Simply Faithful

I come from a place that’s no stranger to storms, a place where Mama restocked the storm shelter each spring and where schools — from kindergarten to college — have tornado drills.

We prepare because we know the rain and wind will come. The tornado might not touch down on our house or our town, but it will surely blow and threaten. We will need to take cover. We will need to find the strongest place in a building or dig shelters deep into the earth. We’ll bow down and cover our heads. And wait.

Others wonder why we stay in a place where our very air twists and destroys. But we know that storms are everywhere. Ice. Floods. Fires. Earthquakes.

No place is immune, and so we stay. We help each other, and we rebuild.

Sure, we’re scared and we’re cautious, but we’re home.

*I don’t know how to credit this picture. It’s being passed around Facebook, and I really wanted to share it here.

Need a good book for summer? Well, we have some recommendations for you! 

May these books be a blessing to you – and may you visit again on June 15 for a list of books about freedom. Enjoy!

A few I love:

The Exquisite Ordinary by Rachel Whaley Doll. She encourages people to be brave and use their gifts. One of my favorite lines… “Yes, there is probably someone else that can do that thing you do better than you. But chances are, they are not standing where you are.”

Lead Your Family Like Jesus: Powerful Parenting Principles from the Creator of Families by Ken Blanchard, Phil Hodges and Tricia Goyer. Technically, I was supposed to save this one for my list of parenting books, but it’s new and I want to talk about it! I’m only a few chapters in, but I love that the authors address the parent’s ego early on: “Two problems result from thinking horizontally. The first is that others’ opinions, not God’s, become the source of our security and self-worth. The second is that our kids pick up on it.”

Prayers for Children, illustrated by Eloise Wilkin. I’ve had this one since I was a child, and I recently shared it with my two youngest boys. They drifted off to sleep listening to prayers that are simply beautiful.

Some recommendations from my friends:

Crazy Love:Overwhelmed by a Relentless God by Francis Chan

Emotionally Healthy Spirituality: Unleash a Revolution in Your Life in Christ by Peter Scazzero

Love Does:Discover a Secretly Incredible Life in an Ordinary World by Bob Goff (After reading the description, I think I’ll be adding this to my need-to-read list!)

The Jesus I Never Knew by Philip Yancey

Little Glimmers of Light: True Stories to Entertain You, Inform You and Enlighten Your Path by Elton Rengstorf

New books/books that are coming out soon:

Wings of Glass by Gina Holmes. This book reminded me that domestic violence is a concern for us all — and that we all need to step in. (I really enjoyed Holmes’ writing and plan to go back and read her first book, too.)

A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet: Southern Stories of Faith, Family, and Fifteen Pounds of Bacon by Sophie Hudson. Oh my goodness. This book was just what a homesick Okie needed! It is plenty of fun but has a powerful message. “And what I know beyond a shadow of a doubt… is that if our generation wants the phrase legacy of faith to mean anything at all to those kids around the table — if we want to go beyond spouting one more piece of Christian lingo that sounds real pretty but holds precious little significance in their lives — then we have to share our stories with them. …We have to make much of what God has done in our lives and what He continues to do.”

Merlin’s Blade by Robert Treskillard. I asked Jessie, my 14-year-old to read this one, and he really enjoyed the author. In fact, he compared Treskillard to John Flanagan, who wrote the Ranger’s Apprentice series.

Jessie often holds books for me while I snap a picture, and this time he requested that his face be part of the picture. Such a demanding model!

I remember she came out of her office and into the newsroom with that look on her face, the one where you can tell someone is about to get it. I don’t even know what she was angry about but she was loud and she was right. Someone had been wronged and she was having no part of it.

Later, when my co-worker had calmed down, I thanked her for being so honest with her emotions and for crossing that all-important line of niceness.

For years and years I tried to make sure I never ruffled any feathers or hurt anyone’s feelings. I knew exactly what society expected from nice people, and I tried to check everything off the list.

In the process, I confused giving in to what other people wanted with being humble and loving. I focused more on controlling what people saw on the outside – my curb appeal – than I did on doing the spiritual remodeling I needed on the inside.

The funny thing is, when the spiritual dust began to settle, it was kindness that started to take center stage. Niceness got tossed in the Dumpster.

With kindness I found I could listen to a friend, pay for a stranger’s lunch, send cards to soldiers and still do things that niceness wouldn’t allow – things that might make people uncomfortable.

I could write to the head of the Oklahoma Department of Human Services and state senators and representatives to tell them that three years in foster care is long enough for boy to be in limbo, especially when that boy is only 8.

I could eat dinner in a crowded, dilapidated home of migrant workers so that I could hear their side of the story with my own ears.

Before, when I practiced niceness, it required me to shy away from the battlefield of controversy but that’s where kindness shines. While niceness is a stagnant mask, kindness requires action.

My co-worker acted that day by challenging something she saw as unfair to others, and when I thanked her for it, she merely said that next time it would be my turn. I, too, could pick kindness, even if it’s loud.

Brian and I are the kind of people who sat in the back of the room for all of our foster parenting classes and when it came time to say why we wanted to be foster parents we whispered to each other and laughed.

The others said the things you’d expect. To help kids. To make a difference. We said we wanted to go to kids’ movies and play in the sprinkler.

Not much has changed in the last six years, except that the child we attended all those classes for, Jessie, is growing a mustache and it is Benjamin and Colt who are making mud pies in the backyard and drawing on their arms and bellies with colored markers.

Just a week ago Benjamin went into a doughnut shop wearing the tail from his kite tied around his head ninja-style, brown pants with a hole large enough for his entire knee to poke out and a slightly too-small orange and navy plaid shirt that he refuses to let go of. Did I mention the shirt was unbuttoned and showed the remainder of a green circle drawn around his belly button?

Then, there are the times I come home and Jessie, our resident artist, has drawn flowers for me or generously used his own money to buy us all treats. The times curly haired Colt pulls my chair out for me at the table and serves me corn with a spoon almost as long as his arm. The times Benjamin calls me “my beautiful.”

These are the moments that are better than any manufactured Mother’s Day card – the moments where you remember why you started this journey. None of us do it for the diapers or the I’ve-explained-this-before lectures. No. We do it for the everyday joy, and when there is joy in the every day, then Mother’s Day is just a bonus.

For the last couple of decades I’ve lived pretty far away from my mama and even when I was a mere hour away, sometimes I’d have to work on Mother’s Day. I’ve apologized many years for not being able to celebrate with her in person, and her answer is always the same: You treat me well all year long.

No guilt, just gratitude.

And that – making every day holy – is something worth celebrating.

It started with a challenge from The Nester, this idea to bring a bit of spring inside. So, I cut branches off of spring trees, arranged them in vases. Pronounced some good, some brilliant and some less-than-pretty.

The less-than-pretty I intended to just throw out but when I carried them to the door my mind whispered, Wait until they bloom.

It’s not what I wanted to hear. I have several things taking up space in my life right now that seem stuck in winter. No spring growth. No blooms.

But I put the less-than-pretty back on my craft table, and I check on it every day. The good and the brilliant have long-since lost their blossoms. The less-than-pretty still waits to share its gift.

You don’t even need instructions for this… and there are so many options! Clip these on presents or cards. Turn them into magnets. Use them for displaying pictures…

I liked the natural look of the wood, but think how cute these would be if you painted them first.

I’m trying not to buy new craft supplies, but I needed a tiny alphabet for this project. These were $1 at A.C. Moore.

For decades I’ve read articles about finding balance in life. From Seventeen to Redbook. From Women’s Day to Family Circle.

I’ve talked about it with friends, with sisters, with bosses. And then finally I met a woman who showed me a new way to look at balance.

Her mother brought her in to a photo shoot I was helping with. We were waiting on her husband, who was just a few minutes out, so we talked a bit to better understand her story – to better portray her in pixels.

I know you ride at the stables, I said. To help you with your balance after the car accident, right?

She smiled and nodded.

And I heard that our husband surprised you on Valentine’s Day, that he took off work and showed up to watch you ride?

Another nod and a bigger smile.

Well, we thought maybe we’d photograph both of you, I said about the time he walked in.

The biggest smile of all for him.

“Do you want to sit in the wheelchair or stand for the picture?” her mother asked.

Stand.

So, with Mom on her left and husband on her right, she slowly made her way around the cords and beneath the lights. She turned to face the camera and she stood, leaning on her husband’s shoulder. Then, there were smiles after in-love smiles from both of them.

And in the end, we had a beautiful picture of a rare kind of balance – balance that wasn’t about squeezing more in or deciding what to let go of. We had a picture of steadiness, of taking the time to walk alongside those we love, of allowing ourselves to lean in order to stand.

In those few minutes, I saw balance not as one person struggling with weights on both outstretched hands but as something that is more about all of us, together.

Moments after the bombs exploded in Boston, the questions started.

First, the ones that needed a quick response.

Where can I get help? What happened? Is my brother OK?

Then the questions that linger in a soul.

Why would anyone do this? How can I ever feel safe? 

And the one that haunts me the most, the one that draws close to my face and looks me in the eye.

What can I do to help?

It taunts me every time another hurt flashes across my screen, every time I read of a too-soon funeral. Each time I feel small, too miniscule to do anything, so I fall into the carefully set trap of evil – the trap of thinking I can do nothing.

I pray and I pack my lunch for another day. I match socks and sweep dog hair off the floor. I begin to think that I’m right where evil wants me, defeated on the ground, and that’s when something inside me starts to stir and kick at the dust.

I may not be able to keep the world safe, but I can give my children words to describe their emotions. I can model how to disagree respectfully. I can make the effort to not just know my neighbors’ names but to know what they’re going through.

I can turn off the TV and log off Facebook long enough to volunteer or send a thoughtful note or study something that helps me be a better advocate, a better voter, a better friend. I can live beneath my means so I have more to give.

I can do all of that and more because, make no mistake, hard times come to every neighborhood. From bombs in the back of moving trucks to tsunamis licking away the land, misery finds us all.  And when it does, we need each other.

We need the candles lit and the signs hung that say we’re in people’s thoughts. We need the meals, the teddy bears, the memorials. We need to know that other people are standing – and kneeling – with us.

We need to know that God has not left us to deal with this alone.

I stare back at “What can I do to help?” and I start to nod. This, this is it. I can’t prevent evil but I can work toward a healthier community, and when all seems dark and lonely, I can bring light and love.

That much I can do.

I so appreciate other bloggers who offer simple ways to share faith with kids, so here is my humble, clunky contribution…

Stained glass window at Seneca Park Zoo in Rochester, NY.

My young Benjamin loves nature and animals. I wanted him to know that God loves those things, too, so I pulled together a homemade workbook for a recent trip to the zoo. I wrote out scriptures about God and His creation, included the song “All Things Bright and Beautiful” and added a few coloring pages and mazes, along with a recycled envelope for holding maps and pamphlets.

We took the workbook with us and, while we were at the zoo, Benjamin studied the animals so he could get the colors just right. We took field notes and plan to add our own snapshots and more coloring pages before our next trip.

If I had thought of it more than 12 hours before I needed it, I might have made it cuter but Benjamin didn’t seem to mind at all! Some snapshots:

Also, there are two books I’d recommend if you’d like to reinforce how much God loves His creation and His creatures: “All Things Bright and Beautiful” by Ashley Bryan, who illustrated the book by cutting out images with his mother’s embroidery scissors, and “Shiny Touchy Smelly Creation Story” by Joanna Bicknell. You’ve really got to see these.

First, Ashley Bryan…

Then, Joanna Bicknell…

Enjoy! I hope this was helpful!

Troy Hayes and my daddy, Bobby Gregory. Judging from Daddy’s shirt, they must have been working on a car.

For as long as I can remember, Brother Troy has had heart trouble. But now, in just the last month, cancer and its treatments make it so he can’t stand behind the pulpit and deliver a full sermon. I heard he sat down halfway through his talk on Easter and that more hymns were sung than normal.

Of course the small Oklahoma congregation understands. Of course they pray for his strength and comfort. Of course they offer support to the man who has officiated at their children’s weddings and helped them say their earthly goodbyes.

But it feels like there should be something more – some proper way to thank the man who baptized you and then coaxed you to wade deeper, to grow stronger.

When I was about 10 I wrote these notes in my Bible, including mentioning which pastors baptized my family members.

In the more than 20 years that I sat under his teaching, I’ve lost count of the times the Baptist preacher told us that the name on the church sign didn’t matter. I don’t care if the sign says Methodist or Lutheran or Pentecostal, he’d say. What matters is that they are preaching the Bible, that they are following God’s teachings.

Then, sometimes in the same sermon, he’d tell us not to just swallow his teachings whole. Don’t just take my word for it. Study it yourselves. Pray about it.

I’ve always liked that about him, how he humbly points to God and to scripture – his true north. And I don’t even have to ask. I know that hasn’t changed in the years since I moved away.

His wife, Sister Betty, still teaches Sunday School. It was there in her classroom where my 7-year-old self fell in love with David and his psalms. Where I saw a re-enactment of Daniel in the lions’ den on an old-fashioned flannel board. Where I memorized most of the scriptures that guide me today.

I’m the middle angel, proclaiming the Good News to the shepherds in the corner.

All those lessons. All those sermons. They’ve mattered in my life and in the lives of countless others. I’m in awe when I think about the influence of two faithful people in a tiny little town, and I’m struck by the far-reaching ripples of all people in ministry – be that behind a pulpit, in a classroom or mowing the lawn for a neighbor.

Thank you, Brother Troy. And you, too, Sister Betty. Thank you, all who teach us about God’s love.

Dearest readers, Brother Troy went to be with his Heavenly Father today. Many are mourning his passing. Will you join me in praying for them?  

No one preached a finer funeral than Brother Troy. There was just something indescribable about how he shared God’s love with those who were hurting. I’ll never forget what he said at Daddy’s funeral. He talked about faith, hope and love. He said faith and hope are realized in heaven, completed if you will, but love continues. There is no end, no death for love.

Much love to you, Brother Troy, and welcome home.

I’m a list maker by nature. The problem is that those lists are on napkins, on scraps of paper, on Post-its… and, well, sometimes that meant I lost my notes on prayer requests.

So, clearly I needed one central place to track joys and concerns. But what I also needed was something that would prompt me to think of what I might do besides pray for people.

In what way could I offer friendship? In what way could I be an answer to prayer? 

I took a small Moleskin notebook and started making a standard form.

What was the prayer request?

Did it require a card? A meal? A gift? An old-fashioned telephone call?

I try to take care of written correspondence on Sunday afternoons — birthday cards, pictures to Mama, thank you notes — so I’m adding reviewing this new prayer journal to my routine.

My hope is that I’ll get better at reaching out to people and up to God.

And the winners of our hope necklaces are…

Benjamin and my favorite Blue Whale mug o’ names…

Benjamin and the first winner… Lida Merrill!

… and all four winners!

Congratulations everyone and thank you so much Knot Far From the Tree!

I know — technically — the 40 Days of Hope project is complete, but I saved this one journal page for today. It’s from the gracious Lynda Pleckan. Enjoy!

And thank you all for helping prepare my heart for Easter.

Be blessed, my friends!

To download today’s journal page, just click here.

Here’s a peek:

Last year, members of Christ Church in Rochester, NY, wrote Lenten meditations and posted them on their Website, and this one — from Lucy Alonzo, an Episcopal deacon — is so very fitting for this final day before Easter.

And the journal page at the bottom? Well, it couldn’t be more beautiful or more perfect for today…

The Holy Saturday readings: Job 14:1-14 or Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24, 1 Peter 4:1-8, John 19:38-42

What do you do when your world falls apart?   On Holy Saturday, the disciples must have been in a state of shock.  Their beloved teacher who had healed so many, their Messiah, who had been greeted with palms as the Son of David on his entry into Jerusalem less than a week earlier, had been executed as a criminal!  What should they do now?  And what should we do when coping with disasters like the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, or any other time we feel that our world has crumbled? The readings for today show us some possible responses.

Job was a pious and upright man, but sudden calamities had killed all his children, stripped him completely of his considerable wealth, and ruined his health. In today’s reading he complains to God  -  an understandable response, though not particularly helpful except as a vent for his emotions.

In the Gospel reading, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus care for the body of Jesus, wrapping it with costly spices and placing it Joseph’s own new tomb.  Their choice was to do what they could to help, in the midst of their own sorrow  -  an appropriate choice for followers of the One who had commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves.  Peter’s letter agrees with this approach, reminding us, “Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins.”

For all of us who wish to follow Jesus, I think that an extremely important example is the choice He made in the Garden of Gethsemane:  “Not my will but yours be done.”   This is difficult to say in the midst of a disaster, but in my experience it is a very helpful way to pray.  Luke’s Gospel says that after Jesus prayed this way in the garden, “an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength” (Luke 22:43).  An example I like is a little child crying about a broken toy while holding onto it with all his might; his father can fix it for him only when he is willing to hand it over to him.  It takes faith to entrust our problems to our Heavenly Father, but it does make it much more possible for Him to help us. 

I learned something about this as a freshman in college.  I had a huge crush on a very nice boy, a friend of my cousin, and had been hoping he would write to me. But instead he sent me an invitation to his engagement party, and all my castles in the air came crashing down.  (Years later, he became a state governor, and I realized that I could never have been the political hostess he needed!)  Anyhow I went to the chapel and part of my prayer was approximately, “Lord, obviously you did not want what I wanted, but I’m sure you have a better plan for me, so please take charge of my life and help me to do what you want.”  Well, God answered my prayer by touching me with his love;  I cannot really describe it, but for weeks afterwards I was riding my bike around campus singing the Gloria. Of course surrendering our will to God is an ongoing process, but I believe each step along that path brings help when we need it most.

The reading from Lamentations is the one that I find most helpful for desperate situations.  Jeremiah had been persecuted for prophesying to Jerusalem about the approaching disaster; when the city was destroyed it would be understandable if he had felt it served them right. Instead he wrote in Lamentations, “My eyes flow with rivers of tears because of the destruction of my people.” However he also wrote, “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.”

So when our world seems to have fallen apart, let us do what we can to be helpful and loving, ask our Lord to take charge of the whole situation and say with Jeremiah, “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases.”

The resurrection is coming!

Thanks be to God.

Lucy Alonzo

I grew up in New Jersey and moved to Rochester to teach chemistry and general science in the City School District, after graduating from Vassar in 1959. After raising 3 children, I worked for the New York State Department of Health in TB Control until retiring. I volunteered with Penfield Emergency Ambulance for many years, and was ordained a vocational (permanent) deacon in the Episcopal Church in 1992.  I belong to Christ Church (141 East Avenue) and volunteer with the Refugee Program at Catholic Family Center. 

Lynda Pleckan

Today, we are blessed to have another journal page from Lynda Pleckan. Here’s what she has to say about herself:  

I live in upstate New York with my hubby of oh-so-many years.  Our family includes our daughter and son-in-law, and two of the sweetest granddaughters ever!

She slipped it into an envelope and through the mail, just on the chance that I’d include poetry in our Lenten project. She wrote how in 2012 a sudden, puzzling illness put her on life support. How her husband was told to prepare for her death. How this poem tells her story, the story of Rosanne Stiehler.

Like Lazarus,

I was breath-less,

bound up for the grave.

Like Lazarus,

my family wept,

four long days.

“Lord, if You would come,

she could still be saved!”

Like Lazarus,

the Lord showed up,

“Come forth!” is what He prayed.

Like Lazarus,

that vital shout

gave me life again.

Today, when all feels dark, He can give us all life again. When the past-due notices come on bills and relationships and old harmful habits, know that it’s not too late to start over. Know that Jesus, He paid it all.

May this holy weekend help make you whole.

You know how Kerry Hill so generously shared her story of hope? Well, the artist is generous in other ways, too. She has given me five beautiful necklaces to give away to you, you wonderful readers!

One of the necklaces will go directly to a woman who recently found out she has cancer. A mutual friend told me the woman was really looking forward to focusing on hope with us, and, well… I believe she needs one of these necklaces.

The rest of you, however, have a shot at the other four. So, are you ready to win?

Here are the details:

• First, show Kerry some love. Go “like” her page on Facebook or comment on her blog. Let her know we appreciate her thoughtful gift.
• Then, let me know by noon on Easter that you’d like your name added to the drawing. Either comment on the Simply Faithful page on Facebook or here at this blog post.
• After dinner on Easter, when my 5-year-old comes down from his sugar high, I’ll have him draw a name from my favorite Blue Whale mug. I’ll announce winners the following Monday.

That’s it. Now, get started so you can win!

Here’s more about Kerry:

Kerry Hill is a mother of four gorgeous children, proud military spouse and speech therapist working for over a decade with children with special needs.  She and her husband are currently stationed in Texas.  She is the proprieter of Knot Far From the Tree, a socially committed company dedicated to honoring the special seasons in life by offering hand stamped jewelry and gifts at an affordable cost.  Portions of the proceeds raised are given to such organizations as The Wounded Warrior Project, Relay for Life, Little Elves for Little Angels, and many others.  Her works can be found at www.knotsofar.etsy.com.

So many people have generously shared their stories with us during this 40 Days of Hope project, and I’m just so thankful for each one. Today, Kerry Hill opens her heart and teaches us more about hope…

… oh, and one other thing: check back here around noon for a fun surprise!

Hope. Such a short little word, such huge meaning and yet so difficult to describe. I prefer to think that I have seen my darkest days in life, and that the future ahead of me is bright with hope. When I was at my worst, Christ saw me at my best. As the Footprints saying goes: “When you saw only one set of footprints, that is when I carried you.” I prefer to think of this time in my life as the time when He dragged me down the beach.

Rewinding back and looking at my life so far, I would not say I had any regrets. I would, however say I have a very large running list of things that I have learned from. I am of the belief that God isn’t finished with me yet, and that all of these life’s trials are present just to make me more like Jesus. At least I hope that’s the case.

At a very young age, I was in a car accident. Unfortunately it is one of my earliest memories. In the early 80s cars were made better and kiddos didn’t have to sit in the back seat. Seatbelts were optional. For some strange reason my mother strapped me in that day — and then proceeded to hit a tree head on. It is miraculous we all survived the crash seemingly unscathed.

A little further on in life I was a new car owner taking her first car to college. It was a Spring day, the birds were chirping, the music was flowing out of the speakers and energy was flowing through my body. The freedom of college. The freedom to do whatever a young spirit willed, without confirmation or permission of a single solitary person — not even God. I made a left turn and ignored the right away and crashed that car into an oncoming car. Thankfully no one was hurt, except maybe my ego.

I went on to make several decisions for my own life in my early adulthood — and not exactly consulting with the Master Planner. After college I became a speech therapist, working with kids with special needs — something I truly feel was in God’s plan for me. About four years after I had been practicing as a therapist, I thought the love of my life had come into my life and like most head strong adults I followed him — and again shared no consult about God’s plan for me. Initially I was happy in this relationship. I gave up my career, my credit score, my life’s savings all for one person, one man… who unfortunately was no good at all for me. This man was abusive not only to himself, but to me. He was a thief, a drinker, a drug addict and a liar — and I was deceived into all those things as well.

And along comes hope. I was blessed to find out I was pregnant with a baby girl. My mommy instinct took over and I straightened up and flew right. God gave me a precious gift, the gift of renewed appreciation of life by giving life to me. My daughter was born safely and securely and we built a life into the arms of awaiting family members. She was baptized, and all of a sudden the world made sense — because I started following the plans that God had for me, instead of living my own life. Now I had more than just my own salvation to think about. Now I had to think of how to steer a precious girl on the roads of life.

I am ever so thankful that through Christ we are renewed — He alone is our Hope. We can completely fail at our lives and yet He never really lets go, even if He has to drag us through the storms of life. For without Him and His plan, we are nothing but the tiny grains of sand on the beach.

Through faith, I asked God for my husband, the one he meant for me. And nearly three years ago, we were joined in wedded bliss. He accepts my daughter and raises her as his own. That is what Hope really means to me. I am ever hopeful to see the other ways that God will bless me with his divine plans in future days — and I have a feeling I haven’t seen anything yet.

Kerry Hill is a mother of four gorgeous children, proud military spouse and speech therapist working for over a decade with children with special needs. She and her husband are currently stationed in Texas. She is the proprieter of Knot Far From the Tree, a socially committed company dedicated to honoring the special seasons in life by offering hand stamped jewelry and gifts at an affordable cost. Portions of the proceeds raised are given to such organizations as The Wounded Warrior Project, Relay for Life, Little Elves for Little Angels, and many others. Her works can be found at www.knotsofar.etsy.com.

Due to a technical issue that I’m not even going to try to fix, this glimpse of Kerry’s journal page is not quite the right color. However, it gives you the idea of how pretty it is! To download and print your own copy, click here.

Today, a powerful lesson from my sister, Jaquita…

Jaquita and Jessie in 2008.

So we found out that Tony had a severe concussion, bruises and cuts all over (about 30 stitches). He had seven damaged vertebrae in his neck and back, torn ligaments in his right arm, a bruise on his left kidney and possible liver damage — but NO broken bones.

He left the hospital after just 36 hours but I had to wake him every two hours for another 48 to make sure he was coherent. I had to call our son in from college for a week to help me lift Tony up and down off the bed and to help him in the shower. But through it all I was positive that he would mend and everything would be back to “normal” in a few months. Well I was wrong.

Photo by Lori Ostling

In the first year we saw probably 10 different doctors and specialists. Tony was on a horrible amount of pain medication. He lost his job of nearly 20 years. He was not the same man that he used to be. (I wish I had a dime for every time I thought that!) Over the first two to three years he became more aggressive, forgetful and more detached. All of his doctors kept saying it was side effects of the medicine or it was depression so they changed and added medication but he kept getting worse.

He had now lost three jobs. I finally called our family doctor and begged him to listen to me. I told him that I was almost to the point of having to put Tony in nursing home or something, I was afraid he would hurt himself or someone else. He was becoming too unpredictable and sometimes just flat out mean. In a nutshell, I was becoming afraid of him. I begged God to change him, to make him like he used to be…OK I admit, I was even a little angry at God.

The doctor finally recommended an endocrinologist. I had never heard of one and didn’t know what kind of doctor he was but I was desperate so I made the appointment. I see now that God directed us there but at the time I was too angry to see it. They did several tests and the doctor explained his theory that Tony had a tumor on his pituitary gland. He was right and started Tony on a very strong medication to make his body produce hormones. He said if the medication didn’t work it would mean brain surgery…

The medication worked but Tony was still not Tony. He lost two more jobs and then finally gave into having back surgery. In November of 2008 we filed for disability for Tony. He had seven major surgeries in 23 months.

It was while Tony was recovering from one of those surgeries that God had a talk with me! I was in my sewing room, moving back and forth from the cutting table to the sewing machine, and I was having myself a good ole’ pitty party! I was ranting on in the inside about how it wasn’t fair that Tony was not the same man that I had married.

As I stood at my cutting table, God softly spoke to me: “Why are you cutting up that perfectly good piece of fabric?”

“Well I am making a quilt out of it,” I said.

God then said, “I did the same with Tony. I sent my angel to save him and then I took the pieces and put him back together. He is not the same, just as that piece of fabric will never be the same, but he is my work of art and he is there with you. Remember that as you wrap yourself in the warmth of that beautiful quilt.”

Well, I was in shock and not just a little embarrassed! Tony is now doing great. The hormone medication is working, he is still on a lot pain medication but they have finally found a good combination for him. He was approved for disability. And I no longer HOPE for Tony to be back to normal! I have accepted God’s gift. (I know I am a little slow!) I have realized that my “quilt” has been pieced together with new fabric along with some of the old, but most importantly it is sewn together with love and HOPE!

The three sisters: me, Jaquita and Kathy. (Photo by Lori Ostling)

Photo taken by Lori Ostling

Today I turn the blog over to my middle sister, Jaquita Lilich, to tell you about her husband’s terrible accident — the tearing of the pieces. Tomorrow, she’ll be back to talk about the mending. Be blessed…

Tony and I have been married 31 years and have had a great marriage. I didn’t say perfect, I said great. On Feb. 19, 2004, our lives changed forever.

Tony called and said he was on his way home from work. I was babysitting our friends’ 4-month-old baby and our 15-year-old daughter, Jessica, and her boyfriend were there with me. I said to Tony, “I hope I don’t burn our dinner. You know there is a baby here and I might get side tracked playing with her.” He said, “It wouldn’t be the first time I ate a burned dinner and pretended to like it.” I replied, “Don’t make me hang up on you,” and I did (playfully).

Jaquita with newborn Benjamin in 2007.

Thirty minutes later I was putting the dinner on the table, but instead of Tony walking through the door, Jessica came in from her bedroom. She looked like she had seen a ghost… She said, “Mom, some lady just called my cell from Dad’s phone and said that Dad has been in a horrible wreck! She said not to worry that she would stay with him until help came and that the highway patrolman would be calling you.”

Just as if on cue, the house phone rang. It was a highway patrolman. He asked if this was Mrs. Lilich. I said, “Yes.”

He asked if we owned a green Ford supercrew. I said, “Yes.”

He hesitated and asked, “How many people are in the vehicle right now?” I thought that was an odd question, but I said, “Just Tony, why?” He said, “Because we don’t expect to find any survivors. I just needed to tell the rescuers how many bodies to look for.”

I somehow remained composed enough to ask where the wreck was and to give him my cell phone number to reach me. I told him I was on my way. I was hoping that the woman would stay with him. I didn’t want him to be alone.

Jessica just looked at me and said, “Go find Dad. I will take care of everything else. Just let me know which hospital they are taking him to. The woman said he would be OK.” I said, “I will, but the patrolman wasn’t so positive.” Jessica said, “But the woman was with him and said he was going to be OK.”

When I got within a few miles of the wreck the patrolman called me again. He said, “The paramedics are at the truck. He is alive. They are cutting him from the vehicle and will transport him to Tulsa Regional Medical Center.” I said, “I will meet him there.”

My mind was racing. I don’t know how our minds do that in an emergency but I was thinking a million thoughts at once. When he arrived at the hospital he was semi-conscious. They took him immediately to begin assessing his injuries. He was strapped to a back board and had a neck brace on. He had cuts all over and was covered in blood… but he was alive. There was hope!

Tony and Jaquita at Colt’s 1st birthday party. (2011)

Several hours later the patrolman came by to check on him and to return his wallet. I asked him about the woman who made the phone call; I wanted to thank her for staying with Tony. He said there wasn’t a woman there. The wreckage had been too dangerous to approach and no one was allowed in until haz-mat had done their work.

Tony squeezed my hand and I looked over at him. He said, “There WAS a woman. I couldn’t see her very well because the light was too bright. She talked to me and told me stay awake, that help was on the way. She told me that she had talked to Jessica and told her that she was with me. She said that I was injured pretty badly and she knew that I was hurting but I had to trust her and have hope.” Then, he closed his eyes again.

The patrolman put his hand on my shoulder and said to me, “Ma’am, I stand corrected. It seems as though there was an angel present there tonight. There is no other explanation. No one should have survived that accident.”

Join us tomorrow to hear how my sister holds on to hope in the aftermath — nine years later.

Grandma Gregory could spin a tale like nobody’s business. She’d take a routine trip to the corner store and turn it into the kind of story that you’d asked her to tell again and again.

And when she started in on the stories about how tiny Daddy was as a baby, you could practically see the dresser drawer he slept in and the little doll clothes he wore.

So, you can imagine the kinds of letters she wrote to her children. One of my favorites is her party invitation to fill in a ditch. She promises games for the children and wheelbarrow and shovel racing for the adults.

In another letter, postmarked March 25, 1978, she wishes my parents a happy Easter. In it, she writes about how she cherishes her memories from the Easter of 1977 – the year the two of them dedicated their lives to serving God and were baptized. That Easter season, Grandma’s “dream of a lifetime” came true, she writes, before she goes on to encourage them:

“… we’ll come in contact with many things we don’t understand but read your Bible, keep your eyes on Jesus and your hand in his and he will take you through to the end.”

She wrote all of those things before sickness took her husband and diabetes took her legs, before terrorists slammed airplanes into the World Trade Center, before tsunamis raked away entire towns and villages and radiation threatened to poison the survivors.

Now, all these years later, I still find comfort and wisdom in her long-ago letter.

She reminds me to pray not only for protection, but for strength.

Grandma spent most of her life trying to crawl into God’s arms and trying to share his love with others. She was OK with not understanding everything, OK with not knowing how every story ended.

She simply trusted the Author.