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Last night and today I had the honor of shopping for families for Christmas.  It is something I enjoy doing every year.  We take up donations at church before Thanksgiving, and then names and money are handed out to those who want to shop.  I’m always excited to open the envelope with my name on it, and see who I get to shop for.  I’ve shopped for little boys and girls, pre-teens, and teenagers. There is usually one wish, and then I have to come up with other gifts to buy.  Some years have been more challenging than others. But this year…..

This year I opened up my envelope, and saw that I was given a 7 month old baby. I was given a child who won’t even remember the packages under the tree, or excitedly await to rip into paper. I looked at the little slip of paper, with a wish of learning toys, and thought – sweet goodness, I have no idea what to get a baby.  I mean, just last week, my friend from work was talking about a toy that is a wooden piece of cheese you run string through.  Huh? Literal string cheese? Okay.  We are a long way removed from JD’s first Christmas.

I thought that, and then thought about JD’s first Christmas.  Sure, he was only 3 months old, but we were excited.  I remember getting him a little 1st Christmas outfit, and how his granny kept telling him he was going to get some “stuff.”  It still makes me smile.  The truth is, the first Christmas isn’t for the child – it’s for the parents.  And that led me to another thought.  I thought about this sweet baby and her mama….so here we are.

Dear Mama,

I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.  We have never met, but I’ve had you on my mind a lot lately.  As I sit here watching The Santa Clause, having just finished wrapping gifts for your precious baby, I want you to know first and foremost that it was my honor to be able to do this.  When I think of a baby’s first Christmas, I think it should be filled with joy – and I hope that this year is that for you.  I don’t know if this has been a hard year, or if you feel that really this has been a hard life. I don’t know if your circumstances leave you feeling overwhelmed…or if like me, even when times are hard, you have hope. You believe for the best. I certainly pray that is the case.

Somewhere along this way, I realized that I wasn’t just shopping for a baby girl.  I was shopping for you. I thought about what you might want for your child, and I hope I made good selections. I did get learning toys, and a couple of cute outfits, but then I thought about what I would want.  I couldn’t let this year pass without something to commemorate your daughter’s first Christmas. Something small, but maybe something you’ll unpack each year. Maybe you’ll hold this ornament in the future, and you won’t think about the hard time. Instead you’ll hold this ornament and think of how life can give us the greatest of blessings.

From one mama to another….Merry Christmas.

This is a beautiful life.

I have always had a great love and appreciation for our military, and for the history of this country.  I have been to the Vietnam memorial in DC, shed tears at Arlington, walked the floor at the WWII museum in New Orleans with chills bumps, and gazed in awe at the Naval Aviation museum back home. A few years ago, I even had the amazing opportunity to attend the commissioning of the USS Michael Murphy on a beautiful October day in New York City.

But today I experienced something I never have before, and honestly never thought I would.

As we walked up to the lookout area at Pearl Harbor, the thing I noticed first was just how small that the harbor is.  I had a hard time imagining all the mighty warships we had there on that day almost 75 year ago.  It is hard to believe such a magnificent fleet all in one location.  I gazed out over the water, and thought about what a sight that must have been.  The mountains, with the clouds hanging low, the mist in the air, a place that had to have been so far removed from what most of these young men had ever seen.  The water today was like glass. Peaceful. A tropical paradise that quickly turned into hell.

We had a bit to walk through the museum, where one of the things that stood out was a short clip of a veteran talking about how he could only notify one family member that he was safe, and the struggle he had between notifying his mom or his dad. As he choked up, he explained how he chose his father, and then could only send one line out. Imagine the relief his dad had to have felt getting the one sentence that simply said he was alive. We watched a short film, and the kids all very solemnly got in line to load the ferry to the USS Arizona Memorial. I found myself seeking out the face of my own son. I thought about all the mamas who couldn’t even have pictured a place like Hawaii back in some small mid-Western town, but sent their sons off to serve in the Navy. It took us over ten hours of in-air flight time to get here. That was an impossible world away in 1941. As we pulled up to the memorial I couldn’t help but think of how those same mamas would forever after live a world away from their sons. Their sons, which I have no doubt they loved more than their own lives – forever entombed in a watery grave as a reminder of the sacrifices made on that Decemer day.

As we lined up to exit, we saw a Pearl Harbor veteran wheeled onto the memorial with tears running down his face. Seventy-five years ago he lost his innocence, his childhood, his brothers-in-arms, and returns today to a place that isn’t just a memorial of a time long past, but a monument that clearly divides the life he once knew, and the life he went to bed with on December 7, 1941.  Forever changed. We see the documentaries. He closes his eyes and can’t escape.

My words will never be able to accurately convey the experience of Pearl Harbor.  The beauty of the land. The absolute unimaginable events that took place there. There are monuments to other lives lost in defense of this country, but none where so many lives were lost in an instant. There are other monuments that have the names. But it is something to know you are standing above so many who rest in their earthly grave below. Together in life. Together still in death. My words may not come like I would like, but my heart will never forget.

 

I’ve felt heavy in my heart today – it happens sometimes around this time of year. I’ve never really been good at not noticing the hurt, loneliness, or pain in the eyes of people, or etched onto their faces – the smiles that try to cover up that the reality isn’t quite what they once hoped. I would say it started last week when someone teared up when I wished them Happy Thanksgiving – a random stranger, working in a service industry and nobody had yet taken the time to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving. Her tears stopped me in my tracks, as her smile waned, and I tried for something to say that would be meaningful in our couple minutes of conversation. I couldn’t come up with much except to again wish her a Happy Thanksgiving, and tell her that I hoped it was one filled with joy and love. I walked off a little sad, my heart a little heavy.

Here’s the thing, y’all, in a way that boils it down – life can be hard.  It can leave you with a heart that has been battered, and expectations that are unrealized. It can smother you with loneliness, and seem to crush you with a weight of worry.  If that is where you are, please know – I might not know exactly who you are or what it is that weighs heavy on your heart, but I find myself more and more praying, especially during this time of year – that the peace which passes all understanding will settle upon those who need it.  I find myself praying that minds would be quieted, hearts would be mended, and that a sense of community would overtake the lonely – that they will see clearly how much they are loved.

I find myself praying – not that I won’t see that pain – but that I don’t get so wrapped up in my own to-do lists and busyness that I fail to see when someone needs a kind word. I find myself asking for a heart that is steadfast and eyes that show understanding.

I pray that just as in Isaiah 61, I can bring good news to the poor, comfort the brokenhearted, and proclaim that captives can be set free – not as one who merely speaks the words, but as one who has seen that happen in my own life. You see, life can give you all those things – the battered heart, loneliness, worry – but I know One who says that isn’t what you have to accept.

Thank you, Lord, for a garment of praise, beauty for ashes, and joy for mourning.

Romans 15:13 – May the God of hope fill you with all joy as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

This is a beautiful life.

There are very few things that represent high school Friday nights in the Fall like football. When most people look back on their memories from that time, they will remember moments spent cheering on teams or maybe hanging out with friends.  Then there will be those who remember playing the game. Playing the fight song. Leading the cheer that the crowd quickly begins to holler back.  There are fans, and then there are those who aren’t just showing up on Friday night, but start doing what needs to be done long before the crowds set up stadium seats, or stand in line for Aggie fries.

When JD started his high school years, I didn’t have much thought about our football team. We had won 3 games in 3 seasons.  3 games, y’all.  There was a game between two teams in town – both who had lost every game – and the crowd was excited because one of those teams would finally walk away with the win.  We actually won. Needless to say, with that kind of record, I had hopes that we would win some games, but I had no idea….

His Freshman year, every single away game we played was either a Homecoming or some special school event.  We were the team that was asked to play so that the home team would win on their special night. Only something unexpected happen.  We were good. We were really good.  We beat all those Homecoming teams. As the season progressed we actually had hopes that we might make a playoff game.  It was almost unheard of. The band played with all they had. We cheered and screamed and hi-fived and hugged and believed…and then, somehow after a Monday night shoot out game that would decide the District champion and runner up – we walked away the runner up and the chance to play in a playoff game.  We loaded up, drove three hours away….and lost that first game.  Yet, you would have thought we were state champions.

His Sophomore year we did it again.  Only this time we won the first playoff game and lost in round 2.  Then came his Junior year.  His Junior year we were tapped to be District Champions and lost in a heartbreaking game at home to become the runner-up.  We hit the road, knocked out an undefeated team in the first round, the team we had the bitter home loss to in the second round, and faced off against our own personal Goliath in the Regional Championship.  Out of our few losses during his high school years, Niceville is the only team we had lost to every time we played them.  Now we had to face them and their fans in a game the day after Thanksgiving, at their home.  I can’t remember how many games they had won at home, but it was a long streak of not losing.  As we closed the game that night playing All I Do Is Win, I’ll never forget how excited I was knowing that one trumpet player couldn’t have asked for a better Junior year. We defeated Niceville at home. We went on to lose the next week at the semi-final, but we couldn’t have been more proud.

Fast forward to this year. We graduated a lot of our team starters last year, and there was talk about maybe not having the best season. We still believed.  Our kids put in a lot of work.  We lost two games to end up the district runner up – again.  But we went on to win the first round of playoff games.  And something amazing happened.  Something that hadn’t happened in almost 40 years.  For the first time since 1977, Tate got to host a playoff game. It was a huge deal.  One last game at home.  JD’s Senior Year, and in an unexpected turn of events we would get one more time to see it all from his home field.  One more night of Friday Night Lights in the stadium that will hold a lifetime of teenage memories for him.  One more time to watch this year’s halftime show from the home side, while our fans cheered on.

I watched them last night knowing that win or lose this was the very last time I would sit in Pete Gindl stadium, the parent of a Showband member. This would be the last time JD played the fight song at home or marched out of these stands as a Showband member. The next time he watches football in this stadium, he’ll be a spectator.

As the clock wound down, and it became apparent that this would be our last game, the band still played with all they had, and my memory began to turn through the pages of the last few years. I heard those same sounds, smelled the smells of the concessions, cheered those same cheers a thousand times – but this time knowing it would be the last – I think I was even more aware. Wanting to commit each sensation to memory in hopes that as the years pass quickly by I will remember even a fraction of the feelings I’ve had sitting in those stands watching him do what he loves.

We wrapped up by playing the fight song, and All I Do Is Win, one more time. The band filed out of the stands to the track.  JD looked at me and says “What a way to go out. At home.”  I had to agree.  While nobody wants to lose at home – what a way to go out.  At home.  Surrounded by those who love and support you. Those who have loved and supported you through the years. 4-years of unexpected, but greatly celebrated, success. 4-years wrapped up at home.

When our halftime show was named this year, it was decided that it would be titled “Home, Sweet Home” as it is a tribute to our country and our community.  We had no way of knowing how aptly that would describe our season.  Home, sweet home….it’s where it all began in those endless hours of preparation…and last night it’s where it ended.

This is a beautiful life.

On this, the first day of November, I’d like to start my list of things I’m thankful for with: I’m thankful some of y’all aren’t the boss of me and my Christmas decorations, and I can decorate when I want!

Okay,  okay…that’s not really it.  Maybe.

Actually, when I sat down to write this, I was thinking about something else – and maybe one day this month I’ll write about that, but then my heart changed.

Saturday night, we had Trunk or Treat at the church.  Now, I’m not sure if y’all are aware or not, but it was darn near 90 degrees when we got out there a little after 3:00 to set up. Considering I was dressed as a cat lady, with flannel pajama pants (complete with little cats all over them), long sleeve cotton shirt that came with the pajama pants, and a fleece bathrobe, by the time we started at 4:00, I’m pretty sure I was sweating like I had been on the dang ARC machine at the gym for 45 minutes, instead of simply opening my trunk, getting some candy together, and sitting in a chair.  We got started, and soon people were filing through one right after the other.  The sun went down…and the mosquitoes came out.  Yet, we were still having a good time.  I say that to say, by the time it got close to 8:00, I was about ready to wrap up.  I was sitting in my chair, bathrobe covering everything I could cover to protect me from the mosquitoes, just people watching, when up walked this little girl.

This little girl and her siblings with their dark hair and eyes, and innocent sweet smiles, always bring happiness to my life.  They are a group of children being fostered by someone in our church.  She came up, smiled shyly, stood in front of me, and I naturally thought she wanted more candy.  I reached into my bucket of candy, pulled out a handful, smiled and said (in a quiet voice as if we were sharing a secret): “Here….You want some more candy? I’ll give you some more candy.”

With one hand partially covering her beautiful smile, she shook her head no.  I admit to being momentarily puzzled – I mean, I just offered her a large amount of candy and she said no.  I said: “You don’t want candy?  Is there something else you want?” And without thinking twice, she quickly takes the couple of steps to me and presses in for a hug.  A big hug.  A “put your candy bucket on the ground because I need two arms to hug you” hug. Of course, I hugged her back.  She releases me, looks up at me, and says: “You’re always just so comfortable! One more hug?” I smiled, and said of course.  I hugged her tight, feeling her baby fine hair against my face, holding an innocent child knowing that her life has had times of chaos, and was humbled that she thinks that I am comfortable. She picked up her candy bucket, ran off smiling….and left my heart a little bigger.

You see, y’all, there are many words we might want someone to describe us as – maybe you’re funny, intelligent, witty, daring, gregarious, a go-getter, a networker….and the list goes on and on…yet, somehow I doubt that any of us would have thought we would want to be described as comfortable.  That’s usually a word we use to describe our favorite reading spot, or pair of pajamas, or old sweatshirt. We want to be exciting. We want to be seen as adventurous and sparkling. And maybe, I am at times that, too…

But on Saturday night, that little girl showed me that being comfortable is right where it’s at. With her words and actions, she told me that in this crazy world, she finds me a place of comfort.  Even if for but a moment. You see, it’s great to be those other things, and we are all multifaceted, but if one person finds even a measure of comfort, solace, or peace from being near me – I’ll take that any day.

So tonight – on this first day of November – I am thankful that someone in this world thinks I’m comfortable.

This is a beautiful life.

 

Soon we will be entering the Holiday season.  For us that means Christmas lights, hot chocolate (even if it is still 80-something degrees outside), and time spent with family and friends.  As we approach this time of gift giving and cheer, I find myself having more and more conversations lately about children who have so much, and yet maybe don’t appreciate that like they should.

The reality is that we all want to give our kids nice things.  I don’t know a single parent who wishes to withhold from their child, but we live in a society that makes balancing giving our children what they would like to have and raising adults who help meet the needs of others more and more difficult to achieve.  We are constantly being shown bigger and better things.  Just think about it – most of us carry a smart phone in our pocket and by the time we have had it two years, we are ready for another one; leaving the one we have to sit in a drawer because we don’t want to throw it away.

I was driving home tonight thinking about these things.  I remember vividly being the family who would have someone knock on the door around Christmas and drop off food and presents.  While I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, I do think it has always made me aware that everyone won’t have the same Christmas that I will have in this house.  Should that make you feel guilty? Absolutely not. I know that we all work very hard to provide, and giving gifts is something that should bring happiness to both the giver and receiver.

However, if you find yourself wanting to find a way to reach out and do something with your kids this year, please know that Families First Network has plenty of foster kids who they try to provide something for Christmas. Especially as they get closer to Christmas and realize that there are some kids who will fall through the cracks if someone doesn’t donate. Maybe you want to adopt a child or family.  There are social workers in every community looking for people to help provide a Christmas for needy families. When I used to pick a family for our department to support, I know the list our social worker was making was full by middle October. Our church adopts families every year and sends people out to specifically buy for each person.  This is something JD has been a part of his whole life, and while you might think your child is too young, trust me when I tell you that they pick up on these things at a young age, and look forward to it.

Do you bake or can you buy a baked good?  One of the things that has most impacted my heart in the last couple of years is knowing there is a boys’ home not too far down the road filled with boys whom the state has deemed un-place-able in foster care.  Knowing how much joy they got just from having people decorate their house while they were at school, and drop off baked goods for a week, is something that still makes me tear up. While you probably won’t ever get to meet those kids face-to-face, as there are parameters around when people can be in the house, you don’t have to see the joy on their faces to understand it when they send thank yous or you hear from the home parents about how excited they were. Young men, caught between childhood and being an adult, needing a reminder that maybe there is a warm place in the world.  And maybe, they might find it for themselves one day.  Yes, as small as it seems, you might just give that in a pan of brownies.

Maybe you have a heart for the elderly. I can tell you that my friend, Courtney, is always looking for blankets, socks, coats, toiletries, and other small items to give to her elderly clients. She is a social worker, and they do a drive each year. Often we think about the children, as we should, but we should also remember those who maybe no longer have someone to help take care of them.

My last suggestion is not just a Christmas thing, but a year round commitment. Back in September, we had Bill Wilson of Metro World Child come speak at the church.  If you are unfamiliar with Bill, you should really check out his biography.  Abandoned on a street corner at age 12, he waited for his mom to return for 3 days before being rescued – not by a minister, but by a regular ol’ person who saw a need and took him in.  Thankfully, he was taken in by a kind hearted person who only had his best interest at heart.  In turn, Bill made a life ministry out of reaching children.  His programs allow his team to be in contact over 150k children each week in New York City, as well as countries and cities in parts of the world that we can hardly imagine. They are a boots on the ground organization. While it is easy to look at these types of adopt-a-child programs and wonder if they are a scam, this program allows you access to see how your child being helped and what you are contributing towards.

My child’s name is Jessa Mae – which made my sisters smile because that legit sounds like something I would name a daughter of my own.  The welcome package is full of all kinds of information on your child – including exactly why they need help.  For my girl, it’s not so much that she doesn’t have family, but that her family struggles meeting all their needs.  While there are some who have health issues, or who have a different family life, there are those like Jessa Mae and her family who are just living in a poverty stricken country and need some help with necessities. Maybe it’s a way to introduce different cultures, and countries to your children. Maybe you can’t commit for a whole year.  They are doing a Thanksgiving dinner drive right now for a $25 donation per box.  If you have a minute, I’m telling you that visiting the metro world child website might change your life….or the life of a child.

You see, to me, the greatest gift is the one that keeps giving. It’s the one that brings a smile, but even more important brings a glimmer of hope.  Isn’t that what the Christmas Season is about?  Maybe it looks like bows on packages. Maybe it looks like baked goods. Maybe it looks like a sacrifice of time. Yet to the receiver it could be the gift of hope they have been longing for.

~A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices~

This is a beautiful life.

Last Friday night, I stood on a football field in front of a crowd of people to escort my son for Senior Night.  While cameras flashed, and people looked on, I smiled and did my best not to tear up thinking about how quickly we had come to that moment.  Yet, that moment showed me something about myself. Something I didn’t even notice until the next day.

As with every occasion now, images are uploaded to Facebook and shared on Instagram almost immediately. If you know my family, we fully believe in digital documentation, so if you’re around you better believe we’re getting a picture of it. Selfies, group pictures, wefies (or whatever that made up word was), photo bombs, sometimes staged photobombs….trust me, these women believe in the camera phone. Our conversations include disclaimers to not tag us in any pictures without prior approval. And part of that is with good reason – some people just share everything. I hesitate to think of how many times my unsuspecting face is out on the internet as a part of someone’s background shot. Let’s be real, I’m not known for being able to school my features, so those shots probably clearly show whatever it is I was thinking at the time.

Friday night there were a lot of pictures taken – and I’m not just talking about face close-ups, but full body shots. Video from far off showed us standing on the field. I looked at all these, uploaded them or was tagged in them….and then it occurred to me.  Not once did I look at any of those pictures and think about how I needed to lose weight.  I didn’t point out my chins, or the wrinkles on my face, or the width of my hips. I didn’t shake my head and think about all the low carb options I had passed up, and the gym membership that hasn’t seen use in a while. I didn’t sit down to count weeks until graduation and figure out how much weight I could lose.

Without realizing it, I viewed myself the same way I’d view someone I dearly love.

I saw a genuine, eye crinkling, smile. Eyes that couldn’t hide how proud I was of the young man I have helped raise.  I saw a picture of me and my friend on a field, both smiling through our own emotions. Both understanding just what that moment meant. It’s a picture I will cherish. There was a selfie with my best friend that we laughed about because it was a “one take selfie” – and that doesn’t usually happen because one of us shakes and the picture is blurry.  My sisters. My sister friends. It was a night to celebrate.

Then something else occurred to me. Often we get caught up in believing that the size of our pants or the smoothness of our skin determines our value.  True, we might not say that, we might not even consciously think it, but we sure do act like it. We hide from cameras, crop pictures down to showcase only what we think is the best, and say things like “I have to lose weight” or “I need to lose weight.” The truth is, everyone who loves you already knows what you look like and they love you.  And while it might be hard to believe, you don’t actually have to lose weight.  I am not saying there aren’t benefits to being healthy, but really being healthy encompasses so much more than the size of your pants or dress.

You see, being a smaller size or having a more youthful look, would not have made me one bit happier or more proud on Friday night. It wouldn’t make my strengths stronger or my struggles less.  It wouldn’t make me smarter and it wouldn’t give me more compassion. Those things alone would not do anything except make my pants smaller, and my face less lined. Truly.

Weeks before today, I had chosen today to make sure my food was prepped again, and to get back exercising.  I was realistic enough these last weeks to know that my life would pretty much look like going from one thing to the next until we got close to the end of football season. It has been a busy season. Yesterday, I took time and prepped food for the week; healthy, homemade choices. Yet, I realized – there’s a big difference in telling yourself you have to lose weight and reminding yourself that you want to do something. For you. Just because. Maybe that goal is to run a 5k. Maybe that goal is a pair of jeans. Maybe it’s to be able to keep up with your kids. Whatever it is – it has to be for you. But along the way….

Take pictures. Get in the picture. Love yourself exactly where you are in this moment. Know that one day, when my grandkids or great grandkids look at the pictures from this weekend, they won’t see that I needed to lose weight. Who knows what they’ll see? Maybe they’ll see a smile that looks like theirs. Maybe someone down the line has my eyes and they have wondered where those blue eyes came from. Maybe they’ll look at the picture of their dad and grandpa and see how much they look like him. Maybe they’ll think of me and just remember me…..not what I looked like on the outside, but who I was on the inside. Maybe they’ll think of warm cornbread and even warmer hugs. Maybe they’ll see that smile and hear me laugh in their minds. Maybe they’ll get to a Senior Night of their own, and realize just what that moment meant for a mama, because they are one, too.

There are a lot of things they might see, but I can almost guarantee that not a one will wonder what size my dress was, or if I should have started moisturizing my face ten years ago. They might finally realize where they got their crazy bad bangs from though.  Goodness…I cannot keep that hair doing what it should. haha!  I digress….

This life is a beautiful one. It’s filled with so many people and experiences that mesh to make us exactly who we are in this moment. This moment is the only one we are guaranteed – and I plan to continue to remind myself to view myself the way I would view someone I love dearly….not without flaws, but all part of the person I love. And that, to me, is beautiful.

Just a short time ago, I excitedly showed up to Parent Preview for JD’s Freshman year.  It had rained that day, so we weren’t able to use the field.  Instead, we all came with our camping chairs, set up along side the range they use to practice on, and while a light drizzle fell off and on, I listened to the finished product of his first band camp.  They struck up The Horse for the first time, and with watery eyes, I tried hard to not miss a single note. I sat there fully aware that this time would fly by. At least I thought I was aware.

You can’t fully realize, until the moment you watch them march out of the stadium for the last time at home, just how quickly it passes.

I watched him march in last night and instead of taking the stands, he and all the other Seniors, turned right to go onto the field and meet their families. We waited pre-game to proudly stand there and listen while the announcer went down the line and talked about each Senior and some of their accomplishments.  I’m proud of my son, and his accomplishments, but I’m proud for him.  You see, those accomplishments are his and I just celebrate them. Although, his step mom should get credit for his higher math and science. Seriously. =)

Senior Night. It had arrived.

I tried hard to stay in the moment, knowing that on this part of our journey if you get too far outside the moment, your emotions can get the best of you.  For those who haven’t been here, I can say that I am not sad.  It’s not a feeling of sadness.  It’s more a feeling of nostalgia.  There are few times in life when you can so clearly see that things are changing, and this is one of them. Ready or not.  You hold on.  You let go.  You look up and somehow what you’ve been working for all these years has happened.  I look up into the face of a young man, and know that these are the days we have been preparing for since he was born.

This is a year of lasts, and you can’t help but think of the firsts.

As I stood there on the field with his dad and step mom, I thought again about how thankful I am for our relationship.  I can tell you that nobody in this world wants better things for that young man than the three of us. While we still would have gotten to this moment, it wouldn’t nearly have been so seamless without the three of us being able to work towards the common goal of raising JD. We laughed. We took pictures. We hugged him, and it was time to take to the stands.

The moment came, and halftime was here. His last show at home. It finally turned off chilly last night, perfect football weather. The Showband took the field, and right there in the spotlight of stadium lights, while the home crowd cheered on, and I felt myself tear up, he did it one last time from the top.

I sent JD’s band director a message last week because I wanted him to know how thankful I am that JD had this experience. You see, we are in a program known for winning awards, but as I told him, there are things awards just can’t quantify. Awards can’t measure the pride a child has leaving the field, the friendships, or the memories made. Awards can’t show a crowd standing on their feet with tears in their eyes. Awards can’t show the progression of an unsure Freshman to the Senior trumpet section leader he is today. While awards can’t show those things, my memories will always hold them. There’s no other program I would rather have had him a part of. Period.

 

In some ways, looking back, all too soon the clock was at 00:00. We had won the ball game, and the band struck up The Horse one last time. With watery eyes, I held my phone to video, and tried not to miss a single note. I’ve heard that song played in that stadium countless times now, but nothing beats the first time….until it’s the last.

They filed out of the stands, I snapped a few pictures, and he marched out.

Last night another page was slowly turned, and we came to the end of this chapter. But, as with all good stories, we look forward with great anticipation to the next.

Holding on to the memories. Letting go to watch him fly.

This is a beautiful life.

 

 

Sometimes, when you least expect it, life hands you a reminder – a beautiful reminder…

Since I was 19 I have made my way in this world without parents. It’s something I write about occasionally, but it’s not something I talk about a lot.  A little while back a casual acquaintance made the statement: You know, when you’re having a bad day and you just have to call your mom?

I smiled, and nodded my head, but the truth is – no, I don’t know what that’s like.  I’ve never had a bad day and called my mom.  I can’t relate with father/daughter relationships. There isn’t a person somewhere tearing up thinking about their daughter and far she has come. Or looking at my son and remembering me at that age. That wasn’t to be. While most days pass without thinking about it, because this is my life and the way it is….there are days.  You might think it’s the holidays, but really it’s everyday moments. When I finally finished my degree.  As we approach Senior Night. Wondering if JD feels that he is missing out by not having another set of grandparents. Knowing there is no way I could have changed it, but still feeling guilty in a way that I can’t provide that for him. When I’m sitting one more time at the tire store.  Today.

I was heading home, and it was on my mind. Instead of thinking about all the things I could have missed out on, I reminded myself of the things this life has taught me.  And just when I needed it most – Dierks Bentley’s song “Riser” came on and it reminded me. It is true that I had to learn early how to navigate this life without the anchor of parents. Yet, it made me realize at a young age just what kind of parent I wanted to be. It has pushed me to make certain JD never wonders if his mama is proud of him. There have been times I’ve scraped by, but I have picked myself up each time, dusted myself off, and moved forward with a new plan. I’ve learned to love myself and to be able to remind myself of what I am capable. I think it has allowed me to be able to forgive more quickly – because life is much too short to spend it holding on to the hurt. It’s too short to live very long in “what ifs.” And goodness if it hasn’t taught me to pray and rely on the Lord.

I pulled up in the drive way, and checked my mail.  In it, I saw a package from my friend, Dee, in Texas.  Imagine my surprise when I opened it and the note attached was for JD. It was an old music book she found and thought he’d enjoy.  I stood in my kitchen with tears running down my face, reading the note about how she enjoyed watching his shows, and how she was praying for him to find the right college. While that was for JD, Dee has no way of knowing how much I needed that for me.

I also checked the package again and noticed it was addressed to him.  Oops.  haha.

Here’s the thing – life gives us all things we have to deal with. It gives us all moments where we wish for something that wasn’t to be. But if we’ll let it, it will also remind us of how beautiful it is just the way it is right now. While some of this journey I wouldn’t want anyone else to ever have to walk through, I wouldn’t trade it either. It made me who I am, and for that I am thankful.

It is a beautiful life.