After a long, cold winter, I’ve really been looking forward to the warmth of spring.  I’m anxious to see the stark, brown, weary landscape around me turn green; I’m straining my ears to hear the first night peepers celebrating that the new season has finally arrived.  There is such a wonderful sense of anticipation in the air! One thing I was not looking forward to, however, was shelling out more money for car repair.

A couple of years ago my family was blessed by someone who had heard we were in great need of a car so that my teenage son could learn how to drive (I was not prepared to give him driving lessons in our 15-passenger van!).  We were so excited to have a secondary mode of transportation, and it has aided us very well each and every day for the past two years, allowing all of the kids to get to their perspective lessons, jobs, and after-school activities.

Being an older model (1991), it’s had its share of setbacks and has spent more hours with my trusty mechanics than I care to count.  That, I suppose, is to be expected.  So when it started to lurch and grumble and complain about its geriatric aches and pains once again last week, it was back to the auto “ER” for us.  I had expected to hear that the battery was dying (we had already planned for it to be replaced); I had expected to hear that possibly the fuel pump was dead (since on that last day, we barely managed to get it up the steep road to our driveway).  But I was not, in any way, prepared for the grim news that awaited me last Thursday when my mechanic made the dreaded call…

“I hate to have to tell you this…” he began.  “As a matter of fact, I was dreading calling you...I’m afraid your engine is no longer holding any compression and it can’t be repaired.”  

I sat back in my chair, speechless.  Really??  So soon?  I mean, I know that the car was old--that it had many miles on it--but when I bought it, I was reassured that this model and make should run for years yet.  I had complete confidence that we were to share a lot of experiences and memories for a long time to come.  It had already seen one of my boys obtain that all-coveted driver’s license, and had taken that same grown-up son to his first real job.  It had weathered two more teenagers’ stops and starts as they too learned how to drive.  It’s shared many sunsets and sunrises as family members have reached their destinations at all times of day (and night).  So how could this have happened?  Why now?

And that’s just what I asked my mechanic.  “But how?  Did we do something to damage it?”

“It’s really hard to say...these things happen all the time, but I’ve yet to see it with this model.  I’m actually really surprised--it was the last part I expected to see go,” was his apologetic reply.

We spoke a while longer.  After hanging up the phone, I sat pondering my new predicament...Great...that’s just great...like I don’t have enough bills to pay.  How am I supposed to replace this car, God?  I implored the heavens.  I can’t even fathom where I’m going to come up with enough money. I was so frustrated...worried...defeated.

The past few days has been spent coming up with ways to raise the funds I need.  I really need to replace the car since I can only drive my son the 40-mile round trip to work for so long while still trying to maintain the rest of my busy schedule.  And, as you might be hoping to hear, God has heard my grumbles, my complaints, my cries...He’s even heard my doubts that He could pull yet another rabbit out of His hat.  And, despite the outcry of my childish human nature, He has blessed me with just the right amount of money to secure a replacement, which I hope to have very soon.

But, in the meantime, my almost “too good to be true” mechanics offered me to scrap my old car, salvage any parts they could, and give me the money for it, or put it towards another car (they buy cars from auction and fix them up to sell).  I was all for it!  Anything to help me find a replacement and to help my life return to normal--well, normal for me, anyway :)

So imagine my surprise--and great annoyance--when I brought my other vehicle, my van, in to the same mechanics’ shop yesterday to have some routine work done on it, to spy my loyal old car still sitting on their lot.  They had yet to take it to the metal yard.  I saw that my belongings were still in it, and I offered to take them all now since I was there, to make it easier on them.  And as I opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat for one last time, I took in the familiar smell of it, running my fingers over the dash.  I found the keychain and began to remove my mail key from it, which was fast becoming a difficult task due to the unexpected blurry view through my now watery eyes.  I chastised myself.  Come on, pull it together--you can do this--it’s just a hunk of metal, after all. Somehow, I managed to go through the car and pick up everything of importance: a water bottle, a coffee mug, two phone charging cords, various papers, a shiny silver windshield protector, the jumper cables in the trunk, and the entire contents of the glove compartment.

I chucked them all into the passenger’s seat of my van, thanked and paid the mechanics for their services, and got the hell out of there as fast as I could before my emotions took hold of me once again.  I sobbed half the way home, wondering if, in fact, I had truly gone mad.  I still couldn’t figure out why I was so upset about leaving that old car behind.  But then suddenly it was all painfully clear:  I had just relieved my last day with my late husband.

I sat there, driving blindly, recounting that terrible day and its events in sequence.  And I discovered way too many parallels: coming home that morning to find the EMTs preparing to take Bill to the hospital by ambulance/having the car towed away; preparing myself to take on the particulars of what was wrong with Bill as I awaited the myriad of tests performed at the ER/doing the same with the car as I awaited the mechanic’s call; finding out that it was not just a serious problem, but that there was little to no hope of survival in both cases.  

The comparisons extended ridiculously poignantly after this.  Now, as I stood beside my mechanics, discussing which parts of the car might be salvageable to fix other cars’ ailments, I remembered a sobering conversation that I had had at the hospital years ago with a member of an organization that locates organs for donation.  Although Bill had not indicated as such on his driver’s license, I was absolutely sure he would have wanted to donate his organs, so I made the decision to release his body to these people, praying that they could use my loss for someone else’s (or many other patients’) gain--to extend their lives.

Finally, as I loaded what was left of the contents of the car into my van, I vividly remember walking out of the hospital that cold late winter’s night, nine-and-a-half months pregnant, carrying a pair of Bill’s shoes and a plastic bag filled with the clothes he had been wearing that day in my arms, and remarking in a stunned, surreal sort of way to my friends who were with me, “But I still have his shoes...he’s going to need his shoes to get home…”

So, it was the unexpected that rocked my world, in a major way seven years ago, and in a smaller fashion this past week.  In both cases, I had asked myself the same really hard question: “How am I supposed to meet the needs of my family now, by myself?”  Where there had once been two vehicles to transport us and meet our needs and to fulfill our plans, now there was only one; where they had once been two people to love and care for our family, two people to dream of “someday” and to plan out our goals and desires, now there was only one.  That thought really resonated through me yesterday...I get so weary constantly worrying about making the right decisions for my family, about trying to make sure each person gets what they need and want, about how some changes far too slowly come to fruition, while others seem to sweep through maddeningly swiftly and mercilessly.

But always, there is finally heard that small, quiet voice in my head.  “Are you truly alone?  Have I ever caused something or allowed something to enter into your life without providing for you?”

“Of course you haven’t,” I answer.  And it is true.  Never have I walked a step on this earth without God knowing where it would take me.  It doesn’t mean that making the journey is easy.  But I have to remind myself that sometimes it is in the small steps we see ourselves taking that eventually become big leaps when we stop and look back at where we’ve been.  I’ll be glad when today is just a small step to reflect on as I once again readjust...new car, new direction, new hope in the One that never fails me...

The Cusp of Midnight

Check my watch: it's the eleventh hour
Keep my eyes on the skies
Where is the answer?
Is it in sun's blinding light piercing my watering eyes?
Or is in moon's pale coolness as it washes out skin to a ghost of itself?

All the noise is carried away on the wind.
All except the ticking of the clock.
Eleven and thirty
And still no signs
But still I look up.

Eleven and forty-five.
Minutes tick away, pulling beats from my heavy heart
as I sit and wait;
A vow to keep hope inside this fragile vessel
To prevent its seepage through the cracks.

Eleven and fifty-six
Finds me no longer silent
but screaming to the trees
They have no answer, shushing my sharp cries with their dry leaves whispering in the cool air.
Not even their deceiving painted faces can convince me to lift my gaze back to them.

 I begin to embrace my abandonment,
Wringing out my pain like a filth-soaked rag,
Finally bringing the ugliness out for airing;
 for the earth to take from me.
I watch as the sad water squeezes through ruined cloth
and runs down the rocks like tears.

I listen for the ticking, but it has ceased.
Eleven and fifty-nine
and you are there
in the warm embrace of the sun
in the calm of moon's light
in the comforting hushing of the trees' autumn leaves
in the accepting earth below my feet
sifting through my offering of pain.
You are here
reminding me
I cannot earn grace.
It surrounds me although I refuse to take it.
And you wait
for me to breathe in its endless supply...

My new favorite animal...if you are here hoping to see an inspiring blog about my past year, please accept my apologies...Of course there have been many lessons learned, many adventures traveled, but I'm just not in the right place to contemplate them now...

Some years this day is harder than others, and I suppose this year has gotten the better of me...But I put up this picture in the hope that it will inspire me to keep pressing on to the future...Hopefully there will be an equally inspiring blog post to follow in the near future...

Thank you all for your prayers and encouraging words and support--as always, I am blessed beyond measure~especially blessed by my children who are the life in me <3

God bless you all~~

I Got Your Back

Although we are celebrating the beginning of summer (appropriately so with this heat wave we've been having in NE), I find myself looking back a bit to spring...I missed most of it as it flew past my car window, a blur of green and streams of rain on my windshield. The past two months have been spent getting kids to and from classes, activities, and outings, ballet concerts, homeschool prom, and driver's ed.  In the beginning of May, I was blessed to have the opportunity to visit my family in Ohio, which was a retreat from reality (not in all good ways, but nevertheless, a retreat).  But since returning home, I have felt like I hit the ground running and didn't stop until about a week and a half ago!  Now that I've had some time to catch up on my sanity-and sleep-I can finally have a clear enough head to write again...

Where was I?  Oh yes-spring.  I want to write about spring, because I want to talk about how all the animals wake up and celebrate the new season. With spring, comes life, and ironically, usually depression for me.  I have always struggled with the Easter season far more than the Christmas one, the obvious reason being Bill's dying in March.  Easter is one of the most important of Christian holidays, but it is not as if my family had any special traditions that were broken after Bill left us. Still, to this day, it is torturous for me to sit through an Easter service at church because of the sadness it brings me.  Here, I should be celebrating the Resurrection, and the fact that because of that momentous event, Bill got to beat death as well as Christ.  But all I feel is an emptiness-a sorrow that life is bursting forth all around me, in both the physical and spiritual realms, but Bill isn't here to share that with me.  

Anyone who lives this far from the equator appreciates the coming of spring with a special fervor--no, "appreciate" isn't a strong enough word.  We cherish the coming of spring, because the winters here are typically so relentlessly long and unforgiving.  So when those first crocuses push through the snow, shortly to be followed by warm, cleansing rain and tens of thousands of tiny green leaves stretching out from their winter encasings, I get a great sense of anticipation.  

Then comes one of my most favorite things about spring--the peepers, as we call them here.  You know peepers--they make those wonderful first sounds of the night, chirping their declaration that spring is here and summer is soon to follow.  Every year in the evenings, starting some time in early May, when I am out driving, I will roll down my windows, no matter how chilly the air might still be, and strain to listen for those first little swamp-dwellers.  And when I finally hear them, it is truly my spring music!

One of my other most favorite things about spring is lilac season.  It's called our state's official flower for a reason--they are very prolific in our region, and I am so blessed to be able to live here to witness it.  They bring forth the most beautiful  shades, some lavender, others white; but my favorite color is the more rare deep, almost burgundy violet blossoms some of the plants produce.  Their heady fragrance is quite intoxicating!  I have a lovely lilac bush in my back yard.  Bill bought it for me about 7 years ago.  He brought it home from work one day, after seeing them for sale at a local plant nursery.  I was so touched that he remembered how much I loved them :)  I planted it that day, but it didn't produce any blossoms that year, nor did any flowers appear the next.  The first year it bloomed was around Mother's Day in 2007, just a couple of months after he had died.  It brought me such joy to see those first purple flowers, because I felt somehow that Bill had given them to me as a very special Mother's Day gift :)

So what about those animals?  Sorry, I guess I digressed a bit...Spring is also filled with animals, getting busy building nests, foraging for food, and making babies.  And they are everywhere!  Deer, moose, ducks, birds of all kinds.  Even the insects are swarming--regretfully--but I just have to remind myself that they do, at least, contribute to the food chain, even if that means I'm a part of that chain that they use for food-lol!  Anyhow, it seems lately my kids and I have had many unusual animal sitings.  One day we were driving into town and a man had pulled over to the side of the road.  He was out of his red pick-up truck, waving us down to stop.  He was in the middle of trying to rescue a huge snapping turtle from the certain death of oncoming traffic.  He had pulled a shovel out of the back of his truck, and was, unsuccessfully, trying to move the stubborn  reptile out of the middle of the road.  It was quite humorous to watch--he would gently shove the turtle, only to have it push back and snap at the shovel.  Finally he ended up overturning the thing onto its shell.  After righting it again, the turtle was really angry, but eventually allowed himself to be moved to safety.  Hmm...this sounds like a lesson in and of itself about trying to bite the hand that feeds it, but that will have to wait for another post...

On another day, just this past week, we were once again stopped by traffic, this time in the form of baby turkeys.  Now, wild turkeys run rampant around here, and most of us make jokes about "gettin' some Thanksgiving dinner," as they are not very bright animals, and often annoying.  But baby turkeys, well, there is just no disputing that they are very fluffy and cute, as all baby animals should be!  So one mother turkey had already escorted about 10 or so chicks across the road, but another  was now walking across, turning her head back to watch for her own babies.  They came trotting across, one...two...three...The mother, however, stayed by the side of the road, looking back towards where they had just come from.  There must be more babies.  Yep, there were, but they were too skittish to venture onto the pavement, so mama turkey took matters into her own, er, wings, and strutted back out into the road and stopped, right in front of my car, as if to say, "ain't NOBODY messin' with my youngin's! It was really funny to watch!  Finally she retreated to the first side of the road to be with the babies and I was released to finish my travels...

And the very next day, near the same stretch of road, two older gentleman, standing in a nearby yard, began waving frantically at me to slow down.  Once again, I stopped to see what all the fuss was about.  And there, about 100 yards or so in front of me, were the silhouettes of two very wriggly otters!  I wish they had been in the sunlight so I could see them more clearly (I had never seen otters in the wild before), but still they were very lively and fun to watch.  

Are you still with me out there?  I know I'm taking a very long time to get to my point, but I will get there, I promise!

So that brings me back to the animal I want to write about...mourning doves.  I think most of you know what they are, as they apparently thrive all over the US, Canada, and even a bit into Mexico.  But just in case, they are the birds with sand-colored wings who call out with a "oo..OO..oo.oo.oo"  Here's a sample :)

I've always loved these birds, even as a child, because of their unique call.  I never thought if it as a "lament," as their voices are often described, but rather as a happy sound.  And, as it turns out, it IS a happy sound.  It's the males' mating call.  Sometime later, I noticed that I rarely saw just a lone dove, but always two together.  Whether rummaging in the sand, or walking across a road, where there was one, another was sure to be close by.  And, mostly because I'm a quirky girl with odd worries, these birds began affecting my driving.  They like to hang out in people's yards and by roadsides, so they seem to always be about when I'm on the road.  It dawned on me that if I accidentally killed a bird, somewhere nearby, would be its partner, looking on in horror.  I couldn't bear being responsible for that! 

 Honestly, I didn't know much about this particular species and its habits, but today I decided it was worth looking into.  I found out some interesting facts:  mourning doves mate for life.  They are monogamous unless one dies.  In this case, the lone dove will eventually settle down with another mate.  When the male bird impresses his potential mate with much prancing and aerobatic tricks of flight, they begin courting, first by preening each others feathers, then later, by playfully grasping each other's beak.

Now they decide to find a home.  The male bird escorts the female "around town," showing her some options.  She gets to choose the perfect perch for their love nest.  They use teamwork to build their nest.  The male flies off in search of suitable twigs, then brings them back to give to the female to position in the nest.  The funny part is that he actually sits on top of her back and "hands" her the twigs in this fashion.  These birds, however, have a reputation for building very flimsy nests, and sometimes they prefer to move into a nest from a previous owner, such as a robin.

Another interesting fact about mourning doves is that they are very, very fruitful.  Each pair of doves has, on average, six broods a season!  The mother and the father birds are equally responsible for the incubation and care of the eggs/fledglings.  They take turns sitting on the eggs (the father during the day, the mother at night).  And they both feed their newborns.  For the first few days, the babies receive only a rich, fatty, milk-like substance called crop milk, which the parents both produce in the esophagus.  Only after a few days do they begin to feed their young softened seed.  Sadly, as devoted as these parents are, if, at some point, they sense danger, they may leave their eggs unattended and not ever return.

Ok, so your science lesson is done for today...I'm ready to make my analogy :)

It is amazing to find, in nature, habits and lifestyles so similar to humans.  It is a beautiful part of creation, that we are all linked in some way.  I love that, like humans, these birds carefully choose their mate, take the time for courtship, and work as a team to build their home and care for their young.  It's a true partnership--not like other species, where one parent is left to birth and raise their young, or even worse, species who don't even stick around for the birth (eggs to hatch, that is).  Oh, don't get me wrong, these species are all simply acting within their God-given nature.  But I am just fascinated by the ones who we can relate to.  The ones who love for a lifetime.  The ones for whom life must go on if they lose a mate.  I can obviously appreciate that process.  I have been blessed to have had a true partner in life--we did everything as a team.  Yes, sometimes one or the other had to bear the heavier load or the bulk of the work, but in the end, we did it for the bigger picture:  to learn, laugh, and love one another and the family God blessed us with.  I am very thankful that I was not left behind intentionally to raise my young on my own, but that God has given me the strength to do just that.  Of course, they say "it takes a village," and I feel I DO have my own little village of wonderful, loving, supportive people to stand by me as I take on the challenge.  As the mourning doves adapt to life's curveballs (broken nests, the loss of loved ones, finding "love" again), I am doing my best to adapt to mine.  So far, my batting average is holding steady, but there are days when I need someone else to pinch hit for me.  And I hope, in the future, this lost bird that I have became, may find another to share a life with; one who is also looking for a mate to soar the skies with...don't think I'm up to any more broods, though...just sayin' ;)

                                          Photograph by Alan And Elaine Wilson

                                         

                                 "I got your back"  :) :)

River God By:Nicole Nordeman

Our Place in the Water

Today would have been Bill's 43rd birthday.  It's a good day.  A day to celebrate a father and a husband, a brother and a son.  We are so blessed to have so many happy memories of him to share.  I am so thankful for all of the kind thoughts and prayers of those who have commented and posted on facebook.  Thank you so much for sharing his special day!

I decided to take advantage of our earlier-than-usual spring weather and went for a walk this morning.  I took a different route than usual, choosing the muddy, pothole-ridden path of dirt road that winds around the back of the lake.  It was a bit more challenging than the smooth paved road I normally walk, but I figured it would be more conducive to quiet meditation: fewer cars, fewer people to feel obligated to connect with.  I just wanted some quiet time alone...

I pulled up one of my favorite Nichole Nordeman songs called "River God" and listened to it a few times.  I have liked this song for many years and have heard it performed beautifully in a way that touched my heart by a friend from long ago.  Once in a while I listen to it and realize the words will always ring true throughout my life on this earth.

Have you ever held a "river rock?"  These are rocks that have become completely sanded and smoothed by years of water and sand washing over them as they lay in the deep river bed, or ocean bay, depending on where you are...River rocks are almost soothing to the touch, aren't they?  They are a pleasure to hold and run your fingers along, unlike rocks found on other terrain.  The latter have rough sides and sometimes sharp, jagged edges.  Trying to "pet" a rock like that won't bring much pleasure or peace--at best maybe a scratch or two.

The song address the topic of change.  Not the sudden  "turn your world upside-down and you've got to do something about it right now" kind of change, but rather the type of change that takes a lifetime to really embrace.  It's been five years since my world changed rather drastically on a dime, and I've spent that time trying desperately to seek, find, and conquer the changes that I need and want to happen in my life.  Often I try to look back and reflect on a period of a few weeks or months to find evidence of good changes in my attitudes and habits and reactions to things.  And I get impatient at my apparent "lack of results."  

In her song, Nichole speaks of God being the one who occasionally picks up and inspects the river stones, feeling them for more rough edges and cracks, and carefully settling them back into the deep of the riverbed, to endure more time of rushing icy waters and the refining abrasive sand.  Maybe I've been trying to do too many inspections by myself.  And maybe by doing so, I'm not giving myself enough time to be "weathered" by the elements God put in my path.  Perseverance...my teacher, my annoying, nagging teacher.  I'm not a very willing student.  I've always been a more "product-oriented" person who gains more satisfaction and gratification in the completion of something, rather than the "process-oriented" types who gain more from the process and are often fulfilled long before the end (if they even bother to finish).   But I can't help feeling like I'm taking myself out of the process too often, too soon, to appreciate the subtle changes that actually are happening.

Picture yourself back in school, sitting at a desk in one of the most boring, tedious classes you ever had to endure.  You are fortunate enough to be sitting near an open window, and you can sense the world awakening just outside:  spring birds chirping, chattering about where to build their nests; the smell of clean on the light breeze blowing in and across the room; the shadows of your hand being cast on your school desk by the warm, inviting sun.  But you look impatiently at the clock on the wall, and you realize you've just barely sat down and have almost an hour to wait to leave.  Sometimes I feel like this classroom is my world, with God as my teacher.  Don't get me wrong--God's the best teacher there is.  But well, let's be honest...sometimes He goes on and on about subjects we'd rather not listen to.  And there can be SO much homework!  Sometimes it seems as though I'll never get a passing grade in this course and I'll be doomed to repeat it over and over, taking and failing the same tests.  Won't I ever get any smarter?  Won't I ever get to move up to the advanced learner's group?  How about spring break or summer vacation?  I don't know about you, but I can get pretty tired of learning lessons, and really just want to bust open the school doors and run free on the playground.  Heck, most days I'd even settle for a hall pass--just a quick study hall or lunch break, please?  Thankfully, I do get to have those, thanks to my wonderful teens who give me the opportunity to "run away and play" for the day with one of my many amazing friends.  I am so grateful for those passes, aren't you? 

Yes, vacations would be great, but I know that I can be a stubborn child who just thinks she can't learn anymore and succumbs to allowing the dog to eat her homework so she doesn't have to think about it for another day or two...or ten.  I am so grateful to have a teacher who has invested His whole life in me.  And since He's lived for so long, I know He knows a thing or two about patience...and change...And I know he sees changes in me long before I can sense them myself.  And when I do chance to catch a glimpse of those changes, I realize that I am not static, even if I can't feel myself moving in the water.  We can't ever hope to change the shape of the water, but we can definitely feel the water changing and molding us.  And so that is where I am willing to stay, even if the water is colder than my liking and the view from down here is rather murky.  Even if the occasional bit of dirt gets into my eye.  I think if I try hard enough, I can feel a bit of softening around some of my rougher edges...

I once lamented to the heavens that I would never feel good enough, that I would never have accomplished everything that I was meant to do, and that I was a hopeless case.  The answer was instant: "Well, Kim, if you had already done all I set out for you to do, then you'd be up here, now wouldn't you?"  Oh...that's right...I guess the teacher really does know best...

God bless you all today!

The Five Year Milestone

Well, I decided it was time to visit my blog and sweep out the cobwebs and visit all my blog followers (if there are any of you left--I know it's been a very long time)...

First of all, I want to comment on the video I just posted below.  This song has been a source of hope for me in the past few years.  It is so blunt--the cry of helplessness, of loneliness, and ultimately of hope.  I think it fits where I have been and continue to be...in the shelter of His wings, being carried through the storms of life, protected from its fits and rages.  Sometimes I am stupid enough to walk away--to think that Christ is not enough to make me better or whole.  I have been stubborn and demanding, like a child, but instead of the punishment I so often deserve, I only feel grace that I do not deserve...

So here I am--here my family is--5 years "out" as they say.  What do I say about this?  I confess that over the past year I have barely taken any time to truly stop and meditate on things.  Eight children with burgeoning schedules and demands, being "on-call" literally 24/7, has the effect of numbing exhaustion after a while.  Don't get me wrong, being distracted with my amazing, talented, loving kids is a HUGE blessing.  They keep my focus where it should be most of the time.  But this past year literally feels like a blur--I am simultaneously preparing for driver's ed with one child, and potty-training another, and everything in between.  I'm still waiting for Christmas...seriously...didn't see it come or go this year; it was just a blink of the eye.

And so I must confess here that it was, at times, quite convenient that I didn't have time to think about the past and about missing Bill.  I have met many widows/widowers over the past five years, and even amongst them I often feel like some sort of twisted pioneer.  No, there is definitely no rule book for this one. I read about their heartaches and pain, their anger and fears, and I have shared most, if not all, of those feelings...I wonder if any of them feel this strange sense of living two lives.  I had my life with Bill, years of marriage and babies and business ventures, times shared with my very best friend and lover.  And now I have a second life...the one that has been a crash course in learning how to run a household and family as a single mom.  I look in the mirror and don't see the same person I saw six years ago.  Yes, unfortunately I see more lines on my face and ever-tired eyes and a few gray hairs sneaking their way through my hair, but it's more than that.  I am different deep inside.  

And while we are on confessions, I am ashamed to say that I don't dwell on thoughts of him, or even have many dreams about him. Most of the dreams I do have of Bill are not pleasant ones.  They are all versions of the same theme:  For some unexplained reason, he is suddenly alive and well again, and just, well, "there" in my world.  And I am searching for some way to explain to friends and family that he's back.  And I am struggling to find a place for him in my new life.  Sometimes I'm downright angry with him for coming back now.  Upon waking, the painful truth was clear:  He doesn't fit into this new life, and that makes me feel so guilty.  I hear the cries of my fellow grievers, willing to give anything to have their loved ones back.  I felt that way for the longest time.  But now I wrestle with the reality that he would not find the same woman he married.  I am not saying that I am better without him-not at all!  But I am different.  Out of necessity.  Out of the desire to see where I am supposed to go; become who I am supposed to be.  I have believed from the very beginning of this journey that God has had something special planned for me.  Something that I obviously could not do with Bill here on earth (otherwise, he would still be here).  I remember looking heavenward and saying, "Alright, God, I don't know what you were thinking when you ripped my life apart, but now it's up to You to piece it back together."  And He has...and continues to grow me and stretch me in ways I never thought possible.

But back to the "Five Year Mark."  What is it about we humans that we tend to view our lives in roughly five-year blocks?  Year four passed pretty uneventfully, but now comes that ominous "Year Five."   I have pondered over the five-year milestones in my life, and found, ironically, at almost every fifth year, there was a big event centered around it:  At five years old, my parents divorced and my world was rocked (for the first time).  At 10, we survived the "Blizzard of '78" on a highway across Ohio.  At 15, I found myself halfway across the world, leaving my mom for the first time, living with my dad for the first time, and changing the way I viewed the world forever.  At 20 I was "Just Married" and beginning another chapter of my life.  At 25, we moved into a new town and into our first real home.  By the time I was 30, Bill was working in Boston and for the first (and last) time, we had more than enough money to pay the bills and to save for the future.  35 found me working full-time as a transcriptionist and venturing into a home business with Bill.  Then I only got a 3-year breather before all hell broke loose.  

And so at this next notch in my post of life, I look back and am just so amazed at all that has happened in those short years.  I have never felt so much joy and so much pain as I have in these years.  I have never questioned my mortality and my purpose more.  I have never felt more love, support and blessings from the people in my life and from God as I have in these past five years.  I have watched the world change right before my eyes...dear friends whose hearts have been broken, others who have passed onto eternity.  My children are growing up faster than any pervasive weed.  At times, I feel like I've surely aged 10 years instead of five.

In these short years, I have learned how to manage my finances, do my own taxes, refinance a house, oversee home improvement projects, and haggle with different insurance companies.  I have had to humble myself to accept financial aid from the government, family, and friends.  I have had to accept that I can never, ever repay all the kindnesses and sacrifices people have made for me and my family, to secure our survival.  I have felt love's flutterings and stings, and came out better for it.  I have come to the realization that I can do nothing completely by myself, but that I can truly "do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

But here comes a wonderful realization:  I may have two very different parts in my life that seem to be at odds.  But we are a culmination of all of our experiences, right?  God was preparing me for this from a very long time ago.  His gift to me was not just the events that shaped me, but the people who walked alongside me through the years.  Bill may not seem to fit into my present world, but he, unknowingly and lovingly, helped prepare me for the journey.  We laughed, we loved, we fought, we forgave, and we grew together.  And he showed me that it was all right to take risks, to make mistakes, to face my fears.  He gave me courage.  He gave me compassion.  And oh, did he give me patience! :)  He gave me eight beautiful children to love and who love me back.  He gave me the best years of his life.  I am so very, very blessed to have had the gift of his love for so many years.  Because of who I was with him, I can be who I am called to be now.  He always knew I could do it, and now I am trying to feel that I truly can...

So now comes the question that inquiring minds want to know...Where do I see myself in five years?  I wish I knew.  I would like to think that great accomplishments will be made.  That I will have at least three children graduated and venturing out into the world.  That I will have established myself in art or photography or something I am passionate about.  That my family will be flourishing and happy and healthy.   That I will be taking much better care of myself: physically, emotionally, spiritually.  And I truly hope that God has another person in mind for me to share the next leg of this journey with.  But I don't yet have a clue...I guess you will all have to stay tuned...

I want to end this by sharing a few music videos that have helped me put a voice to the ups and downs of the past five years.  I hope they inspire you to think, to forgive, to let go, to love...as I have...

Thank you, thank you, THANK you, my friends, for your faithfulness, encouragement and love.  Each one of you has played a part at some point in my life to mold me into who I am today.  I am ever grateful to you, and to God, who's love never changes...

Kim

Lost
Yet I Will Praise You

We Live
Your Grace Still Amazes Me
Sand
Think Good Thoughts