This girl, this woman in the making? Her name is Haylee. Half my years, I could have a daughter her age if I’d been a teen mom. But this young woman? She inspires me more than most twice my age.

We met three years ago. I didn’t expect to meet such a girl, but we clicked like that. Like we’d known each other forever, like we planned on knowing each other forever.

I passed barns and horses roaming free. I passed that house on the hill, admiring the open fields and tranquility. And then I discovered Haylee. She was part of it all, and it was as if I was meant to meet this girl.

Sometimes quiet, unassuming, not quite sure of her next step.

But bold and free is what I see.

Horses and riding she adores without shame.

Loves her friends and family with abandon.

Exudes energy I barely remember having.

Her faith years beyond mine at that age. A Rock she can call steady. She clings to that, and it’s clear.

No longer afraid to be the woman He called her to be.

Takes chances, follows His call wherever it may lead.

You see, she once said to me “You’re such an incredible woman. I look up to you and hope someday to become a great mom like you are.”

But I say in return, “You’re such an incredible woman. I look up to you and hope someday to become a great woman of character and wild abandon for life, like you.”

Two women. A generation apart. I, a role model for her. She, a role model for me. Just the way it was meant to be.

But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.  2 Corinthians 3:16-18

Amy

Today I am honored to share with you a guest post written by a friend from my childhood, Jason Erickson. Jason’s dad sustained a significant traumatic brain injury two years ago. Since the injury, I have been following Jason’s posts on CaringBridge, and have been continually moved by their family’s faithfulness and love for one another in the midst of such life changing trials. Before I launched the blog, I asked Jason if he would be willing to guest post about his dad. Although I originally intended him to guest post months ago, Valentine’s Day seems a perfect fit.

In this post, Jason shares the heart-warming and inspiring story about his parents – their love for one another, their love for their family, their love of an Almighty God, and the promises that remain true even in the face of a significant traumatic brain injury.  Jason so beautifully reminds us that we should not “take even one day for granted with those we love and cherish most.” 

Her words and the panicked sound of my mom’s voice will forever be etched into my mind. “Jason, come quickly, your dad is hurt really bad.” These were the words that introduced me to a life-changing chapter in the life of our family. As the helicopter made its way to the parking lot of our family-owned lumberyard to airlift my dad away, I was beginning to wonder if my life had changed forever, in the blink of an eye. What I would later find out on January 12, 2011, is that my dad had sustained a traumatic brain injury from a fall while working on an overhead garage door at our business. His initial prognosis was very dim, but now, over two years later, our family has grown closer and I have witnessed first hand the covenant my parents made to each other and before God.

The story of their marriage began on a typical fall day, for most of the world it would prove to be a very ordinary day. For a young couple, this day though, would mark their beginning. The beginning of a life together, one that would have many more ups than downs, many more smiles than frowns, and one unshakable foundation. On that fall day, October 24, 1970, I was not even a twinkle in my parents’ eyes, and little did I know how much of an impact that day in history would eventually have upon my life.

When I arrived on August 12, 1974, I was completely unaware of what had just occurred. Unaware of whose gentle hands tenderly held me, unaware whose loving eyes stared into mine, and unaware of whose hand caressed my head while whispering in my ear, “I love you.” Over the next few years, my love for these two people would grow exponentially. Initially, not even knowing who they were, to being the ones I looked to for love, support and strength.

My parents would provide all I would need growing up, including a foundation of faith. I remember growing up how important it was to show and tell how much we loved each other. I remember feeling my “love tank” fill up as my dad wrapped his arms around me to give me hug. I remember the special moments Jill, Mom, and I shared on the deck eating lunches during the warm days of summer. As I grew older, I began to admire more the relationship my parents had. Throughout my dating years, I recognized their marriage as one I would like to model my own after. Granted they were human, and their marriage was not perfect, but considering all life tends to throw at us, it was a very healthy relationship.

Growing up in our home, it was always comforting to hear my parents say that they loved each other. The love they shared was more than just words, it was nurtured and followed up by actions. Actions, not in the sense of expensive gifts, but in simple gestures of kindness – my dad scrubbing the kitchen floor at night even after a day of logging in the woods, my mom leaving supper for us when she had to work evenings at the hospital, and the fun-loving sight of seeing my dad steal a kiss from my mom as they walked into a restaurant. To some this may seem irrelevant in the greater scheme of life, but to a son and daughter, it helped provide the security needed in order to form the foundation of who we are today. Our home was a home in which two children knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that their parents loved each other, loved being together, and would stay that way until one day God would call one of them home.

Our family had the blessing of being a pretty normal family, even as Jill and I grew older and had families of our own. We all lived relatively close, so we could spend time together. Jill and I had all of our grandparents still living and we were all generally quite healthy, so life was very good.

The “normalcy” of life abruptly changed on that brisk winter January day in 2011. Initially, after the surgery to stop the bleeding on his brain, I didn’t know if my dad would live through the night, and even if he did, our family would have a new “normal.”

Since that difficult day in early 2011, my mom has not missed one day, or may I say, one opportunity to be with my dad. She has been with him, by his side each day, encouraging him, spending time with him, and making the most of what time they share together. Granted, it is not what she would have chosen for this stage of their life or their marriage. But on that fall day in 1970, her covenant before God and with my dad did not have an exit clause. As they stood in that small town Minnesota church, their promise to each other was not only for the good times, the safe times, or the easy times. It was a promise made for life, and included the words for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I’m sure they never would have envisioned this present day scenario, but then in reality, on one’s wedding day, who does envision such a tragedy?

While growing up, I admired my parents and their love for each other. Since my dad’s accident though, I still not only admire their love and devotion, but I now cherish it. I have witnessed, specifically on the part of my mom, her love for my dad lived out on a daily basis. A love that at this point, is not reciprocated in a way that she would choose, but nonetheless not prohibiting her from continuing to share it with dad. Considering the fact that my dad is still in a transitional care unit, I don’t necessarily know what my dad ponders as he is in his hospital room. We are hoping to eventually move him to a rehabilitation center, but for now he is still bed ridden and on a feeding tube. One thing I know he is not concerned with however, is the dedication and devotion of my mother. Each morning, whether sunny or snowy, when he opens his eyes he sees his bride, and each night as he closes them, he has the assurance that she’ll be there tomorrow. As a wife, she understands her need to make time for herself in order to remain healthy and “charged,” but there is always time and a place in her heart for dad.

My parents’ love for each other during this difficult time did not just happen. It is a love cultivated by many years of loving on each other. Years of loving acts that continued to bring them closer to each other, and in that, formed a bond that nothing in this world can break. As much as my parents love each other, and thus demonstrate that love for each other, that is only part of their story. On that day in October 1974, the covenant that my parents made with each other, at the same time, they also made with Christ. They promised themselves to each other, and their marriage to Him.

In a world that is not always conducive to keeping one’s marriage a priority, He was and is the rock that my parents have built their life on. I recently heard someone say, “sometimes God allows you to hit rock bottom, in order for you to find out, He is that rock.” That fact somewhat summarizes the past couple years of my parents’ marriage. This life is not always going to be easy, and there will be times we may wonder “why?” My dad used to remind me that in this life we were never promised it would be a rose garden. It is in the midst of these difficult times though, that we hold to our faith in Him, and His plan, even though we sometimes have many more questions than answers. It is this simple act of trust that brings us peace, knowing that His plan will ultimately work out for good, if we continue to put our faith in Him. Work out for good, not necessarily on this side of eternity, but we will one day understand “why” it had to occur.

One day my parents will say good-bye to each other on this earth. One day they will hold hands one final time. When that day arrives, they will let go of each other, knowing that this though, is not the end of their story. For there is coming a day when they will be reunited again and their tears will be wiped away, never to return. A day when the Rock they built their life on here, will welcome them home for eternity. It will be on that day, that their story, will simply become a smaller part of His-story.

As Valentine’s Day is upon us again, may we each remember our closest loved ones. May we not take even one day for granted with those we love and cherish most. As we celebrate the day that celebrates love, I am reminded of a few verses.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these…is love.  1 Corinthians 13

Jason Erickson

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is DIVE.

There were at least three Meet Me At This Moment posts I could have written this week, but didn’t.

In which my daughter so innocently told me that her friend’s mom “never makes food like that…she makes all homemade food,” as I was making mac and cheese and hot dogs and I just needed to get something on the table.

In which I spent at least two hours searching and scouring a mall for the right dress to wear to my husband’s work party next week. And never found a thing that would satisfy.

In which I heard an outright lie in that dark place that’s been making me feel overwhelmed…you aren’t doing any of it well.

I wrote only one and didn’t post any. I’ve decided I won’t give those moments any glory. I’m tired of the muck, the mud, the ugliness of all that.

For I know I am called to be someone much better, to do something much greater. I want to DIVE into who I am. Oh no, I no longer wish to just dive into anything and everything. I’m ready to dive into God’s unique plan, just for me. And if that means changing things, taking new paths, diving deeper than ever before? I will.

Two years ago this month, my husband and I had just spent a long time praying whether we were going to have a third child. Our answer was YES. A month after that decision had been made, I watched the Grammy Awards and saw this band, Mumford and Sons, for the first time. There was something about their diving into the music, their diving into their craft, that captured my attention. I think of this performance often and admire these men for their courage to stand tall in their identity. Today, I challenge you to watch. Watch them literally dive into the music, into who they are as individuals. That guy on the keyboard? That guy with the bobbing yellow hat? They’re not so worried about making mistakes or doing it wrong or anything like that. And there’s no way you can convince me they care what people think. They’re just there to be who they are, to share their wonderful selves, their wonderful gifts with the world.

And if you’re actually going to watch? Be patient. It might take a few seconds for you to really see those heads moving, diving deep, deep into the music.

Mumford & Sons, The Avett Brothers and Bob Dylan Live at 2011 Grammys from Yaroslav Kunitsyn on Vimeo.

For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

Amy

It is my pleasure to introduce you to my friend and former colleague, Nicole. I met Nicole in 2005 when she joined our early intervention team; I served as a speech-language pathologist and Nicole an occupational therapist. I felt a very natural and special connection with Nicole from the moment we met; she has such a sweet and kind soul. Today I am beyond honored to be able to share with you my very first guest post, written by dear Nicole about her precious infant son, Benjamin, who passed away in June 2011 from spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), a neuromuscular disease that is the leading genetic killer of children under two. Through Ben’s story, Nicole so beautifully reminds us that “though God can not stop all hard things, He can foresee all and interweave everything into His Divine plan to make good come of the hard stuff.”  

On September 30, 2010, my husband, Mike, and I were blessed with the birth of our fourth child, a big baby (8 lb 14 oz and 22” long) with red hair, our precious son Benjamin Michael. What an amazing moment! We had waited to find out the gender as we had with our three older girls, loving that wonderful surprise at birth, and we sure were surprised to see a big beautiful boy!

Our early days with Baby Ben were busy of course with four little ones. At the time the girls were six, almost four, and 21-months. Ben joined along in rides to school, was an audience member at dance and school programs, and observed all the antics of his sisters. A little before two months, we noticed that Ben had low muscle tone. He was not lifting his head when lying on his tummy and in fact had done better with this in the first few weeks of his life. I consulted my friend and co-worker who is a physical therapist and she provided some activities which we incorporated many times per day. At three months, I realized that Ben’s tone issues were not improving and seemed more concerning. I called to make two neurology appointments, to rule out any “scary stuff.” I called our local early intervention team to schedule an evaluation for him. I felt so strange making those phone calls, desperate for answers. I thought he might have extremely low tone (hypotonia) or cerebral palsy. I tried to prepare Mike that I thought there would be lots of therapies ahead, that he may not walk until at least 18 months. I talked with co-workers, saying I just hoped it was nothing regressive. The wait for the neurology appointments to come ticked on, and meanwhile Ben had a cold which never seemed to go away. He had noisy breathing. He had more leakage from the corners of his mouth when feeding. He also seemed to use his tummy a lot for breathing. All of these things we attributed to the low muscle tone. Our worry built as he approached four months.

A few days after he turned four months old, on Wednesday, February 2, 2011, the day began as normal. In the afternoon, Ben suddenly refused to take his bottle and was breathing with more effort then usual. We had been suspecting reflux and I heard gulps like he was refluxing. I thought I would call the doctor in the morning and talk about medicine. Mike tried to take him for a drive to calm him to sleep as we assumed the reflux was bothering him and that maybe he was getting the respiratory virus the girls had dealt with the week before. When they got back from the drive Ben had never fallen asleep and in that time he had developed a fever of 102. Mike took him to the emergency room at Children’s St. Paul while I stayed home with the girls. His breathing got more out of control and they had to put him on a ventilator. Mike called and told me about the ventilator and that the doctors were thinking there was some underlying condition going on. That is when the terror struck. As Mike’s dad stayed with the girls, Mike’s mom drove me to the hospital in the wee hours of Thursday morning, February 3. I saw my baby lying sedated on the bed, the ventilator breathing for him, so helpless. In desperation and fear, I asked the doctor, “Is there any way this is just low muscle tone?” She slowly said that she worried about a disease called spinal muscular atrophy (SMA).

The doctor asked me if I had ever heard of spinal muscular atrophy. I had never heard of it in my whole life, not in college studying to be an occupational therapist, not in years of working with kids with special needs, until the morning before at work. The other occupational therapist in birth-3 had mentioned a new child she was going to be working with who had SMA. I now know there is a reason I heard the word SMA that morning. As I heard it again with my baby lying on that hospital bed, I knew this was a devastating diagnosis. Those hours through the night were the hardest maybe of this whole story. Not knowing for sure,  dealing with the new realization that our baby may not live.

At 9 am that Thursday morning the neurologist came and confirmed that she believed him to have SMA, Type I. The geneticist visited on Friday and came to the same conclusion. SMA is a neuromuscular disease and is the leading genetic killer of children under two. It occurs in 1 out of 6,000 births. It typically occurs when both parents are carriers. 1 in 40 people are a carrier of SMA. When both parents are carriers, each baby they have has a 25% chance of having SMA. Generally the same type of SMA runs in a given family. SMA has 4 types; type I, which makes up 70% of SMA diagnoses, previously known as Werdnig-Hoffman disease, begins in infancy and typically infants with type 1 are not able to roll over, sit, or even hold up their heads. Ben had all the signs, and it was confirmed the next week when the blood test results came back. Ben was fighting pneumonia brought on by the parainfluenza (croup) virus. Babies with SMA are very susceptible to pneumonia. Despite our grief, we grasped onto the gift we hoped we were about to be given, more good time with our baby Ben.

Most of the doctors in the pediatric ICU thought he had a good chance of coming off the ventilator, beating the pneumonia, and going home for some more good days. The nurses in the PICU were my confidantes. They listened for hours as we kept watch over sweet Ben. The chaplain found me almost every day it seemed, talked with me, prayed with me. I asked her what it would be like when Ben went to Heaven. She described it as being a holy time, special, sacred. I began to think of it as being like a birth, something bigger than myself, something I could never do alone but God would be with me. Those days by Ben’s bedside were special to me because they were time I had with him, to hold his little hand, to sing to him, to pray and pray and pray for him.

The child life specialist was such a comfort to me. She helped give us the words for how to explain the disease to the girls, and for how to later explain the shortness of the life Ben would have. A friend connected with the national support group, Families of SMA, and found a mom whose daughter was born with SMA Type 1 and went to Heaven in 2006. She visited me at the hospital; I was so grateful for being able to talk to someone who really knew what I was going through and who had somehow managed to go on. My sister and friend planned a benefit which relieved financial worries. So many people sprung into action to help us with prayers, food, help with the girls, funds. We felt so blessed by everyone’s generosity.

Ben did come home after several weeks of getting better from the pneumonia and having surgery to place a feeding tube in his stomach. Ben had lost some skills in the three weeks he had been dealing with the pneumonia and hospitalization, and with the progression of the disease. He did not move his legs anymore, only his feet. He moved his arms from the elbows but could not use shoulder movement. Unfortunately SMA was one of those regressive diseases I had worried about. Ben came home with medical equipment (feeding pump, pulse oximeter to monitor his oxygen saturation and heart rate, nebulizer for respiratory treatments, vibrating percussor wand and cough assist machine to get mucus out of the lungs, suction machine as he had lost his ability to swallow saliva, and bipap mask which he tolerated during sleep to help with breathing). We had home nursing during the day and they, like the nurses in the PICU, were such blessings to us and to Ben, who loved them and shared many of his precious smiles with them. We had visits from the palliative care team from Children’s, including a nurse, social worker, child life specialist, chaplain, and music therapist. This team ensured comfort for Ben and for our whole family. In May, the palliative care team arranged for me, through the parent to parent program of Children’s, to meet another mom who had a baby with SMA Type 1 in 2003. She visited us, bringing food and gifts, but most importantly understanding.

We were so overjoyed to have the gift of more time with Ben, and he had so many good times! He smiled all the time and would do a silent laugh/chuckle when tickled, during peek-a-boo, or when his sister Ellie would throw his treasured balloons up in the air! He only cried when he was tired. He loved music therapy, especially the guitar. Ben loved to mouth light-weight toys that we placed in his hands, bat at Weebles toys, and knock down block towers with his little fist. He loved books and would pay attention to them for so long. He loved when Mike would take hold of his arm and pretend that Ben was punching him. He loved to play with my hair. He loved to watch the trees blow outside the living room window as he lay on his comfy pillow playing. We took many pictures and videos which are such treasures to us.

We decided that we would keep Ben at home and out of the hospital. We wanted his last days to be peaceful and at home. We chose not to do a tracheostomy tube with ventilator because we knew that given the progression of the disease for Ben, SMA would quickly take all of Ben’s movement away and we did not want him to have to stay here, stuck in a body that could not move though his mind would be unaffected. As a parent, you will do anything for your child even if it is very, very hard for you. We were willing to be without Ben physically here so that he could be free.

Ben had several respiratory infections in the spring but made it through with just increasing his respiratory treatments and antibiotics. Due to some horribly scary episodes of him turning blue and unresponsive when semi-upright in the swing or being held, he had to use a sidelying position mostly and we carried him in a Moses basket to keep his position very stable.

On June 6, 2011, Ben developed a fever and very high heart rate, with his little tummy working so very hard to breathe. We thought he might be going to Heaven and we lay next to him snuggling, praying, crying softly. That night we started giving him medicines for pain and they worked to make him comfortable. Ben did not pass that night, and slowly improved somewhat throughout that next week. After that night, Ben’s work of breathing was more than before and every few days his heart rate would get high again and he would need a dose of medicine to make it go down. He returned to playing and smiling away, our sweet happy boy.

On June 22, Ben’s heart rate became very high again and his work of breathing was so much. That night his pulse oximeter alarm went off and from then on he needed oxygen and constant medicines for pain with increases in doses. It seemed that Ben’s body just could not go on working so hard anymore. In his last days on earth, Ben slept a lot and when awake he would mostly look upward, above our faces. We feel he was seeing angels and beginning to cross over to the next world.

On June 28, 2011, at 8:45 pm with the sunset, our beautiful Benjamin went to Heaven. I was once again able to hold him in my arms as we told him we loved him, it was okay, and to go to Heaven. We felt such relief for him, to not have to work so hard to breathe and to be able to move effortlessly. It was so peaceful and we had such a distinct sense that he was no longer physically in his body.  His long, fragile body which could not sustain him, which we so loved, was now just the shell from which he had moved on.

Since our Benjamin went to Heaven, we have found comfort in reflecting on his beautiful life. A lot of life can be lived in a short time. We may never on this earth know the power of this one precious life which God saw fit to bless us with. We find comfort in feeling him with us though not physically, in knowing that he sends us strength. After Ben was diagnosed, we read Walter Dudley Cavert’s “Dragonfly Story,” about the transformation to eternal life, which can be found online. We also read Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo, and it was very comforting to us. We found healing in making photo albums with his pictures. We created a garden in his memory using blue flowers like his eyes and the sky, white like the clouds, red like his hair and with a red maple tree. We felt good decorating his spot at the cemetery with a red stone with a picture of his precious face on it, butterfly wind chimes, a little boy angel statue, and an angel light. When visiting the cemetery, the girls blow bubbles up to Heaven, and run to collect petals which have fallen to the ground. On his birthday and on the anniversary of the day he went to Heaven, we had a picnic there and sent up balloons.

We have continued to connect with other families who have lost a child. I have connected with other SMA moms I met when Ben was alive, and both Mike and I recently met with other grieving parents at the national Families of SMA conference which was held in Bloomington this year.

We have found healing in talking with a wonderful grief counselor together. We seek out things that bring us comfort, going out for coffee (me) or golf (Mike) with friends. We go on outings with the girls, knowing that Ben is with us too, and we so often see butterflies or dragonflies right by us, which we think of as signs from Ben of his transformation to eternal life. At Christmas time, I bought butterfly hair accessories for the girls and had stuffed them in my sock drawer. One day I stepped on something in our bedroom, and somehow a blue butterfly hair clip had made its way out of the package and onto the floor! At work during my home visits, I so often see butterflies. One day at each house I went to I saw butterflies, on the dishes of a little girl as we worked on feeding, on a light fixture at another house, on wall art at another.

I now look forward to that blessed day when I am born into eternal life, greeted by my precious Benjamin’s face. Until then he will send me strength and I will make him proud as I continue the rest of my journey here.

I challenge and encourage you…

Do you understand that though God can not stop all hard things, He can foresee all and interweave everything into His Divine plan to make good come of the hard stuff? He walks right along with you through anything. He truly gives new strength, each step of the way.

Do you live your life knowing that this world truly is temporary? I have witnessed it with my own eyes. Heaven is the ultimate goal. There my Ben is now strong and healthy, without struggle, in a beautiful eternal life and we can one day join him.

Do you make each day an expression of love to your children? Do you strive to brighten the day for others, even those you don’t know well? Do you spend your time on what is truly important?

He gives power to those who are tired and worn out; He offers strength to the weak. Even youths will become exhausted, and young men will give up. But those who wait on the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.  Isaiah 40:29-31

Nicole

For more information on Spinal Muscular Atrophy visit: Ben’s Caring Bridge Site and  Families of Spinal Muscular Atrophy.

 

It is with love that I introduce you to my college sweetheart and husband of 14 years, Seth.

In a room full of people, Seth tells me I am the most beautiful.

He tells me I look beautiful even when I don’t feel beautiful.

He says to our kids “Don’t you have the most beautiful mama?”

Seth offers manicures and pedicures, but being low maintenance with hair and nails, I never take him up on the offer.

At least once a year, he gives me a complete outfit from my favorite store, always more than I feel is necessary.

When our baby was days old and I was in severe pain from nursing and the kids had taken every last drop of my energy, Seth took my hand and danced with me in the hallway.

When I’m crying in fatigue or frustration, or ranting and raving because something didn’t go as expected, he listens and invites me closer.

And when I reach my end, need a break, when I need filling up, when I’m not so beautiful on the inside anymore – Seth gives me the gift of freedom to do what I need to do to become beautiful again.

My father-in-law and mother-in-law gave me money for my birthday, the only request to use it for something that makes me happy. I knew just what I wanted – to attend a Women of Faith conference where my favorite blogger Ann Voskamp was scheduled to speak. I really needed a weekend away by myself.

I found a floor level ticket on Craigslist. Cyndi promised via phone “you won’t be disappointed” with the seat. Seth, although leery of Craigslist scams, gave me permission to purchase the ticket.

So three days ago, Seth got up, packed the car, loaded three kids, and was off to his parents’ house.

And so began my weekend. The gift. From Seth: The gift of freedom to attend the conference and do whatever it was that helped me feel all was right with the world again.

The gift of being lost in time…laundry, finances, phone calls, putting toys back in their place, organizing files, email, getting ready for the day without kids at my feet. Five hours.

Lost in time so much I forgot to research how long it would take to get to the conference. The trip was 1 ½ hours longer than I thought! If things went perfectly, I would arrive a half hour before the event would start.

One hour into the drive, I hit road construction, driving 5-15 mph for at least 45 minutes.

The gift of accepting what was. It was ok if I arrived late.

The gift of freedom to run in and out of Jimmy John’s, kid-free.

The gift of a quiet drive by myself, the open fields, the windmills. The wind at my back.

The gift of free choice, flipping through radio stations, stopping at songs that spoke to my heart and soul. Jesus Take the Wheel by Carrie Underwood, I Can’t Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt, Amazing Grace by Chris Tomlin, too many to count.

Car says I have 20 miles of gas and sign says I have 15 miles to Des Moines. I’m not sure I can make it. I fill, just enough to get me there. Isn’t that the way it’s been?

The gift of time. I arrive at the hotel at 6:49, event starts at 7:00.

The gift of learning to trust my intuition, again. Cyndi was not a Craigslist scammer. The ticket was real!

The gift of accepting a table prepared for me. Opening the curtain to see a full arena, beautiful music overwhelming, down a long flight of stairs to the floor level, tears welling up in my eyes as I was led to my seat by one, two, three people, transferring my care along the way up to the 4^th row, front and center. My seat did not disappoint.

The gift of laughter. Ken Davis made me laugh so hard I cried. I can’t remember the last time I did that.

The gift of Sheila Walsh’s words “Can you imagine if every day you believed the God of the Universe loves you just the way you are?”

The gift of a beautiful voice in CeCe Winans.

The gift of a quiet room, a bed to myself.

The gift of putting my feet up.

The gift of pizza delivery to my hotel room.

And the next day…

The gift of Liz Curtis Higgs’ words “You are beautiful, right now, as you are, to this God.”

The gift of Christine Caine’s unflinching desire for us to proclaim “Today, I’m going to step into the purpose and power of God.”

The gift of finding myself reflected in a woman I had never heard of before today, Angie Smith. My fears, my dreams, all reflected in her on stage.

The gift of being seen. The original purpose of my journey, to see Ann Voskamp speak, now more than fulfilled, I walked as quickly as I could to the autograph area. I was 31^st in line of 35 allowed to photograph and autograph with Ann. My heart was racing, grateful I made it in time. I grabbed the attention of a stranger and arranged for a picture of me with this Ann whose blog has spoken to my soul for two years. Just 3-4 people from meeting Ann, we got word they were shutting down, “only two more.” Ann had to go. I saw the guard approach, I saw Ann’s panic, I saw her heart turn to us remaining in line, looking at each one of us, eyes full of disappointment she could not greet us then smiling in a resigned, apologetic sort of way, cupped her hands with gratitude uttering “thank you,” waved, and turned away with the guard. It took me a while to realize I had welled up with tears of disappointment; I was distracted with amazement and gratitude that those of us left in line were acknowledged so whole-heartedly. Though I did not get to meet Ann, my eyes were fully open in that moment to see deep into her heart. Moments later, Ann on stage, I realized the pull she must feel between her heart and current reality, her book One Thousand Gifts on the New York Times Best Sellers List a crazy number of weeks.

The gift of authenticity accepted in Selah’s Amy Perry. Her story and then song through tears, moving the audience to ovation.

The gift of feeling like I could be me.

And on the way home, I stop at Boondocks USA gas station with only 23 miles of gas remaining. And this time I fill up, and I am filled up.

And when I got home….

The gift of hearing God speak quietly to my heart as I walked in the door – now write it out, live it out. I did, and I will.

Thank you Seth, my dear love of my life, for giving me the gift of this weekend. This gift of freedom, of time, of renewal and refreshment, of remembering who I am and who I want to be, of drawing closer to God, so I can be the wife and mama I want to be.

Amy

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.   1 Corinthians 13: 4-7