referred to the day of her husband's death as Uncle Roy's heavenly birthday. I'm very happy that my dad was there to celebrate with her on her own heavenly birthday. 

Aunt Donna, Dad, Aunt Carol Jean (When the Sisters Visited Texas)

Beautiful Brokenness

There was much to admire in Aunt Carol's life. I heard stories of her and Uncle Roy serving in Ecuador and Nigeria as missionaries, of her winning state tennis tournaments into her forties, and of her stepping out of her comfort zone to take on a leadership role at the retirement center. I also heard how she had been a tireless advocate for her son who had a disability, and how she and Aunt Donna encouraged one another when each battled breast cancer, at ages 68 and 69. 

In his tribute, my cousin René admitted that he had longed for a closer adult relationship with both of his parents. A lot of the difficulty had arisen due to geographical distance, but in later years he lived close to them, yet still did not develop the closeness he craved. Although René didn't hide his regrets, he placed no blame. Instead, he shared a tender story of how his mother comforted him when he suffered a disappointment during childhood, and he talked of her accomplishments and strengths. 

He concluded by acknowledging that often our family relationships are imperfect because we are imperfect people. Even though we may not experience the intimacy that we long for on this earth, we have assurance of healing and wholeness when we meet our loved ones again in heaven.

René's words moved me to tears, though I could not say whether they were happy tears or sad. It was just beautiful to hear someone share the truth about the messiness of family connections, and to see how he honored his mother's memory by choosing to focus on her strength and faithfulness. 

I left that service with a renewed appreciation for my own family, and a determination to cultivate more fulfilling relationships by accepting my loved ones as they are.

My Grandfather Arta, Aunt Carol, Aunt Donna, Dad, Grandma Belva

Aunt Carol was a year older than Dad, and 13 years older than their sister Donna. You can read more about Dad's family in the book of memoirs that I edited for him and Mom. 

The Best Miserable Birthday

Months ahead of my birthday last month, I told Allyson and Ethan that all I wanted this year was a family camping trip, our first in six years. I had actually reserved a campsite twice in the fall, but both times I had to cancel due to rain in the forecast. This time, I reserved a site with a covered shelter and handicap access so that my sister Amy could go with us, and I was determined not to cancel no matter what. Since forgetfulness runs in our family, I reminded them many times over the ensuing months.

In the days before the campout, the weather forecast grew more and more ominous, but I doggedly held onto our plans. The rain wasn't scheduled to begin until Saturday, so I reasoned that we'd have one good night and could wait out the rain in the covered shelter playing games. 

The celebration began on my actual birthday, a Thursday. Allyson and I drove to my parents' house, where I met Amy and our sister Melody, with whom she lives currently. We enjoyed a delicious meal and our favorite dessert, a concoction made of Butterfinger candy bars, vanilla pudding, ice cream, and Cool Whip. 

Allyson gave me two delightfully practical gifts, a table lamp for my room and a comfortable workout shirt to wear to the gym that I joined recently. She also gave me my favorite healthy candy bar. Best of all, instead of a card, she gave me a full-page handwritten letter that assured me all the love I've poured into her has been received.

Mom and my sisters gave me sweet cards and gifts, too. 

I spent the rest of that evening and the next morning doing what I always do before trips: preparing lots of food and packing my little Kia to the gills. Ethan and his wife Sumer drove out to my house around noon to play with their cat Riggy, whom I've been fostering, and to load up whatever wouldn't fit into my car. This time I had Amy's wheelchair and several other essential items, so packing had been even more of a challenge. 

Ethan, Sumer, and Allyson went on ahead while I packed up the last of the food. Amy and I left about an hour and a half after our planned departure, which is pretty typical. We arrived late in the afternoon to find that Ethan and Allyson had set up their tents, and Allyson was relaxing in her hammock, which she'd strung between two trees. 

The Campsite

The site was amazing! The rectangular covered shelter nestled among lush trees, so close to the lake that you could hear the water lapping against the shore. Just behind and below the shelter was a collection of giant rocks that formed a scenic overlook. I smiled as I pictured how Ethan would have clambered over the rocks if we'd reserved this site on camping trips decades before. 

If You Look Closely, You Can See the Lake

Simply Wonderful

Last Saturday, the day of Ethan and Sumer's wedding, dawned chilly and overcast. Though it had seemed quite bearable when I arrived late in the morning, the temperature began dropping as sunset approached. By four o'clock, it was cold enough to set my teeth chattering despite the beautiful winter white coat I'd borrowed from my sister Emily, but I was grateful that at least it wasn't raining.

As Sumer slowly walked from the bridal suite toward the outdoor ceremony area, I asked to carry her train. I'd already extricated a leaf or two from the lacy hem, and I wanted it to be pristine when she walked down the aisle. At my side was Ethan's stepmother, Erica. Tottering over the paved walkway on numb toes in my unaccustomed heels, I alternated between worrying about breaking an ankle and savoring the gathering of in-laws, exes, and ex-laws to honor and celebrate with two young people whom we all loved.

At that moment, Allyson hurried around the corner in her own unaccustomed heels and a beautiful full-length, velvety green dress. "Mama," she called urgently. "Where have you been? You're the first to go down the aisle!" 

"What? I'm part of the procession?" 

"Yes! Ethan is walking you and Sumer's mom down the aisle first. Hurry up!" 

Procrastination, Preparation, and Anticipation

Last Saturday my boy became a husband! Although Ethan and Sumer were engaged for over a year, it still sort of crept up on me. I found myself scrambling at the last minute, as I do for most important events in my life... and the unimportant ones, too.

It began with Sumer's bridal shower, the first I'd ever hosted. I was nervous about all of it—the games, the decorations, the food—so I procrastinated about planning it until I'd nearly run out of time. But thanks to Pinterest and some advice from my boss and a coworker, it all came together nicely! I made way too much baked potatoes, grilled chicken, vegetable soup, and salad, but that was okay because we sent quite a lot home with my mom, who has been unable to cook since a fall on Labor Day weekend. 

For dessert we ate pumpkin-spice Nothing Bundt cake with thick cream-cheese frosting and my sister Emily's pineapple-sherbet punch, which she graciously made for me when she arrived, after picking up both the cake and our mother.

Allyson was in charge of decorations, and she made the party beautiful with a cute little marquis, a big banner, giant balloons, three little bouquets that doubled as prizes for the games, and a pink sparkly sash for the bride-to-be.

Allyson and Sumer

Good Medicine: Joy, Gratitude, and Sisters

I am posting this at 2:41 a.m. after another horrible immune reaction, this time to tea tree oil. That is a crazy, crazy story, and I promise to tell it tomorrow. It involves a new friend named Courtney. I'm going to be just fine, but if I'm going to be awake with tachycardia again, I might as well use my time for a good purpose. I've been praising Jesus and listening to scripture meditations on Youtube for a couple of hours, but my heart rate is still too fast to sleep. 

I was tempted to clean up this entry a bit because I wrote it during brain fog this afternoon, from something I ate; have to figure that out if possible. It took me about 3 hours to write because I knew it was all in the wrong order. Ana can tell us if I got it right.  But I don't want to clean it up because I want you to see my progress. It doesn't matter whether this is my best writing or not.


I had just finished my last blog entry and was making myself a smoothie (banana, a bit of plum--new today, so low and slow--, yogurt, honey, turmeric drop, iceberg lettuce, cantaloupe), when I saw a woman coming to the door. I ignored her, figuring this was another of the many deliveries of unusual food items and kitchen gadgets that arrive by the day.

When I answered the doorbell, I was shocked to find my sweet neighbor, Ana, with a bouquet of pink roses.

This morning I'd had another of my panic attacks, brought on by immune reactions to my food, and after I'd meditated on half the scriptures on my kitchen sticky note collection, God had directed me to go outside.

2 Timothy 1:7, Isaiah 12:2-3, Romans 8:15, Psalm 23:4, Matthew 11:28, Romans 5:2-5, Psalm 23:2-3, Genesis 21:6, Joyce Meyer quote, Romans 8:24-25, Habakkuk 1:5 

 

 

Outdoors, I breathed deeply in the warm morning air and feasted my eyes on the mature trees in my neighborhood.

"I am like a tree planted by the water," I prayed aloud. "My roots go down deep to the life-giving water. You are the water. The water of life."

I felt the wind and saw it moving the leaves in the tree.

"The wind is like your Holy Spirit,"  I said. "No one knows where it comes from or where it is going, but we know that it is there. I have your Holy Spirit inside of me, carrying me wherever you want me to go..... I am Dust in the Wind. You are the wind."

I felt my breathing slowing down, though the headache that had brought the panic continued to throb in the back of my head. Something I had eaten, surely. But what? I focused myself on my breathing, the green leaves, and the wind.

Just then, I saw Ana getting into her truck, dressed in cute gym clothes. I called out to her and then just ran across the street.

"A hug," I said. "I need a hug." I'd been at her house the night before, so she knew about my panic attacks when I get autoimmune symptoms.

She wrapped me in a tight hug and held me.

"It's medicine," I whispered into her hair as tears streamed down my face. "Your hug is medicine."

"Yes, it is," she said.

I told her about how God had told me to come outside while I was meditating on my scriptures like I usually do for anxiety.

"Yes, you need to go outside," she said. "The sun on your skin, the vitamin D. You need that."

"Yes, I do!" I said. "I can read my Bible outside. That's what I was about to do."

"Yes. Get a chair and bring it outside. Do your reading out here. Sit in the shade, though."

"I will," I promised. And I did. I had the most amazing quiet time in.... ever, I guess. God really spoke to me and did a great work in my heart. But I will share that another time.

Back to the Doorbell and Sweet Ana

"Oh, Ana!" I exclaimed as I threw my arms around her.

"Be careful. There are thorns," she warned.

I carefully took the little bouquet and breathed deeply. "This is aromatherapy," I said.

"Yes, it is!"

"And it reminds me of how much you love me and how much God loves me."

"I just want you to be happy," Ana said.

"Oh, I am. I am. I am so happy right now."

She hugged me again and laughed aloud. "You've got to focus on being happy so you can get better."

"Yes, but it's hard," I said. "I focus to much on this..." I pointed at all the food strewn around my kitchen. "But I have to. I can't eat the things that make me sick. I've been so isolated here," I said. "I do need to focus on things that make me happy."

"Yes!"

"You have to remind me," I said. "I can't remember things right now. When you're at work you can send me texts."

"I will," she said. "You have to do little things for yourself to make yourself happy."

I sniffed the roses again.

"You can put them in your room so Arwen won't eat them."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot about that. Arwen ate Juan's roses, remember?"

She laughed. "Yes, she did."

"I'll keep them in my room, and I can look at them and smell them there."

"You need to focus on being grateful," Ana added.

"Oh, I am. That's what my dietitian suggested. I've been making a gratitude list at bedtime every day. That's why I sleep so well. Last night I had the best sleep in years. Eight hours in a row!! You're going to be on the top of my list today."

"Yes, you need to focus on being happy and grateful."

"Not just at night, but at the start of the day, too," I interjected.

"And whenever you feel sad," Ana agreed. "Focus on being happy and grateful. My mom used to pray and thank God every day. I don't know how to pray, but I-"

"You know how to pray," I said. "God loves us so much. All you do is talk to him."

"Focus on being grateful," she repeated.

"I will," I promised, making a mental note to add a gratitude list to my morning routine and hoping that I would not forget that.

"Hey, can we pose for a selfie?" I asked. "This is going to be in my book for sure," I said.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm all sweaty from the gym."

"All of my selfies are ugly, trust me," I said. "You're going to look beautiful next to me."

"Okay," she said.

"Can you help me find my phone?" I asked. "It's part of this Hashimoto's thing [the brain fog]. I lose everything. Constantly. It drives me crazy."

We both scoured the kitchen to no avail.

"Did you bring your phone?"

"No, I didn't."

I thought back to my last blog entry and how I had emailed the photos from my phone while I was on the toilet. (Yes, I use my phone on the toilet. So do you. You just don't admit it.)

"Oh, I think it's in the bathroom," I said. Sure enough, there it was next to the sink. (Yes, I washed my hands. Of course!)

I then proceeded to take an ugly selfie of us both. [Out of respect for Ana, I am withholding that photo. You're welcome, dearest.]

"I can't see it," Ana said; I think she uses readers.

"You look great," I lied.

"I take selfies all the time now for my book, but I don't know how to do it," I said. "Selfies help me remember things, so it's great.... If Allyson were here she would know how."

"Let me try," she said. "I think people usually hold the phone out farther like this." She extended her arm high above us.

Her picture was a little better. She looked gorgeous but my nose still looked gargantuan. I guess that's because it really is gargantuan. Anyway, I hope you can see our joy.

That's Ana on the right. Aren't the flowers lovely? Like Ana.

I told her about a short message from Levi Lusko that I had just heard on the radio, right before she knocked.

"It was a message for me," I said. "Really specifically for me. It was about how when we lose so much, God always gives us something better."

"Yes, when you go through a hard time you can really appreciate the good things more," she said.

"That is true. And God loves us so much. He gave me you as a heart sister."

Ana hugged me again, squeezing me tighter.

"I love you, Sarah," she said, and she held me while I cried.

"God gave me you as a sister. Also, he gave me an Egyptian tax driver for a brother, a new Christian."

"Really?"

"Yes, and a Christian Uber driver from Rwanda [Africa]."

"Really?"

"Yes. The Egyptian man asked if he could hug me because I am his sister. And he did. He held me while I cried." Also he prayed for me, but I forgot to tell her that part.

"And the African man prayed for me in his car. He has only been in Texas for one month, and he barely speaks English."

"Really?"

"Well he's been in America for 8 years but he just moved to Texas a month ago. They are both my brothers."

"Wow!"

"So you see that even though I have lost so much in this battle with Hashimoto's, God is giving me new stuff, better stuff."

"Yes, he is! I love you so much, Sarah."

"Me too, sister."

"You look really beautiful in the selfie," I said when she was on the way out my door.

She grinned. "You think?"

"Oh yes, everyone who sees you always says you're gorgeous."

"They do?"

"Yes, like my roommate Kim." I gestured behind me to her bedroom. "The first time she saw you she sent me a text saying that you were so gorgeous."

Ana flushed with pleasure.

"It's true," I said.

"Stay in touch," Ana said. "And do things to make yourself happy."

I will. Oh, I will.

My life is like these roses. The thorns make the beauty all the sweeter when God gives me eyes to focus on it. I could barely see them through my happy tears.

Algo Mejor / Something Better

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO...

[Here is my last bilingual travelogue for a while. School has started and I'm horribly busy with teaching now. For this bilingual series, I compose the story in Spanish and then translate into English so that we can see my progress in learning the language. Disclaimer: All grammar errors in the dialogue are my responsibility.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS.

[Aquí está mi último travelogue bilingüe por un tiempo. La escuela ha empezado y estoy terriblemente ocupada con la enseñanza ahora. Todos errores gramatical en el diágolo son mios.]

Muy temprano una mañana, oí una voz masculine y desconocida. Me levanté y me vestí, y entonces me apuré a la cocina.

Allí conocí a un hombre mayor que se parecía a Mecho. Estaban sentados a la mesa, hablando y comiendo.

“¿Es su hermano?” le pregunté a Mecho.

El sonreió. “Sí.”

Le di la mano al hombre y dije, “Me llamo Sarah.”

Él miró a su hermano. Mecho repitío mis palabras. (Aperentemente, mi acento es muy fuerte.)

“Ah. Mi nombre es Israel, pero todos me llaman Lulu,” dijo.

“Oh. Me gusta mucho su nombre… Israel. Y tambien Lulu.”

Lulu reió.

Como de costumbre, no podía entender la conversación de otras personas, pero esto no me molestó. Miré a y escuché a los hermanos y comí mi desayuno con tranquilidad.

Después del desayuno, ellos fueron afuera, donde  Mecho hábilmente le cortó el cabello de Lulu.

“Mecho, usted tiena muchas habilidades diferentes,” dije en mi discurso lento y cuidadoso.

A Milestone for Amy

A week ago today, my sister Amy achieved a milestone that she had been anticipating for nearly a year: completing an 11-day road trip to Indiana for a family reunion. Amy suffered a massive stroke in March of 2016, and she is nearly paralyzed on her left side. She initially received top-notch rehabilitation that restored much of her function. She learned to walk with a cane, feed herself, speak clearly, and do basically anything else that you can do with one hand. But when her insurance company decided that she was finished with rehab, her recovery hit a plateau. She's been living with our parents for the last year and a half, and the only therapy she receives is stretching exercises with Mom, who can be a tough taskmaster.

A couple of months ago, she underwent an experimental stem cell treatment using cells from her own body. (Our former brother-in-law, James, provided this treatment at no cost.) Since then, Amy has increased flexibility in her hip and is now able to extend her curled fingers by bending her wrist with her other hand. Her concentration is also improving, and she now reads murder mysteries and even dreams about math.

Our brother Rick strives to push Amy past her limits. He takes her out frequently and brings her home for dinner, and he always insists that she walk rather than use her wheelchair. His front and back porches have a small step, and she has become proficient in navigating those obstacles.

But this Indiana trip challenged Amy on a whole new level. We started with approximately 16 hours of driving over the course of two days. Traveling in a caravan of 12 with passengers ranging in age from 3 to 87, we made a lot of stops. It was a far cry from Dad's idea of a road trip: waking a couple of hours before dark and driving straight through, with everyone holding their pee until we had to stop and fill up or get fast food. No, this time we stopped every hour to hour and a half, and each stop took 15-30 minutes. At every stop, Amy laboriously pulled herself to her feet and walked across parking lots and through truck stops, up hills and down rest-stop sidewalks. This helped ease the pain from her stiff muscles, but all that walking wore her out and made her back hurt because of the way her limp shoulder hangs down.

Sometimes You Just Need to Give Up... But Don't Give In

This past Friday, I administered final exams to my last three classes and headed out around 1:30 to pick up Allyson and her friend Kambry for our long awaited annual camping trip. Yes, I realize it's a little crazy to plan a camping trip for June 1 in Texas, but I knew I could enjoy it much better while unencumbered by teaching responsibilities. Besides, we'd gone a week later the previous year, and the temperature was fine.

This time, my niece Hillary was the first to arrive at Lake Ray Roberts, and she'd staked out a site right on the water's edge. For the third year in a row, I'd reserved a primitive campsite with neither water nor electricity, and we had to carry our gear down a dirt and gravel path. As the four of us carried in the first load, Allyson and I reminisced about our first visit to this same state park two years earlier.

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Ten days ago, in the middle of my workday, I received a text that made my heart sink. My 33-year-old cousin Adam had passed away unexpectedly. My first reaction was sharp pain as I thought of my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff. Ever since I've been a mother, hearing about the loss of anyone's child tears at my own heart because I can't help putting myself in their shoes.

My second reaction was regret. I had been out of contact with Adam for a couple of years, and he'd been on my mind that very week. I wondered how he was doing and thought that I should send him a letter to catch him up on all of my teaching adventures. I'd had similar thoughts off and on for a long time, and now I was kicking myself for not taking the time when I had the chance. 

Although Adam was 14 years younger than me and lived 1100 miles away in Indiana, I was probably closer to him than to any of my other 25 first cousins. Our friendship began in 2011 when Aunt Sue asked several family members to write Adam while he was in prison. Through the influence of a chaplain, he had grown closer to Christ in prison and had a strong faith, but he was lonely and sometimes discouraged by the poor conditions he encountered there. 

A recent picture. Don't his eyes draw you in?

Just Part of the Family

Allyson's family birthday party was delayed a bit this year because she wanted Aunt Amy to be there, and the logistics were a bit difficult to arrange. Mom, Dad, and Rick recently passed the wheelchair transfer training at Amy's rehab center, and that meant Amy could now go on family outings. So when I found out that Amy was coming to our Father's Day celebration at Rick's house last night, I asked if we could celebrate Allyson's birthday at the same time.

Four Generations of Dads:
Rick, Dick (Dad), Miles, Mitchell

For this third birthday celebration, Allyson requested Aunt Melody's strawberry Oreo Cool Whip pudding dessert. I told her we might have to find another recipe since Aunt Melody was traveling in Japan, but imagine my delight when I found the recipe in my email inbox a few hours later. Turns out, text messages work in Japan, too. Some days I just love technology.

Allyson's Blessed Year

I have a few moments tonight, so I thought I'd share some long overdue Allyson stories. Here we are starting the Christmas season, and I realize I never even posted her first-day-of-school pictures.

This year we tried something new for school clothes shopping: we visited a couple of resale shops. Allyson was a little reluctant at first, but I told her our budget was a little limited this year due to all my medical bills over the spring and summer. This way we could get a lot more for our money. When we got to the first one, she was like a kid in a candy shop. She couldn't stop exclaiming over all the bargains. We each walked out with a giant armload of clothes--all the brands she loves--for under a hundred dollars. Ka-ching! During our bedtime prayers that night, Allyson sweetly thanked God for blessing us with all these clothes.

For the first day of school, she put together several of her "new" pieces, including some super cute boots that we got from the teen resale shop. (Like me, Allyson has been blessed with giant clodhoppers and has already grown into women's shoe sizes.)

I was a little nervous about the long sequined tank with the short jean vest, but Allyson was perfectly confident in her ability to accessorize. Good thing, because she's not going to get much help from me in that department. Same with hair styling, I'm afraid. Not to worry, Allyson finds all the help she needs on YouTube.

Best Days of My Life

This past Friday evening, aboard a sunset dolphin cruise in Destin, Florida, I was feeling pretty melancholy because it was already the last night of our much-awaited beach vacation, a graduation celebration for Ethan and my niece Hillary. I'd been longing for a quiet week to rest, lie on the sugar sand, and maybe walk along the beach with my Beloved. But somehow, all six days had slipped through my fingers, and I was still waiting for that relaxation I needed so much.

My sister Amy, me, Allyson

Amy, our sister Emily, nephews Charlie and Sam

Charlie, nephew Jacob, brother-in-law Paul, Sam

Nieces Hillary and Savannah, friend Sarah

Charlie and our crazy captain

Just as I was trying to shrug off my dark mood so that I could enjoy the sunset and the sea spray, Summer of 69 started blaring from the very loud, crackly radio. For a moment, I enjoyed the nostalgia as I always do, but then I started thinking about the words: "Those were the best days of my life." And I thought, "What were the best days of my life?"

Loving Our Sweet Mindy

Today we will bury my beloved niece Mindy, the daughter of my brother Rick and his wife Diane, the little sister of my nephew Mitchell and the heart sister of Mitchell's wife Michelle. She passed away unexpectedly this past Thursday from a medical condition no one knew she had, only two months after her 25th birthday.

There is so much on my heart to share about Mindy; it's hard to know where to begin....

Mindy was such a sweetheart. I don't mean that in the trite way. She really had a sweet, sweet heart. She was gentle and kind, and she loved her whole family, from her grandparents to her cousins and their children.

Mindy was quiet and laid back, but she wasn't shy. I've heard over and over the last few days that Mindy could light up a room, and that is true. It was her dazzling smile, which I always felt was especially for me. Each time I came to Rick's for a family gathering, I rounded the corner to the kitchen to find Mindy at the stove, trying out a new recipe that I knew would be delicious. Her whole face would light up because she was delighted to see me. I felt like the guest of honor no matter how many people were there. And I suspect we all felt that way.

She had a dry, irreverent sense of humor like her father, and she could always make me laugh. I loved to listen to their banter.

Oh how she loved dogs. I've never seen someone who loved them more. I'm not a dog person, but the love she lavished on her two Dachshunds made me wish that I were. Howie and Chloe were her joy.

Mindy and Howie

From a very young age, Mindy loved travel. She's a big part of so many of my best family vacation memories. She camped with us, went to San Antonio with us, and flew to Canada with us twice. Having her along added so much joy for us because that girl just really knew how to have fun. She loved any kind of outdoor activity, and I had the privilege of watching her learn to water ski, wake board, rock climb, and snowboard. She wasn't exactly fearless; she was certainly nervous. But she didn't let fear stop her from having fun, and whatever it was, she was confident that she could do it.

Probably my favorite picture of Mindy -
Sledding with Uncle Bill in Vancouver

On the Vancouver trip when she learned to snowboard, she spent a lot of time on her behind, as all people do when they are learning. Yet she still managed to talk me down one steep hill when I kept having those wipe-outs where your skis go flying. "You can do it, Aunt Sarah! Don't give up," she called, as she drug herself back to her feet. When we finally made it to the bottom, we laughed over the irony of a niece coaching her aunt.

I wish I had time to tell you all the stories stored up in my heart. I'd like to share one silly one that maybe no one else knows. Mindy posted this comment on a blog entry I'd written about running a country convenience store back when she was a very small girl (about 9):

Oh man do I remember those burgers, they were to die for! My memories of Mitchell and I staying out there with y'all are vague but one really sticks out in my mind. When he would bully me or give me a hard time, I would write it all down so that I could tell my parents when we got back and they could punish him for all of the horrible things: "Mitchell hit my arm", "Mitchell called me stupid 2 times", "Mitchell told me to to shut up!". Lol I think by the time I got home I was so excited to see my parents that I forgot all about it.

I'm happy to say that she and Mitchell worked through their differences and have been dear friends for years now.

My favorite recent memory of Mindy is the pasta cooking lesson we attended with Rick in December 2012.

Rick, Me, Mindy

Family Pasta Night at Rick's
Family Friend David in the Back

It had been less than a month since Bill and I separated, and I was hurting terribly. Mindy was a normal, busy college student, and it was the Christmas season, yet she made time to spend a whole Tuesday evening with her aunt. Laughing with her and Rick was medicine for my torn heart.

Mindy and I developed a closer bond over the next couple of years. She was compassionate and kind, always concerned for me. She didn't necessarily say a lot, but she had a way of drawing me out. She was a great listener, and a cheerleader for me as my heart began to mend and I started enjoying life again.

We loved to talk about cooking and about eating. She shared my love for vegetarian meals, and we liked to swap recipes.

Mindy was a strong, determined young lady. She had some struggles with college, and it took her some time to find the right direction. But she stuck with it for seven years and finally achieved her goal this past spring. I was more proud of her than I could have been if she had breezed through it in four years.

I don't know how we can bear losing our sweet Mindy, but of course we must. Rick shared his concern last night that because Mindy was the glue that brought the family together, that we might drift apart. Mindy was the one who thought up activities and arranged them. She was the one who organized the cancer walks.

Me, Rick, Diane, Mindy - Undy 5000

We agreed that this was Mindy's legacy. She loved family. I think it was because of the ordeal of Rick's colon cancer in her mid teens. She visited him every day after school, and she sat with him during every infusion. She never forgot what it was like to almost lose her daddy, and she never took any of her family for granted.

Last night we vowed to honor Mindy's memory by making our family time a priority from this point on. Right now we need each other desperately, but truly we always need each other.

These last few days have been a good start. The love binding us together has been palpable. We've hugged each other tighter, and much longer--way beyond the usual quick squeeze. We've added kisses to the hugs. We've rubbed backs and squeezed shoulders. We've said, "I love you so much."

In the middle of her own loss, Diane has comforted her nieces and nephews, speaking words of affirmation and hope.

Diane with Susie, Allyson, and Halle

I see the same strength in her that held her family together during Rick's illness. Here is what Mindy said about that in a comment on one of my blog entries titled Circle of Strength:

I love that you wrote this. I vividly remember that day.
I never really stopped to think about just how much of a Mama Bear that my mom was during that time but you described it perfectly. She was (and still is) definitely the rock in our family. When my dad was suffering, I was falling apart and Mitchell was shutting down, she kept herself and us together.

Diane is still a Mama Bear, but I pray she will realize now that she doesn't have to be strong. She is surrounded by people who love her, and we are still a Circle of Strength. I've never been more thankful for the love of my family. This is surely a treasure in the darkness. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5)

Mindy, we are so thankful that we had 25 beautiful years with you. You touched our lives deeply and we will never forget you.

One Beautiful Moment at a Time

As always, I've been saving up so many stories, but there's only time for one. Here it is....

The week of July 20th (over a month ago now), we set off on our first family vacation since the divorce (unless you count our giant family vacation to Oklahoma the spring break before last). I was nervous about a lot of things, like packing up the car without Bill's expert help, and planning the itinerary on my own. I chose a remote cabin in the Texas Hill Country, but beyond that I left it a little loose, figuring each of us could choose an activity from the Texas vacation magazine we'd borrowed from Bill. There were so many activities in the Hill Country region, all clustered around our little dot on the map, a town called Kyle. 

I put the most planning into our meals. We had a limited budget, and I didn't want to blow the bulk of it on restaurant meals. Over the course of the preceding week, I'd made three oven meals for the freezer so that we could have dinner at the cabin each night. The frozen meals would keep the cooler extra cold for the eggs, milk, and fruit that I'd bought for our breakfasts. I felt so clever, and thrifty! Surely I would have made Dave Ramsey proud. But I'd forgotten what often happens to the best laid plans....

The Saturday before we left, Allyson was with Bill and Ethan was with his father, Byron. I picked up my niece, Savannah, that morning so that she could help me get ready for the trip and also help with some housework. We worked hard all that day, checking off one cleaning task at a time from the giant list I had made. Savannah was a huge help. I enjoyed spending a whole day with her, and especially going to the Saturday service with her. What a joy to worship together! 

I spent most of Saturday evening packing and going over all my lists. Sometime around 11, Allyson and I sat down at the computer to map our route. We could scarcely contain our excitement as we looked at pictures of the cabin and read about the amenities, including a river running right through the ranch. But then I discovered something really awful: there was no kitchen, just a "kitchenette" including a tiny antique sink, a dorm fridge, and a small microwave. What? No oven? Nooo!

I ran to the kitchen and put two of the meals into the oven, and then pulled the frozen broccoli chicken casserole out of the deep freeze to thaw in the refrigerator overnight. Now I'd have to get up an hour and a half earlier to bake it and let it cool a bit before packing it in the cooler. Argh!!

It was around 1 when I collapsed into my bed. After what seemed like only a moment, the alarm went off and I woke up cranky and stressed. I quickly hit my next snag. There was no way to fit all that food into our rather petite cooler, and now that the meals weren't frozen, I didn't feel good about leaving any of them out of refrigeration for the four-hour drive. I ran to a neighbor's to see if I could borrow a mini cooler but had no luck. So I thought hard and arrived at a great solution: 

...a cake carrier and a Ziploc bag full of ice. It was the perfect size for the meatloaf and the casserole. Who says I don't have any common sense? 

After I'd put together the makeshift cooler, Savannah helped me cram the real cooler, the camp stove, the electric griddle, our bags, and a few other things into the tiny trunk. It took a couple of tries, but we managed to get most of it in. Allyson and Savannah had to keep their bags under their feet, and the plastic bin of dry food took up the little space between them in the backseat, with the cake cooler perched precariously on top. (We soon learned that the cake cooler wasn't watertight. As I rounded a curve, the carrier tipped, and out poured a greasy yellow liquid, right onto Savannah's zebra blanket. Ugh!)  

By the time we picked up Ethan, who was about 40 minutes in the wrong direction, it was nearly 11, and Allyson and I were already getting hungry. And that's how we ending up stopping just past the edge of the Metroplex, under an hour after we'd started out from Byron's house. 

"This is the nice thing about not traveling with a man," I thought. "We don't have to worry about making time. We can stop whenever we want, and we don't have to leave at the crack of dawn." (Actually, when my dad was in charge we often left well before the crack of dawn.)

As I pulled off at a poor excuse for a rest stop, Ethan's indignant voice interrupted my reverie. "What?? We're stopping already? We're barely even out of town!" 

"I know, I know," I said. "But we're hungry." I pressed my lips together to hold in the laughter; I'd forgotten that Ethan is a man. 

"I'm staying in the car," he grumped. And that's exactly what he did. Unperturbed, Savannah, Allyson, and I sat at a cement picnic table and ate our tuna sandwiches and cheezies while Ethan pouted in the car. 

Funny, Ethan wasn't complaining when we stopped in West an hour or so later for world-famous kolaches at the Czech Stop. Not even when we had to wait in this line that stretched along two sides of the large convenience store: 

Sweet Savannah

 We all agreed it was worth the wait when we tasted these:

Well, all but Allyson, who thought her kolache tasted "weird." I was only too happy to take it off her hands. 

Near Austin, we stopped at Natural Bridge Caverns, where we all marveled over the stalactites and stalagmites, and over the unnerving sensation of total darkness. 

When we came back out, we found that the ice in the cake cooler had turned to hot water. My stomach lurched. What if the food had spoiled? After all that work? 

"It'll be fine," Ethan said.

And he was right. We ate all of it, and we lived to tell about it. But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

After we'd driven through tiny downtown Kyle and down a two lane road that tapered to gravel, and after Allyson had opened and re-latched two big gates, at last we came to our 1840s log cabin. All the females squealed with delight. (I'm not sure if Ethan made any sound because I was too caught up in the rapture.) See for yourself:

 After we'd exclaimed over the tiny living room, kitchenette, and master bedroom and bath, Allyson asked, "But where's the second bedroom?"

Oh boy. Maybe an oven wasn't the only thing missing in this quaint cabin! That church bench in the picture above was the only semblance of a couch.

"Oh, here it is!" Allyson said. Indeed, tucked in the corner was a wooden box of sorts, and inside that was a scary cross between a ladder and a stair case. Each step was a narrow slat of wood that creaked under our weight.

In this sharply peaked room, the original cabin owner had raised 17 children over the course of three marriages! 

Despite the inconvenience of the impossibly tiny fridge (concealed behind a curtain that kept getting shut in the door), the shallow sink, and the tiny microwave (behind the green shutters below), I had to admit I could see the appeal of this authentic 1840s kitchen.

I imagined myself cooking for 17 children in that fireplace (though I'm sure they didn't all live here at the same time). Her kids must have been way, way more helpful, I concluded.

Allyson was pretty helpful!

Allyson insisted on the bonnet and apron,
though I'm pretty sure they were just for looks. 

One of my favorite moments came while I rocked in the cane-bottomed chair, wondering if that other mother ever felt as hopelessly worn out as I do most days. Just then, Allyson coiled herself on my lap, knees touching her chin, arms wrapped around me, with her cheek pressed against my heart. Did that mother ever experience such sharp sweetness when a little one crawled in her lap? A lump gathered in my throat as I recognized this as one of those moments that I always pray to enjoy, one at a time [in the Serenity Prayer, which I recite each Tuesday while we all hold hands in a giant, misshapen circle].

Allyson and Savannah's favorite moments were probably feeding the funny donkeys that followed us everywhere. Savannah even forgave this cheeky one for accidentally biting her hand while she fed it grain that the cabin owners had left for us. 

We convinced ourselves that the one below was pregnant, though I bet she was just fat. We all pressed a hand to her side each day, feeling for donkey kicks, but we never felt anything. We did get to watch another mama nurse her adolescent baby, which was funny because when she wasn't in the mood for nursing, she nipped her big baby's bottom. Even funnier was the time when the cheeky donkey squeezed through the chained gate and into our cabin yard, and then all the others followed. 

Aside from an amazing day at the giant Schlitterbahn waterpark, which even I enjoyed immensely, the rest of the vacation did not go as planned. Turns out that the Hill Country region of Texas is way larger than I'd imagined. Many of the attractions clustered so closely around the town of Kyle were actually two to three hours away! 

It didn't really matter. It wasn't really the "memorable" touristy things that I will cherish. No, it was the odd, unpredictable moments: 

• Dozing on two grassy beach towels in the shade of towering cypress trees at Blue Hole while the kids jumped in and out of the bone-chilling, spring-fed water. Only half hearing their muted shrieks, I savored the gentle sun as I remembered the jolt of that water after they convinced me to jump off the dock, and after I made myself jump off the rope swing just to prove that I could. 

• Walking along the dry river bed and attempting to skip rocks in the brackish water that remained in one small hollow. And then laughing nervously over all three kids' fear when they ran from a boar that was rooting in the brush. (They all abandoned me, for the record.) 

• Forcing the kids to help me wash dishes in that tiny sink. We made a great, if reluctant, team. 

• Playing Dutch Blitz at the antique table by pale lamplight. Allyson wanted to quit after Savannah and I won the first two games, but after she won the third, she wanted to play again to break the tie. I said no; now we were all winners. (Ethan was up in the loft. He's too cool for games.) 

• Reading the Bible aloud in the loft while simultaneously scratching both Ethan's and Savannah's backs, with a bit of help from Allyson. 

• Window shopping in the picturesque town of Wimberley. I couldn't believe that even Ethan enjoyed that. I was even more surprised when he and Allyson enthusiastically dug through the clothing racks at a thrift shop and walked away with some crazy-cheap treasures. I'm glad they aren't too proud for thrift shop clothes. 

• Sitting alone on the front porch in the mornings, with lowing cattle and joyous birds for company, surrounded by more trees than my eyes could drink in. God met with me there in the stillness, and He quieted me. The only fly in the ointment was being deviled by all the bugs in the great outdoors. On the last morning, I almost fell out of my chair at the approach of a whirring insect nearly the size of my fist... that turned out to be an exquisitely delicate hummingbird! As I watched breathlessly, it drank nectar from a bush just off the porch and then hovered over a bloom in the hanging basket above my little table. I don't think I'd ever seen a hummingbird in person, outside a zoo, and I was enthralled, warmed by this kindness from my Father. Again, I wanted to store up this one beautiful moment. 

• Ethan's amazing helpfulness as we packed up on the last morning. He kept us on schedule for our 11:00 checkout and effortlessly loaded the trunk, with room to spare. 

The best moment of all may have been a quick prayer that last morning with my sobbing daughter. Everyone else had gotten to choose a day's activity, but we couldn't do what she wanted to do because there just wasn't time to drive to the lake, and the rest of us didn't want to drive all the way home in soggy bathing suits. I held Allyson close on that church bench couch and prayed that God would lead us to an activity we could all enjoy, and that He would help us to appreciate this last day together. I asked that He would help Allyson let go of her disappointment so she could enjoy His plans for us. 

In the car, I told her to choose between McKinney Falls (her original choice) and the Austin Nature Preserve, which was Ethan's suggestion. She pondered the choice soberly and then graciously agreed to the preserve. I was so proud of her.

I can't imagine anything we would have enjoyed more. There was a tiny, fun museum with hands-on science experiments and fossils we could touch. There were displays of rescued animals including an adorable raccoon and several birds of prey. There were rugged nature trails with amazing views. And it was all free! 

Here we are atop a brick ledge overlooking downtown Austin, far below. 

Do you see that? Even Ethan is smiling! And sweet, gracious Allyson is having the most fun of all. 

As hard as it was to let go of our too-short vacation, it was a gentle joy to return to my beloved home and wonderful neighborhood. I am blessed beyond anything I could have imagined. 

They Don't Miss Nothin'

Disclaimer: This story might shock a few of you. Feel free to bail out if you feel uncomfortable at any time. However, chances are that none of you is more of a prude than me, and if I survived the  actual experience, you can probably survive reading about it. I'll go easy on you, which is more than I can say for my masseuse yesterday. But I'm getting ahead of myself....


On Friday we celebrated my sister Amy's 50th birthday. True to form, I didn't even think about what I might buy for Amy until that morning. On the way to Allyson's summer day camp, I asked her for ideas.


"Gently used kids' tattoos?" [Leftover from her belated birthday party the night before; more on that soon.]


"Um... no."


I thought about it off and on through the day, but all I could come up with was a massage. The only problem was that, according to Amy, I promised her a massage for another birthday a couple years back and then forgot about it. So how could I promise her another now?


I prayed about it, but still came up with nothing. Before long, I was off to the party empty-handed.


While Amy opened the presents that other people so thoughtfully purchased or even made, I stood around feeling like a pretty crappy little sister. Okay, so I'd offer her a massage, and we'd schedule it right on the spot. But when? The next several weekends were booked....


Just then, I tuned into a conversation between my sister Melody and her friend Dana. They planned to go to the King Spa the next day. Melody and her husband Joe had been talking about this Korean bath house for years, and I'd always been curious about it, but not curious enough to spend the money.


The gears spun in my head for a moment. Hmm. What if Amy and I went along? It could be a sisters' day. A sisters' and friends' day. But I could hardly buy Amy a massage and not also buy myself one. What would I do while the rest of them got pampered?


"It isn't in the budget," I thought.


"Be quiet, Dave Ramsey," I answered. "Amy only turns 50 once. And I could use a massage, too."


"...and it's pretty cheap," Melody told Dana.


Those were the magic words, though I later learned that "cheap" is all a matter of perspective.

A Big Enough Blanket

This year, I wasn't looking forward to the Christmas season at all. In my mind Christmas was all about family traditions, and it seemed that most of those were pretty much wrecked.

What I dreaded most was decorating the tree. Part of me wanted to skip it this year, but I knew that wasn't an option. So on the weekend of Thanksgiving, Allyson and I went to Walmart with my sister Amy to pick out a $39 pre-lit tree, a pretty star, and a $2.50 tree skirt.

On the first Sunday in December, I sorted through a box of memories, about twelve years' worth of ornaments. That was hard on me, but fun for Allyson as she asked the history of each decoration. We took about half and saved the rest for Bill. And then the two of us wrestled that sparse tree together.

After dinner, just as we were about to start decorating, Ethan calmly asked if I could bring some towels. Why? Because the toilet was overflowing. I raced into the hall to find rivers of dirty water flowing across the tile to the carpet. "Jiggle the handle!" I shrieked as I flung open the linen closet and pulled out all the towels.

"I tried that but--"

"Jiggle the handle!" I repeated.

He obeyed, and the water stopped.

"I'm sorry, I--"

I tossed him a beach towel as I hit my knees with my own towel. "Just soak it all up as fast as you can."

Twenty minutes later, after I'd thrown every towel we own into the wash and mopped the bathroom floor twice, I called the kids out to the living room to decorate the tree. I had to laugh, because I felt about as Christmasy as... the Grinch.

At that point, Allyson pointed out that we had no eggnog. "We always drink eggnog when we decorate the tree," she said. (I'm clearly not the only one who's hung up on traditions.)

"I'm sorry, but Ethan drank it all and I forgot to buy more," I said.

"Can't you go to the store?" Ethan asked.

"No! I'm not going to the store!" I snapped. In a softer, more reasonable tone, I added, "It's almost Allyson's bedtime."

So I got on the Internet and found a recipe for homemade eggnog. Another 15 minutes later, I presented each kid with a frothy mug of deliciousness and cholesterol. For tradition's sake, I had a token serving even though I usually avoid both eggs and dairy.

Allyson took two swallows and said it was okay, but she was full, thank you. Ethan took one swallow and said it was gross, not at all like the kind they sell at Braum's.

"This is wayy better than that gloppy store-bought stuff," I protested.

"Nnhhh," they replied.

I couldn't possibly waste such amazing eggnog, so naturally I drank both of their servings. And now I had a bellyache to go along with all of my other aggravations.

At first, Ethan sat on the couch and watched us hang the ornaments. "That's a pretty crappy tree," he commented.

"It's a cheap tree," I agreed. "But I think it's cute. It's a Charlie Brown tree."

"What's a Charlie Brown tree?" both kids asked.

"Oh, you guys have got to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas," I replied. (Allyson and I did, on Christmas Eve.)

When Allyson asked if she could hang his ornaments, Ethan finally got off the couch. In the end, the tree looked pretty sweet, especially with the two of them beside it.

That evening, we started a new tradition, the Jesse Tree. Each of the 24 nights leading up to Christmas, we sang "O Come Emmanuel," read a story of a person in Jesus's family tree, and hung an ornament. Actually, we stopped hanging ornaments after we ran out of ornament hooks and paper clips. But we thoroughly enjoyed the singing and the stories. (To be more accurate, Ethan only tolerated the singing.) On Christmas Eve, we read the story of Jesus's birth and then sang "Silent Night."

After Allyson had gone to bed on the night we decorated the tree, I started another new tradition. Before, my favorite part of decorating the tree was admiring it afterward over a glass of wine, hand-in-hand with my sweetheart. I thought of sharing this tradition with Allyson, but school was already going to come way too early the next morning. And Ethan? Not happening.

"Oh, Lord," I prayed. "This hurts. But I know that I am not alone. Will you sit with me?"

So I poured myself a splash of wine and sat in the darkened living room in front of the tree. I thanked Jesus for coming to dwell with us. I thanked him for my family and all of our memories. I asked him for peace, and then I rested in it.

The next evening, I went to a ladies' dinner at my friend Leisa's church, along with two of our coworkers. The speaker was Kelly Minter, a Bible study author and singer. She read the story of Mary visiting her Aunt Elizabeth, who was pregnant at a very old age with John the Baptist (Luke 1). Kelly pointed out Elizabeth's words: "The Lord has done this for me." Of course, John's conception was part of God's plan to change the world for all of us, for John came to prepare the way for the Messiah. But the fact that He did it for all of us in no way detracts from the fact that He also did this wonderful thing for Elizabeth, who'd suffered decades of shame because of her barrenness.

Kelly urged us to take the Christmas story personally, to realize that God gave us Jesus because He wanted to be near each of us, individually. I pondered her words as I sang "Oh Come Let Us Adore Him," hand-in-hand with my three friends. In that moment, I thrilled to the true meaning of Christmas as never before. Oh, I'd always known it was all about Jesus, but.... (How can I explain this?) Because I rejoice in my salvation all through the year, to me Christmas had always been more about family traditions than about the Christmas story itself.

How foolish that seemed now. What did it matter if I couldn't celebrate all the same traditions in exactly the same way? Didn't I need Jesus, God-With-Us, more than ever this year? All the way home, I marveled that the Savior of the world knows my name, that He delights in spending time with me. Just then, I had an inkling that I would do far more than just survive this Christmas season.

Fran, Leisa, Me, Lisa

The lesson at Celebrate Recovery the next evening added to my Christmas joy. We reflected on grace, and what it had meant in our recovery. One lady compared grace to a coat that covered not only herself, but also her son. Another lady called it a blanket in this cold world. My tears splashed down as I realized what had been bothering me most about all of our broken traditions.

In all that I've gone through the last year and a half, I've never been bitter because I know I'm simply reaping what I sowed years ago. It's not that I'm being punished, but that I am experiencing the natural consequence of my past choices. This brings me comfort because I know that my future is being written by the better choices that I'm making now. But I have big regrets for my children, who are reaping what they did not sow. And that hurts even more now, when I cherish my own childhood Christmas memories.

In that open sharing circle, understanding dawned! If God's grace can cover my own sins, can it not also cover my children? His grace is a big enough blanket for all of us!

I basked in that truth for days, but at times my sorrow was still sharp. One night I was brushing my teeth when a wave of grief struck without warning. On the floor of my prayer closet, I asked God for signs of his love. "I need my manna, like you gave me before."

Throughout the Christmas season, God answered that prayer in beautiful ways. For example, when I cried at the thought of filling my own stocking this year, my friend Gentle informed me that she'd had a call from Santa, and I was not to worry about my stocking; he had it under control. And she also offered to come and help me wrap presents, another thing I'd been dreading.

When she arrived a few nights later to be our personal Santa's elf, what did she find on our porch but a box from Santa himself! Allyson gaped at the inscription: "To Sarah. Do not open until Christmas. From Santa."

Oh, how that mystery tormented her over the next couple of weeks (and me, by extension). Why would Santa send me a box? What was in there, and why didn't he just bring it on the sleigh? Most importantly, did the box contain goodies for herself? It was literally her first waking thought nearly every morning.

Allyson was briefly distracted by our tradition of making marshmallows and handing them out to our neighbors. This year, at her suggestion, we used tiny cookie cutters to make Christmas shapes. This worked out well because that meant we got to eat all the crazy scraps ourselves.

I'll pass on a little wisdom we learned this year: never buy treat boxes at the dollar store. Just don't. It took about 30 minutes and a ridiculous amount of Scotch tape to put together seven boxes (which should have been eight).

Allyson in the Marshmallow Sweat Shop

My next bit of manna came at a Moms in Prayer meeting one Wednesday morning. I confided that I'd been struggling, and the other moms prayed fervently over me. Victoria prayed, "We know this is not Sarah's portion. No, you came to bring peace and grace. You delight in giving good gifts, and you came to set our sister free." As they prayed, it seemed that a physical weight was lifted as I felt God's love wrapping around me, that blanket of grace.

And then there was my family's gift exchange, this past Saturday. When my 16-year-old niece Hillary set a large gift bag at my feet, I eyed her quizzically; we don't usually give gifts to the adults.

"It's a present," she said.

"For me?"

She nodded.

"From who?"

"From me."

"You're going to make me cry," I said, as my vision blurred.

She laughed. "You haven't even opened it yet."

My curiosity mounted as I waited for all the kids to open their many gifts, and then Mom and Dad, too. (It was almost as bad as Allyson's suspense over the Santa box.) At last, Hillary said it was time to open her gift.

With trembling hands, I drew out a purple canvas with a cross on it. When I read the verse, I began to sob. "I told you she would cry," my sister Emily said. And then I was laughing and crying at the same time.

Me, Emily, and the Best Christmas Gift Ever

The reason I cried so much was because, on a walk with Jesus a couple of months before, I'd asked God to help me let go of some negative thoughts that kept plaguing me. "I need a scripture that-"

The answer came before I could even complete my thought: "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine." Since then, that verse has come to mind over and over. And I'd been searching for scripture art featuring that verse to hang over my bed. But the only thing I'd found was a black and red plaque that totally clashed with my purple decor. Frustrated and disappointed, I asked God to please help me find the perfect piece so that I could have that daily reminder that I am His.

Around the middle of November, Hillary and her sister Savannah asked about my favorite scripture. I gave them several, and I also mentioned to Hillary that I wanted Solomon 6:3 for my room.

A week or so after that, Hillary was assigned an art project at school, to paint a place that had meaning for her. She decided on the cross. (Hallelujah!!) And then she decided to give it to me, for my room. But she couldn't remember which verse I'd wanted. So she asked her Aunt Amy to find out for her. Which explains why Amy randomly texted me one morning and asked for my favorite verse. I'm sure I gave her several because it's impossible to choose just one, but thankfully Hillary was able to remember which one I wanted.

And that is how Hillary came to paint the very verse that I asked God to help me find for my room. It was her very first painting, and she chose to give it to me!

The Beautiful Artist and Her Beloved Aunt

"I think this is the best gift anyone ever gave me," I said. "I know I will treasure this for the rest of my life."

And then I smiled all the way home, and all the way through cleaning my disaster of a kitchen. I was smiling when I fell into bed at 1:00 a.m., and smiling when I woke up the next morning. And each time I think about it, I still smile. I suspect I always will.

One more story before I call it a night.... On Christmas Eve, it took so long for Allyson to fall asleep that I feared I might fall asleep myself and then Santa wouldn't come. Around 11, I started on their two stockings. With a pang of guilt because I knew how Allyson had been looking forward to opening that Santa box, I cut it open with a steak knife. Inside was the most gorgeous stocking I'd ever seen and a gift bag. I set both on the hearth without so much as a peek and left the opened box next to the fireplace.

In the morning, after announcing that Santa's cookies were gone, Allyson asked, "Why is the Santa box open?"

I pressed my lips together and feigned interest in the apple pancakes I was pouring (which she was far too excited to eat). "I guess Santa must have opened it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Sometimes things just remain a mystery, Allyson."

"Oh," she said. And then exploring her stocking drove away all her questions.

Her Favorite Santa Gift

After breakfast, I opened my own gifts. They were full of treats and little treasures that made me feel so loved. But the best part was that every item was emblazoned with a scripture. That stocking and gift bag were chock full of treasure!

Stocking on Left

Oh no, I didn't just survive Christmas! Surely I will look back on this season as the most special ever. What did I ever do to deserve such love? Nothing. And that's what makes it so precious.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Santa's Workshop Event at Allyson's School