{This post will be most appreciated by people who actually know us...feel free to click away. :) }
"Hey--I've got a GREAT idea!" I tell 'em. "After dinner, break into groups and re-write the lyrics to songs you know and then have a show for us!!"
They don't know me that well so they were polite, but since I got the stink eye from my daughter ~ complete with raised eyebrow and cocked head ~ I was gonna let the idea die a quick, natural death. I was mostly kidding, anyway, though there was a serious-as-a-heart-attack part of me, too.
After they finished two of the best desserts in the world, they did go their separate ways--
girls wrapped in blankets and conversation, the guys finding a guitar and keyboard in our playroom. Music and laughter filled our home; music and laughter filled my heart.
About an hour later, we were summoned. Had I known the wonderfulness in store, I would've grabbed my flip cam. At least I had my cell phone to capture the debut of the Rachel Dance Christmas Song.
FYI, there was no earthquake during filming; that's me trying and miserably failing to hold the camera steady. I don't
t h i n k you can hear me snorting.... :)
How can you not have mad love for these guys? Parts of the performance were brilliant, and the imperfect parts? Well, those might've been my favorite.
I've included an original copy of the lyrics below since laughter drowned 'em out more than a few times.
She definitely chose the right college....
Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants.
~ Psalm 116:15 NIV
After sharing Sara's nearing-end-of-life-story with you, it seemed right to let you know I received word early this morning she died peacefully last night, her mother and brother by her side. Anguish and relief inhabit my heart, such paradox on the surface. It is only in deep places they coexist.
I wonder if it is because of my own mother's death when I was a little girl that I see death's mercy. Mama battled cancer in the early 70s when treatments were much more barbaric and pain managment was in its infancy; my father suffered a 14-month end-of-life 4 1/2 years ago, excruciating to witness. Dementia tangled his mind and feebled his body, and my siblings and I learned to care for him in a way I wish no child ever again would have to experience.
Death was a mercy to my parents.
Under the weight of great loss I tenderly offer:
death is mercy for Sara.
At the funeral of a friend's father years ago, my pastor offered beautiful words of encouragment, kind companion when I've since walked through the valley of death's shadow--
"Even if [he] had the choice to come back fully healthy,
to be with the people he loved more than anyone in the world,
he'd choose not to leave the presence of God."
At another funeral, more balm for the grieving--
"Love doesn't die, people do.
When everything else is gone,
you still have that to give.”
* * * * * *
Sara's legacy is a gift of eternal love and life well lived until the end. For her, home wasn't a place bound by geography or construction, it was in the hearts of those she loves and who love her...her family, her friends and her King.
Left to my own construction, Sara's life would've been much different; God would have healed her body. She would still tell His story of glory and grace, but from the perspective of miracle, not suffering.
But then I can't help but think about how in dying she taught others how to live, truly live! She planted seeds of joy in thousands of hearts--thousands!--and by example demonstrated what that looks like when life is hard, when it hurts.
Confined to her apartment for years, and more recently from her bed, Sara mined the precious and priceless from Ancient Words. She testified to God's goodness in spite of her illness, she praised His faithfulness as He allowed her to see how His best was better than her best.
Her life became a vessel of God's truth, resulting in the transformation of others; not because of her but because of Christ--His power--in her, working through her!
Talk about joy...!
* * * * * * *
It is an odd thing to explain, this grieving a friend I've never met. I admitted that to Jessica recently--on the inside the tears flow freely but on the outside I don't know how to share. When I've begun to try, my family and friends don't know quite what to say, so I say little and let the storm run its course on the inside.
But I've got this space and it's often where I process "out loud."
Mainly I just wanted to share how others have encouraged me at these saddest of times...and to offer you the Great Hope that enabled Sara to choose joy in life and in death.
Sara, whose name means princess....
Sara, who lived the truth of "... to live is Christ and to die is gain"...
Sara, who was faithful with what she had been given...
Title quote by Emily Dickinson.
Check out Leigh's other designs at Curly Girl...and while you're there, please tell her I'm her biggest stalker fan! Then buy lots of her stuff; you'll thank me for making the introduction if you aren't already familiar with her work. With Leigh's wonderful wit and whimsy, she might've topped my fizzy affections for Mary Engelbreit.
Since I'm gushing over my favorite creative genuis du jour, DO TELL me about your favorite artist and why you've got mad love for 'em!
p.s. This is not a sponsored post. The opinions are still my own. {wink}
Sara is dying. Knowing this keeps her present in my mind and prayerful in my heart.
For as long as I can remember, my husband and I have played this little game; well, less a game and more a practice: Whenever anything happened to someone we know--and by anything I mean typically a bad thing--we'd try to imagine how we'd hope to respond to the circumstance.
When friends walked the trek of infertility, what would we do if I couldn't get pregnant? Would we adopt? Would we invest in treatments that might change the mind of my womb?
When my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer (after both my mother and grandmother died from the disease), what would we do if the same lot fell to me?
When our dear friend Cindy suffered permanent brain damage as a result of an accident and her husband left her, would we have remained committed to our marriage when personalities changed?
How would our lives under fire reflect Christ?
Our logic, I suppose, was to think through how we wanted to behave to live out the pre-eminence of God in our lives. Talking about and thinking out loud before we were walking through unexpected tragedy--before feelings and emotions stirred reaction--was our way of orienting our minds and preparing in advance to make good decisions, tough choices, when life got hard.
Because life gets hard.
So we'd watch how others responded in their difficult circumstances, and talk through and imagine how we'd hope to respond if we were in their shoes. Sometimes we'd find ourselves hoping we'd respond the same way; in other instances we'd pray that out response would be vastly different.
Because of Sara's illness, she has been confined to her apartment for years...years...pain, her body's often-companion. The past several weeks have been the worst, which is saying a lot.
Sara's response to her debilitating, life-ravaging illness? Joy.
I met Sara through our writing team at incourage. For the past two years, she has been a consistent voice of encouragement to me--through her words on her blog, comments to my posts, emails or skype conversation, and most recently, text messages. Telling someone they're consistent is one of the highest compliments you'll ever receive from me--in every instance she has ~
Sara realized this week her death was imminent; on Tuesday she admitted through a heartbreaking-to-me-text that she felt different, that she thought it would happen soon. And she was ready.
Jessica, a precious friend of mine and a best friend of Sara's, has been in close contact with Sara and her family over the past several days. Everything that Jess shares demonstrate's Sara's consistent voice of praise to God, and love and consideration of others, concerned about how everyone else is doing.
She's worried about us and how her death will affect those who know and care about her!
She's not fearful. She is ready. She's wants you to know Christ.
Last week at our incourage writers retreat in Hilton Head Island, SC, we Skyped with Sara. Thanks to technology, we showed her the beach and our beautiful setting. As best we could, we hid the tears. The moment--pure joy...broken beauty; we sensed its importance and captured it.
Later, she told me it was the highlight of her year.
Through her illness and suffering, Sara is sharing and living the Gospel in a way not possible had she enjoyed perfect health. Left to me, she would have been healed right away and avoided this painful road; but in God's mysterious ways, He has deemed Sara worthy to tell a much different story.
Her faithfulness and beauty in the telling has changed lives, not through her own power but from the power that lives in and through her.
Sara had a decision to make so she chose joy and invited all of us to do the same.
Sara is dying well.
Sara has modeled how I'd hope to respond if I ever found myself in a similar circumstance...I'd want to respond just like her.
That is the highest compliment I'll ever give.
* * * * * *
Matthew Paul Turner (Jessica's husband) has written an achingly beautiful tribute for sweet Sara Frankl (aka @gitzengirl) I hope you'll take time to read. (Jessica's post today also has links to others who are sharing their thoughts about Sara's impact in their lives; her family is reading every account out loud to Sara.)
Steven Curtis Chapman's song With Hope has been incredible blessing this week; listen below, read the heart-lifting lyrics, and I think you'll be greatly encouraged. When you have hope, don't you have everything you need?
With much love,
~ Robin
This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you've gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but ...
We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope
(There's a place by God's grace)
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We'll see your face again
And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God's plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father's smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
'Cause now you're home
And now you're free, and ...
We have this hope as an anchor
'Cause we believe that everything
God promised us is true, so ...
So we can cry with hope
And say goodbye with hope
We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope
"What happens when you play Barry White to your carrots....."
Reason #128 while Jill aka The Diaper Diaries is one of my favorite bloggers on the planet--this was her Facebook status this morning. And in consideration of my bi-polar week--I'm more up and down than the price of crude--I don't think she'll mind my blatant plagiarism (especially if you click her link and visit her darling blog).
After yesterday's tearjerker (well, maybe only my tears...) and thinkin' about what's in store for me tomorrow...I think we all agree I could use the laugh :).
Don't you think these naughty veggies beg a caption? Please chime in with YOUR best in comments; bonus points for haikus (or poems of any kind). Most clever commenter wins a prize!
Sometimes I do or say things my kids don't care for.
Like when I tell them "Do (or don't do) ________, or I'll take a baseball bat to your knee caps."
For example, "If you or any of your friends ride your RipStick down our VERY STEEP driveway AGAIN, I will take a baseball bat to your knee caps."
Bloody carnage seems to beget bloody carnage, and the gruesome pictures recently texted to me of their friend warrant my obsidian warning.
Now it's not that I'm a violent soul or that they feel threatened in any way; it just sounds awful. And based on its hyperbolic ludicrousness, it's funny to me.
Just not to them.
So imagine my sheer delight when I discovered this in an etsy shop--
Let's just say my children don't share my enthusiasm and the oldest is questioning why-in-THE-world she ever called me perfect....
I'm okay with that.
:)
I'm back from a long weekend in the place where my marriage was infant-nurtured, my babies were conceived and loved by a hundred mamas, and that still feels like going home though I wasn't born there. Well-familiar faces give me reason to add to my thanks this morning.
41. The unexpected friend who appeared when it felt like the world walked out.
42. The friend who taught me a memorable lesson in generosity.
43. The friend God used to illustrate "It's not about me."
44. The friend who never told me what I wanted to hear but what I needed to.
45. The friend who convinced me that anything is possible.
46. The friend who showed me appearances are deceiving, differences don't matter so much and love is more desirable than riches.
47. The friend whose enthusiasm, excitement and encouragement is measured in time and intent.
48. The friend who always gives me reason to laugh.
49. The friend who inspires me with creativity and beauty.
50. The friend who reminded me that it's more about your present and future than it is about your past.
It was a great weekend....
(I wonder if each could identify her/himself in my characterization... :))
You're invited to join this community offering of gratitude with multitudes on mondays, hosted by the grace-filled Ann Voskamp.
He says he's just an ordinary sixth grader but the evidence is stacked against him:
("a story about a middle school boy whose younger brother is diagnosed with leukemia. The boy ends up shaving his head to make his younger brother feel better about losing his hair to chemotherapy.") he decided to do something in support of kids with cancer.This year, with ideas and support from his mom (my friend Dawn) and Children's Hospital Foundation, Jack's at full tilt, hoping to wrangle 50 people to join him in shaving their head and upping the fundraising ante to $20,000.
He dares to be the Little Engine Who Thinks He Can.
Bravo. With a little help from his friends, I think he can, too.
There are plenty of ways you can support Jack's generous, bold initiative, whether or not you live in Chattanooga:
A kid helping kids. Jack is anything but ordinary alright.
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