Awaiting Spring

The faith of a flower bulb,
allowing itself to be entombed
in the earth,
awaiting spring.

Believing that from nothing
could spring something,
from the darkness,
new life.

Give me that faith
in Your ability
to bring forth greatness
from a tiny seed,
buried in the darkness
of weakness and failure,
of unkept resolutions
and missed opportunities.

Help me begin again–
a new spring–
and as the sunlight
pours down upon me,
give me the courage to grow!

20170331-092551.jpg

A Letter to Heaven

  
Dear Little Jo,

Tomorrow is a big day for Mummy. Your little brother is going to be born. We are going to coax him out into the world three weeks early, in hopes that he can be safe. In hopes that things will go differently than last time. He kicks and wiggles hello to you, his big sister in Heaven. 

Know, my dear one, that you are very much in my heart right now, as ever. Your little brother is, as a friend told me today, one of your many gifts to me. So I thank you for constantly making my life richer, deeper and more exquisitely beautiful. How much I love you!

After losing you in labour last time, I am afraid. When I think about how I couldn’t save you, I tremble. I want to cry. I want to hide my head in my blankets and not come out. But I know there is a greater, deeper plan than the one I can understand. I know you are safe and beautiful and loved. That you always will be. 

And I want you to know, my little sweetheart, that no matter how much time passes, you will always be my special baby, even when you have grown wise beyond your brief time on earth by so much time spent in Heaven, that timeless place of Love, where I hope to join you one day. 

Save me a huge hug and so many kisses, and tomorrow shower us with the grace of your perfect little prayers, as your brother makes his epic journey into this world. I know that we are wrapped in the wings of angels, and lifted up by the strength of so many heartfelt prayers. 

I pray that our new little one may, above all, become like his sister, a saint—a sweet beacon of love for the world. 

All my heart’s embraces,

Your Mummy

The Feast of All Saints

No Elephants In The Graveyard

About a month ago, at the ripe old age of 32, I had my third driving lesson. Yup, I don’t know how to drive, yet…

I wasn’t that interested in high school; we literally lived in a village, two blocks from the lake and about four to school, so there wasn’t much need. Then I was busy working, then university, then married and having little kids, and that brings us to today.

My husband doesn’t drive either, but the bus has served us well; we have saved money and paid off tons of student loans, and have met many interesting people. However, now as a family of seven, we take up about half the bus, so it’s time we got our own.

My ‘little’ brother, whose birth I remember as an eight year old girl, and who is now a foot taller than me, is bravely teaching me to drive in his gorgeous boat of a Cadillac. I feel like a little gramma in the low, comfy seat, peaking over the wheel.

We are practicing in the graveyard near my house, as it’s very quiet, and there aren’t many people around I could actually hurt (sorry–it’s hard not to make cheesy jokes when learning to drive in a graveyard).

At the gates there is this funny sign:

20140116-161840.jpg

I’m getting a little more confident about the basic start and stop, making smoother turns, etc, and do ok if I relax and just feel the road. When I think too much and check mirrors 800 times/minute it gets a little tricky.

“Just be smooth and predictable,” advised my brother, “and try to breathe.”

This was working pretty well but then we added a new challenge: backing up. And then doing a turn backing up. And then figuring out what to do after hitting a small tree while backing up. Which is not gun the break, I discovered.

Oops. There went the side light.

20140116-161953.jpg

I immediately began to apologize.

“I’m so sorry! I can get out. You can drive. I totally understand if we’re done with lessons.”
“No, it’s fine. You can’t stop now. If you quit now you’ll be afraid. Keep going.”

I’m baffled. My brother is a 25 year old guy with a Cadillac I’ve just seriously crunched on one corner. A guy who really likes cars.

“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s just a car. It’s just a thing.”

No dirty looks. Totally sincere.

“You’re awesome,” I say, thoroughly impressed. I feel honoured to matter more than the car, even right in that moment.

So on we go.

That night after dinner we have a great discussion about fear and confidence, about how being willing to take risks and make mistakes is essential to actually becoming confident. About how many fears are just phantom menaces, ridiculous things we’ve conjured up in our minds, like elephants in the graveyard.

We decide that maybe our example of confidence, despite being imperfect, is one of the most important things we can give our kids. So they can feel free to go out and make mistakes of their own on their way to doing great things.

A few days later he emails me a picture entitled “Duct Tape Victory: duct tape and a hair dryer can fix anything.”

20140116-162018.jpg

Despite my graveyard smash, I still like driving ok, and obviously want to improve. But my favorite part of learning to drive is hanging out with my brother more often, and getting to know him better. The little sweet toddler I remember is growing up to be quite the fantastic man, and I’m proud to be his sister. Currently, driving lessons are on hold as he’s away for some time visiting our other brother in Hawaii. I’m so happy they can be together. Important bro-time. But when he gets back, I can’t wait to chase elephants in the graveyard with him again.