It Feels Like Just Yesterday

This is the blog entry I didn't want to write. The timing is terrible, and I prefer to share my faith in God with others in a more subtle way, talking about my blessings, my church involvement, my Bible study group. There was a time when I chuckled silently, yet listened politely, when someone said, "God told me to do this." I didn't think God did that anymore; that only happened in the Bible. I wasn't there yet. Then there was a time when I said, "Why isn't God speaking to me?" I wanted to hear His words. I wanted to join that special club of people who had real conversations with God, but I didn't know how to become a member.

Today God spoke to me. It was not good timing. I woke up with a migraine, and for the first time in my life, the pain migrated from the base of my skull, all the way into the right side of my jaw, like I had read about in websites and books. For the rest of the day, I battled flu-like symptoms, meanwhile taking the boys to swimming lessons, the grocery store, and a baseball game in a car with a freshly-charged air conditioner that decided today would be a good day to stop working. I forgot to bring treats and drinks for Max and his teammates after their game, as I had signed up to do a few weeks ago. I wanted to throw up but I couldn't. I had a mental to-do list that could have stretched across the unscrubbed kitchen floor.

In the midst of our normal daily summer activities, we spent the day thinking about and discussing the event of the year in our family: Heather and her family's return to Rochester. Heather, her husband Brian, and their sweet children Ella, Sacia, and Zachary, some of our very closest friends in the world, have spent the past ten months across the world from us, immersed in Indian culture in Bangalore, India. They will be home in eight hours for an extended visit. We are so excited to see them, hug them, hear about their travel adventures, and resume our at-least-twice-a-week playdates and shared mealtimes. For nearly a year, we have exchanged emails, gifts, webcam chats, and phone conversations, all the while wondering when they would return home.

In the morning, we will meet them at the airport, joining their family to welcome them back to the States. The boys have been counting down the hours for three days now, and they both have special gifts to give their little friends, and I'm sure they will be awake shortly after dawn in anticipation of the big homecoming. Mitchie decided tonight after bedtime prayers and stories that he would give Sacia a big "licky kiss," one of his Mitchell Specialties he has been practicing on the webcam for Sacia for months, but I think I managed to convince him to offer his little world-traveling sweetheart a regular kiss instead of the licky version. Max used his own money to buy his beloved Ella a sparkling guardian angel pin. ("Do you think it's made out of real diamonds, Mom?")

For several days, I have been thinking with amazement how quickly these past ten months have passed. When Heather told me early last year that they were indeed taking a special assignment to India through Brian's job, I couldn't imagine how we would spend so many months without our friends. When they left the States for a short "survey trip" to acquaint themselves with their area of India, I cried sad tears as I thought of what the real goodbye would be like when they would be gone for a year or more. When they left, we watched for their plane to fly over our house, calling their names into the sky. When New Year's Eve ended 2007 without our friends with us to share a champagne toast and fireworks (I went to bed early that night), I thought, How Much Longer? and now, finally, suddenly, they are coming home. The time passed so quickly. It feels like just yesterday they were leaving for India, another world to us.

I wondered where the time went, much the same way I wonder how Max grew into an eight-year old (it feels like just yesterday that he was born, after twelve hours of labor), and when Mitchell became a soon-to-be kindergartener (it feels like just yesterday that _he_ was born, after five hours of labor), and how in the world I have been out of high school for two reunion's worth of years (it feels like just yesterday I was saying hi to friends in the hallways). I kept thinking about one of my favorite Bible verses, the one that brought me great comfort after baby Gabriel's death ten years ago, 2 Peter 3:8, which states,

"But forget not this one thing, beloved, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day."

At that challenging time in my life, I interpreted that scripture to mean it would feel like forever to me until I would see my baby again, yet to the Lord, the time would be short. I was comforted. Since then, I have learned a more complex and accurate interpretation of that verse, yet I still take comfort in the many reminders of the promise of Heaven and the way those words reassured me when I was feeling lost in this world.

I don't mean to compare a ten-month separation from dear friends to losing a loved one from this world. I know it's not the same as losing a parent, a grandparent, a child, a best friend, or another someone special. I knew we had a chance to say goodbye. I knew our reunion would be sooner, rather than later. I knew my friends were safe and happy across the world from me. I could see their faces on my computer; I could hear their voices over the telephone. Being separated from a loved one by death can feel like forever, especially for people who may not believe in God or for those who question if Heaven is real. Even for those of us who believe in God with as much faith as humanly possible (which is still smaller than a mustard seed, though we can ask God to help us become stronger), the almost-magical idea of Heaven can be hard to comprehend. Those painful, grief-stricken days can be filled with the worst kind of darkness imaginable.

Yet today I couldn't help but think, This must be what it will be like to be reunited with loved ones in Heaven. I couldn't help but think ...

Someday I will hold my babies and say, It feels like just yesterday I carried you inside of me!

Someday I will kiss my uncle and say, It feels like just yesterday you were making me treasures out of wood and holding me on your lap and making everyone smile!

Someday I will embrace my friend and say, It feels like just yesterday I watched you play hockey and listened to you laugh!

Someday I will greet my friend's parents and say, It feels like just yesterday I was at your house, hanging out with your daughter and watching PG-13 videos!

Someday I will hug my friend's husband and say, It feels like just yesterday you gave me one of your big, strong bear hugs!

On that glorious day, when we are reunited with our loved ones in Heaven, just like the special "practice" reunion two families will share in the morning, the miles and the months and the lonely times will disappear in a collection of hugs and happy tears. That is what Gold told me today.

I Wish I Didn't Feel Scared

Today I went to the cemetery to water the flowers that bloom in honor of my babies. As the boys and I neared the heavy wrought-iron gates, I drove on the left side of the street to make room for an older gentleman on his bicycle who was also headed toward the cemetery. The boys waited in the air-conditioned comfort of the minivan during my quick stop, allowing themselves more time to play at nearby Mayo Park when I was done watering the flowers.

I filled the watering can with cold water from the spout that looks just like the one at the cemetery in New Ulm that I remember from times I went with my mom and my Nana to water the flowers they had planted at Grandpa Burdorf's and Uncle Dale's graves. Now so many of my cherished friends are buried nearby my grandather and my uncle: my cousin Nicole Rae Burdorf, born still years ago that seem like yesterday; my friend Chet Petersen, who died of a heart attack, when he was 31 -- my age now; my friend Jeremy Booth who died in a motorcycle accident like my uncle; my childhood idol Laura Kastmann, a beautiful cheerleader and gifted writer; Melissa Larsen's dad, an amazing pastor who died during our senior year; Ted and Jim's mom, Bettianne Wirtz, who wanted her funeral to be a celebration of life; Molly Mammen's dad, Harlan, who raised one of my best friends from high school; Erica Reiger, my classmate; Missy Linbo's parents. I bring all of them flowers in the summer. Thank goodness for the promise of Heaven.

After I finished watering my flowers, I used the leftover water to fill the pots of nearby plants. Parents or grandparents had brought geraniums, petunias, daises, pansies, and even a potted rose bush to honor the babies they missed so much. Three families I know well also have babies in this part of the cemetery. As I returned to the water spout for to fill the watering can again, I was startled to see a man wearing a bike helmet waiting there. I had not even noticed him watching me. Lost deep in thought, and concerned about my boys in the car, I didn't realize he was the same man on the bike we had passed a few minutes ago, and I didn't realize he was waiting for the watering can.

"I'm waiting to use that," he said. "Do you water all the flowers here?"

I wasn't sure if he was asking out of curiosity or impatience. "Sometimes," I told him. I felt ill-at-ease for the sake of my boys in the car. I was glad my body was in between this stranger and my vehicle. I thought I would be faster than he would.

"Are all these babies?" he asked increduously. This time, the curiosity was evident in his voice.

"Most of them," I answered. "Some of them are older."

"Are there any five year-olds?" He wondered aloud.

I could tell something was different about him, from his questions and his body language. "I don't think so," I said. "Some of the children buried here are two or three years old." I spoke those words like an old pro, not letting the pain of my answer reach my heart today. Babies. Two year-olds. Buried here. Most of the time, it's easier to think about watering flowers than to think about why.

"There is another baby section at the cemetery," I told him. "Up that way," I said, pointing to the center of the cemetery.

"More babies," he said as a statement, rather than a question.

"I'm going to water my relatives' flowers," he said. "Some of the flowers died, so my relatives planted artificial flowers instead."

"I bet they look pretty," I answered.

"Do you mind if I fill this once more?" I asked, gesturing to the watering can. "Then you can use it." There were a few more pots with drooping, thirsty flowers, and it would only take a minute to give them a drink. I was hoping some parents would be surprised and gladdened when they came to water their plants, realizing that someone had already remembered their flowers and their baby.

"I can water some of the flowers, too," he offered sincerely. He continued, "Do you have a baby here?"

"I have three babies here," I answered, my voice mixed with pride and sadness.

"What happened?" He asked me with genuine interest. His voice stumbled over the words, yet he lacked the discomfort that many adults show when they talk with parents whose children have died out of turn.

"One of them didn't have any kidneys," I explained. That's hard for anyone to understand, yet he seemed to grasp it without question.

"Oh," he said.

"The other two babies were miscarriages," I continued.

I passed him the watering can.

"There's still some water left," he noted.

I wanted to ask him about his relatives.

He tried to find the right words to ask me one more question. "Did you get any kids out of it?"

"I have two sweet, healthy boys in the car," I answered with a smile.

"How old are they?" he asked.

"Eight and four. I am so blessed to have them."

I watched him walk to one grave, then another, slowly pouring water onto the blossoming flowers. I knew I would come back next time and find out who he missed. I would walk to those graves and read the names. I would pray for that man. I wished that I didn't have to feel scared when I met a kind soul at the cemetery. I coveted his peaceful manner. I wanted to ask him to tell me a story of the person he was remembering today. I wondered if he was missing his mom or his dad or someone else who was very, very dear to him. I wondered if I would ever feel safe talking to a stranger in a cemetery. I wished society hadn't forced me to worry about personal safety and self-defense. I wanted to thank him for asking about my babies.

I am so blessed. Blessed because God has given me three angel babies in Heaven who are waiting to meet me someday; blessed because God has answered my prayers, sending me his two sweetest angels to care for on this Earth; and blessed because God sends me other angels, unexpectedly, when I need them to teach me about this amazing world.

An Easter Message ... for Every Day

In my inbox today was a forward that turned out to be just the hug I needed. I was thinking about the busy days ahead of me -- wrestling practice, swimming, Maundy Thursday church, Good Friday church, school, laundry, cooking, bills -- and the long days behind me, and the people that have been on my mind lately, Nancy and little Baby Geneva. I was thinking, there is not enough time in each day, and not enough strength in my heart.

Then I read the following message, and I still felt sad and grateful, but for different reasons.

May your heart find some peace today.

TEENAGER'S VIEW OF HEAVEN

Seventeen year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. 'I wowed 'em,' helater told his father, Bruce. 'It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote.' It also was the last.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. 'I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,' Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. 'I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in Heaven. I know I'll see him.'

Brian's Essay ...

The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read 'Girls I have liked.' I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named 'Friends' was next to one marked 'Friends I have betrayed.' The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird 'Books I Have Read,' 'Lies I Have Told,' 'Comfort I Have Given,' 'JokesI Have Laughed At .' Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: 'Things I've Yelled At My Brothers.' Others I couldn't laugh at: 'ThingsI Have Done in My Anger', 'Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.' I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked 'TV Shows I Have Watched', I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked 'Lustful Thoughts,' I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!' In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore 'People I Have Shared the Gospel With.' The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. 'No!' I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was 'No, no,' as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back.

He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, 'It is finished.' I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

'For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.' -John3:16.

'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. '-Phil.4:13.

If you feel the same way, forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also.

My 'People I shared the gospel with' file just got bigger, how about yours?

Christian Ways to Reduce Stress

Need some help with your New Year's Resolutions? Here are some tips I received in my inbox a few weeks ago.


I hope to work harder in my life on #1, #11, #13, #22, #33, and #36.


I'm not ready to commit to #2 or #7. Yet.

CHRISTIAN WAYS TO REDUCE STRESS

An Angel says, "Never borrow from the future. If you worry about what may happen tomorrow and it doesn't happen, you have worried in vain. Even if it does happen, you have to worry twice."

1. Pray

2. Go to bed on time.

3. Get up on time so you can start the day unrushed.

4. Say No to projects that won't fit into your time schedule, or that will compromise your mental health.

5. Delegate tasks to capable others.

6. Simplify and unclutter your life.

7. Less is more. (Although one is often not enough, two are often too many.)

8. Allow extra time to do things and to get to places.

9. Pace yourself. Spread out big changes and difficult projects over time; don't lump the hard things all together.

10. Take one day at a time.

11. Separate worries from concerns . If a situation is a concern, find out what God would have you do and let go of the anxiety. If you can't do anything about a situation, forget it.

12. Live within your budget; don't use credit cards for ordinary purchases.

13. Have backups; an extra car key in your wallet, an extra house key buried in the garden, extra stamps, etc.

14. K.M.S. (Keep Mouth Shut). This single piece of advice can prevent an enormous amount of trouble.

15. Do something for the Kid in You everyday.

16. Carry a Bible with you to read while waiting in line.

17. Get enough rest.

18. Eat right.

19. Get organized so everything has its place.

20. Listen to a tape while driving that can help improve your quality of life.

21. Write down thoughts and inspirations.

22. Every day, find time to be alone.

23. Having problems? Talk to God on the spot. Try to nip small problems in the bud. Don't wait until it's time to go to bed to try and pray.

24. Make friends with Godly people.

25. Keep a folder of favorite scriptures on hand.

26. Remember that the shortest bridge between despair and hope is often a good "Thank you Jesus."

27. Laugh.

28. Laugh some more!

29. Take your work seriously, but not yourself at all.

30. Develop a forgiving attitude (most people are doing the best they can).

31. Be kind to unkind people (they probably need it the most).

32. Sit on your ego.

33. Talk less; listen more.

34. Slow down.

35. Remind yourself that you are not the general manager of the universe.

36. Every night before bed, think of one thing you're grateful for that you've never been grateful for before. GOD HAS A WAY OF TURNING THINGS AROUND FOR YOU.

"If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Romans 8:31)