“Jesus will come in the night and He will ‘PRESTO!’ me and then I’ll be five.”
-Kate,
this morning at breakfast,
discussing her birthday tomorrow.
this morning at breakfast,
discussing her birthday tomorrow.
Peter and I got married while I was still in College. He had graduated from Seminary and I had a few years left, so he found a job at a little Presbyterian Church down a winding road twenty minutes from Asbury. Those people became some of our dearest friends and to this day, when we are feeling discouraged or disoriented in our lives, we seek out those friends who have loved us and encouraged us and cheered for us relentlessly.
This morning I was thinking of a dear lady, Sally, who went to be with Jesus earlier this year. Let me tell you about Sally. She was spunky. She was a little thing . . . so little that her husband, Whitney, built her a little stool so she could sit in the pew at church and rest her feet on something. She was a teacher to her core– it didn’t matter that she hadn’t officially taught for years– she was always teaching. If you’ve heard Peter preach, you’ll notice he doesn’t end his sentences in a preposition. That’s because Sally took him aside one Sunday after he preached and taught him the proper grammar his Preaching Professors had overlooked.
Most of all, Sally loved Jesus.
One summer, Crawford (a little boy then, now a college freshman!) came up to Peter and asked him a question. “Mr. Peter,” he said, “What does Heaven smell like?”
I love my husband so much, because he took that question seriously. He didn’t laugh it off as some childish inquiry. He researched it and sat Crawford down and really talked to him about it. For some reason, that question has always stuck in my head.
Have you ever thought about what Heaven smells like?
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?”
2 Corinthians 2:15-16
Sally once told me the story of a lady she went to visit weekly. The lady wasn’t too keen on Sally coming to visit her, but Sally was part of a group of people in her “Winter Church” in Florida that would go out to care for those who couldn’t get out on their own. The lady would hardly talk to Sally and was very bitter and hardened by life. Week after week, Sally would go to her house and sit with her, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good.
And then, one week, Sally bought some lotion. She went to her woman’s house and asked her, “Would you mind if I rub some of this lotion into your hands?” The lady nodded, and so Sally proceeded to rub her gnarled hand with her lotion. Each week, she’d ask the same question, “Would you mind if I rub some lotion into your hands?” and each week she’d gently work the lotion into those hands. Slowly, the woman became a friend to Sally.
Sally was the aroma of Christ. She was the fragrance of life.
Don’t we need that fragrance in our lives!? If I’m going to heal from this grief, I have to have others surrounding me, rubbing the healing balm of Jesus into my soul. I need encouragement and prayers and simple reminders that I’m not alone.
But it can’t stop there. Because if I’m going to heal, I also need to be that fragrance to others. Reaching out to the downtrodden and tired, weak and weary. This grace I’ve received is not only for me to take and hoard– it is a gift to be shared.
So what does Heaven smell like?
I think it smells like us– you and I– doing this walk of life together.
It’s the hurt caring for the hurt.
It’s the obedience in answering the small whispers from Jesus.
It’s giving when I feel like I have nothing to give.
It’s pushing away the pride and allowing others to encourage my heart.
It smells like lotion from the hands of one to the hands of another.
It smells like Grace.
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?”
2 Corinthians 2:15-16
** I love that picture of Whitney and Sally! It was the front of their 50th Wedding Anniversary invitation– so sweet! **
We were having a bit of a problem in our house, in the sibling rivalry department.
The Thriving Family Magazine from Focus on the Family mysteriously appeared in our mailbox and I flipped through it and found this article on Gentleness.
What could I lose?
Now, I will say that these little activities helped us understand gentleness and what the Bible says about it. We had fun. We prayed and read the Bible together. But the sibling rivalry department is still experiencing problems. I’m beginning to think it’s a problem that requires constant supervision . . . for the next 18+ years. Am I right?
Anyway, one morning William looked up our verse. And then I gave each person in our family a raw egg. We wrote our names on them and put them in ziploc bags (triple checked to make sure they were sealed). We traded our eggs and for the next two hours, we had to hold someone else’s egg, being gentle so it would not break.
We talked about how we should be gentle with others– in our words and our actions. We can break someone’s spirit by hurting their feelings or not listening to them. As a family, it’s vital that we are gentle with one another. And, most importantly, we are gentle because God’s Word commands us to.
After talking and praying, and patting ourselves on the back that we were being STELLAR parents by not only having family devotions, but tacking an object lesson along with it, it came time to trade our eggs back to the original owner (note the sarcasm).
Lo and behold, not only had a certain child’s egg been smashed, there was not a bit of shell to be found in the ziploc. Please tell me how one can accomplish that feat?
 |
| This is early in the breakage. No evidence exists of the shell-less egg so as not to encourage non-gentleness. |
Gentleness.
Next time, I may boil the eggs first.
P.S. Bonus Pic! This is how I found Eliza that day after her nap. She is a silly one!
If I know you, Friends, many of you will be checking in on this little blog, knowing that this day is a hard one for the Damaska house.
Because two years ago, we took William and Kate into a small room and told them that their sister was going to die. It is a memory that haunts me.
Several hours later, we held her as she left this earth, straight into the arms of Jesus.
This morning, Eliza found all of the baby books on the bookshelf in the corner. She (of course) pulled each one out. And when I went over to her, she handed me Annie’s Baby book . . . the half-filled out book that I so wish was bulging with memories like the others. She had no idea what her pudgy little hands on her sister’s book did to my heart.
I found this letter I had written to her:
*********************
January 25, 2011
My Sweet Annie girl,
I have been missing you so much lately. You would be almost 23 months old now and for some reason today I just wanted to get out your book and add a little more to it. I find myself choking back tears as I flip through the pages and I think, “We were so happy. I wish we were still happy like that.” But the truth is, your life has changed me so much. And my human wishes aren’t God’s Plan for our family. So I continue to trust Him. He has been so faithful to us.
I wanted to put these pictures on this page because my most important wish for you came true. You, My Girl, are with Jesus! In His Real True Presence! How I long for what you have! I miss you so very much, but I love to think of you worshipping Him. I picture you in His arms, safe and secure. And Healed. My wish for you.
I love you,
Mommy
**********************
The verse we chose for Annie before she was even born was Isaiah 30:18:
“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; He rises to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him.”
Isaiah 30:18 (NIV)
Little did I know how much I would need the very next verses in the months (and years) that have followed:
“Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you’ll find it’s grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he’ll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he’ll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right: “This is the right road. Walk down this road.”
Isaiah 30:19-21 (The Message)
May you see “Grace and More Grace” in whatever you face today.
Thank you for praying for our family.
P.S. Here is the post I wrote about those two very, very precious pictures of Annie in her highchair, with her plastic baby Jesus.
P.S. 2 And here is my favoritest post I wrote right after Annie was born.
When Grandma died, I got a few things.
Well, they aren’t just “things” because they elicit such strong memories for me.
Call me crazy, but one of the most special things I got from Grandma was her tupperware.
And I can’t help but fill them with her favorites–
Orange and strawberry finger jello
Scotcharoos
Monster cookies with one M&M in the middle, sprinkled with extra sugar
When they are empty (and before I fill them up again!) I hand wash them.
Yup. I am crazy.
But I don’t think I could bear it if her white-medical-tape-handwritten-name came off.
Seeing her name there shows me that she often filled up her tupperware and took it somewhere. And that speaks volumes to me– it teaches me to think of others, to give a gift, to make others feel special.
At Grandma’s viewing, we would periodically take turns sitting by Grandpa so that he wouldn’t be alone. So when my turn came, I was amazed at the number of people who came up to him with a memory of how Grandma had cared for them and loved them when they needed it most. It was a precious time for me.
I love the Godly heritage I’ve been given. And each time I run the soapy water and gently wash her name– Grace H.– I’m reminded to in turn show others that I care.
As I listen to August crickets outside, the pot starts to boil.
I add two dozen ears of corn to the rolling water and check this blog.
The end of this post has a video, and I decide to watch it.
This was grace – short film from Andrew Laparra on Vimeo.
Something about that man? He looks so familiar . .. who is he?
And suddenly I gasp.
Last winter, we attended a Pastor’s conference. This man was there. We had attended a break-out session with him and at the end, for some unknown reason, he sought us out.
He asked our names. Asked our story. We were drawn to him. Before we knew it, we were telling him about the loss of Annie, the ache in our heart, the difficulty of ministry in the midst of grief.
Right there, in the middle of a crowded hallway, he grabbed our hands and prayed for us. Not only did he pray for us then, but he wrote down our names, promising to hold us up in prayer regularly.
So today, I watch the video and I learn the life he lives. And I wonder, who am I that he should pray for ME? Who is he, that in the midst of such enormous trials, he would be so compassionate and caring for strangers?
That, my friends, is grace.
And it is Christ at work.
There is simply no other explanation.
As I recount our lives almost two years ago, the tears seem to slip down my cheeks more often than they have in awhile. I am healing, but I am still broken. But my Jesus knows just when to remind me of His grace on my journey. He gives me such good gifts.
This precious treasure– this light and power that now shine within us– is held in perishable containers, that is, in our weak bodies.
So everyone can see that our glorious power is from God and is not our own.
2 Corinthians 4:7
You may be under the impression that my kids are always rainbows-and-sunshine-happy-and-jolly-all-the-time.
I find that laughable.
Let’s just say it gets a little crazy around here.
Let’s not forget this lovely moment on Easter morning:
And how about this one? I had the bright idea to take a candid family picture while we had ice cream outside one beautiful spring eve. As Peter was setting it up, William accidentally bumped into Kate who spilled her ice cream all over my lap. I’m sure the neighbors were watching the drama that ensued. It was not pretty. This was the best we got:
(Remember this series of family pictures we took the day we brought Annie home from the hospital? I still remember laughing so hard and yet being so terrified of having 3 kids!)
With the arrival of summer and a new routine, let’s say that things have been a little . . . intense . . . around here.
Oh, we’ll adjust. It’s just the in-between-ness that makes me a little frazzled.
All of a sudden the kids are fighting and someone’s crying and it escalates until each one is in a corner proclaiming that they “didn’t do ANYTHING!”
What’s a Mom to do?
I took a cue from William’s kindergarten teacher and made a jar. Well, I made 2 jars.
One was a Tattle Jar. That way when the fighting ensued and they came running to me, I could joyfully proclaim, “Put it in the jar”. And they would.
The other was a Kindness Jar. I always want to encourage them to find the good in their siblings.
As promised, a few days later, I read through the paper slips in the jar.
And laughed until tears ran down my face.
Kate yeld! at me wene I was was tring to helpe hre
(“Kate yelled at me when I was trying to help her”)
me & kate are giting a loun thrsday
(“Me & Kate are Getting along Thursday”)
Kate kickt me for no resin
(“Kate kicked me for no reason”)
Kate wude not let me have a trne
(“Kate would not let me have a turn”)
Kate is being a chrter today
(“Kate is being a cheater today”)
Lest you think William was the only one tattling, here are Kate’s:
“ILUI”
“WIDP”
(I guess it’s hard to write down tattles when you can’t spell yet. Who knew?)
My personal favorite is the tiny picture she drew of William taking her ball.
You know, I can’t say that the jars really worked. I still heard my share of tattles and refereed a lot of disagreements. But it was funny. And sometimes it’s good to have something to laugh about.
And I have to remember that there are LOTS of moments when these three are the best of friends.
You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to go stop an argument the kids are having with their imaginary friends. Apparently Sally took Kate’s stuff. Jaden and Sally might have to go home for the day. Whatever.
I’ve been writing this post in my head for weeks now. It’s kept me from writing some of the more mundane happenings of our household. Sometimes I’m just afraid that my words won’t adequately portray my feelings. Or they’ll just make something profound sound plain silly. But I have to write.
So write I will.
A few months ago, Peter and I received an invitation from the Hospital where Annie died. It was for a Memorial Service they hold each year for parents of babies and children. It was not the first service they’ve held since she’s died, but for whatever reason, we’d turned down the rest. This time, though, we decided we should give it a go. So we sent in the RSVP and tried not to think about it any more.
I didn’t realize until the night before the service that there was a bit of significance to the date. I changed Eliza’s diaper and sang to her as I got ready to put her in her bed. And I counted the days. I clutched her a little tighter when I realized we’d be taking our new baby to the hospital for a Memorial on the day we had taken her Sister to the hospital where she would eventually die. (I know, it’s a little confusing. Stick with me.) We found out Annie had a brain tumor when she was six months and nine days old. We took Eliza to Annie’s Memorial service when she was six months and nine days old. For some reason, the knowledge of those similar ages heightened my sensitivity to my surroundings.
Friends, the past twenty-one months have held a lifetime of pain for me. But they have also held a lifetime of joy. And I discovered the most beautiful, meaningful truth as I sat in that service.
Jesus heals.
I sat there, surrounded by hurting, grieving people. I sat there and listened to meaningless words and meaningless songs. Not once did I hear the name Jesus uttered. In that service, as I watched and listened and prayed, I saw how the world grieves. I didn’t like it.
We will not heal without Jesus. He alone can work in us and through us to bring Joy into our mourning. Without Him, we are still broken.
I still hesitate to share this because I’m not sure my written words portray how deeply this penetrated my heart.
When I listen to a song about rainbows, it is nice. It’s sad. But it doesn’t heal.
When I read a poem about death, I resonate with it. But it doesn’t restore me.
But when I read my Bible? When I sit and pour my heart out to Christ?
I am healed.
I am restored.
There are no words like Christ’s words. The truth of His Words bring me comfort and power and perspective. I am not left with a wistful, sentimental feeling. I am changed and renewed.
On that day, as I held my sweet Eliza, longing for the touch of my Annie-girl, I felt like Jesus lifted the fog of my life a bit. He showed me my pain. And He showed me His grace on this journey I’ve been on. I saw His presence in my life and the way He has gently held me in His arms.
He heals us.
He is healing me.
He will heal you.
I’m the first to admit that I haven’t “arrived”. I struggle with the weight of my grief daily. I feel clumsy with my words and feelings a lot of the time. But I pray my life will be one that shows joy and grace because of the restoration Jesus has brought to me.
O my soul, bless God.
From head to toe, I’ll bless his holy name!
From head to toe, I’ll bless his holy name!
O my soul, bless God,
don’t forget a single blessing!
He forgives your sins—every one.
He heals your diseases—every one.
He redeems you from hell—saves your life!
He crowns you with love and mercy—a paradise crown.
He wraps you in goodness—beauty eternal.
He renews your youth—you’re always young in his presence
Psalm 103:1-5 (The Message)
P. S. I read this the other day. It was really good. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking I have to “have it all together” before I write. But that’s not true, is it?
Two weeks ago we spent a few unplanned days in Indiana with most of my (crazy, wonderful, hilarious) extended family. We travel from quite a few places, so it was really fun to have so much time together.
The reason for gathering, though, was not so fun.
After many years of life, my Grandma Grace quietly and peacefully left this life.
I am so thankful for the many years I had with her– heaps of memories growing up.
After everything was over, we found ourselves at my Uncle’s house, lining both sides of a table stretched all the way across their dining room. I could close my eyes and hear the familiar sounds of family– sounds I grew up with all my life. And yet, now they are different.
I found myself fighting tears lots of times that day because I realized it was the end of an era.
Because one very important person was missing. There’s just no one like a Grandma.
Eliza passed her six month birthday last week. I am at a loss for words when I try to explain how much I love this little girl. I mean, we love babies in our house. All of us. But this one has grabbed hold of our hearts in a way we couldn’t have imagined.
What a sweet blessing it was to go to the Doctor this week and ask him very minor questions. Many times a day, I recount our days with Annie at this point. They were so very dark. It was the beginning of the end, only we didn’t know that yet.
So, Eliza Grace.
Well, for starters, she is a little pudgy ball. Way high on the charts for weight and way low on the charts for height. Awesome.
And happy!? Oh yes, she is. Not just happy, but always ready for a party. She and Kate have already gotten in trouble for playing together when they should be sleeping. If she can’t see what’s going on she uses her incredible range of motion to figure out where the action is.
She sits. Kind of.
She eats a few things (and enjoys them!) and likes to be at the table with the rest of us.
She likes to dress like Kate (at least that’s what Kate tells me).
She has two teeth (sorry, but I can only see them when she cries. I promise that she was already crying before I took this picture.)
She loves to play and explore. She’s quite the curious girl!
She knows how to get a little attention.
She likes to watch the big kids out the window.
She has incredible facial expressions. I promise you she can lift one eyebrow at me. Already.
And she is just plain funny. We laugh at her and she likes it.
So . . .
little e.
E-l-i-z-a (which is what your brother calls you. He’s learning to spell, you know.)
We’re glad you’re a Damaska.
You give us much joy.
“He has showered His kindness on us . . . “
Ephesians 1:8