Telling the Kids

So all I can think about at the hospital is how am I going to tell the kids.  I decided that I did not want to be alone.  I asked Jonathan Blackmon, the children’s pastor and Ron Douglas, the Royal Ranger Commander to be with me.  We came up with a plan to have the kids meet us at the house.  When I arrived at the house, there were lots of people there.  I remember having to ask them to leave.  Some I’m not sure I even knew.

It was probably 7:00 at night.  The kids had been picked up from school by a friend and had no idea what was going on.  I paced around the house trying to find the best location to tell them.  Does location even matter?  In my mind, somehow it did.  I ended up choosing the dinner room table.  The kids came in.  They could sense something was very wrong.   How do I speak?  Oh Holy Spirit give me the words.  We sat down and they all looked at me.  Jonathan and Ron were around the table too.  I don’t remember my exact words but I remember being fairly direct.  Something like

Your father had a heart attack.  He loved you very much but I am sorry.  He did not make it.  Your father is dead.

Let that sit there a minute.

Your father is dead.

What else can you say?  What can you do?  What a blow.  Flashback to the day Mrs. Engle, my parent’s friend, picked me up at work and told me that my father was dead.  Time stops.  Is it real?

Back to the present……How do I help them?  Who is going to help me?  What are we going to do next?

• Samuel immediately began to cry and Ron began speaking to him.

• Micah zipped his jacket up over his head and sat in silence.

• Phoebe ran to her room crying.

• Lucas crawled under the table.  Probably not understanding but knowing this was big.

• Isaiah sat at the table, looked around and began crying.  His tears, I believe, were more about the tears his siblings were crying than the news itself.  Only 5.  So young.
• I sat there, feeling completely hopeless.  Numb.  Telling them made it more read than seeing him in the hospital.  This was the reality of it.  This is the path being laid before me.  Jesus help me.

We tried to comfort them.  We told them their dad loved them.  We told them God had us.  We told them so many things.  Honestly, there is nothing to say.  That moment in time was the single hardest thing I have ever experienced.  I lost my husband.  They lost their daddy.  The ball coach.  Their Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy.  They lost their dreams.  They lost something so special that it can never be replaced.  How am I going to do this?  How will I raise them alone?

I knew then that I would do whatever I needed to make my kids’ lives happy.  This kind of pain is unfair.  This future isn’t fair.  Who will walk Phoebe down the aisle?  Who will intimidate the dates?  Who will love them like he did?  He was a father that gave it all for his kids.  Lord, I pray they know this.  Above all, they were so loved by their daddy.

Every Minute Counts

Mornings happen.  Every single day.  Some days we get to sleep in and take mornings slowly.  Most mornings we hit the ground running.

I have been feeling a lot of stress lately.  Back hurting, brain spinning, over the top stress.  Nothing specific, yet everything stresses me out.

I guess it is the 5 kid thing.  It is hard.

My Phoebe has been trying really hard lately to de stress me.  Lots of hugs, kisses and words of affirmation are coming from her.  I am sure it is the calm before the teenage storm, but I’ll take it.

This morning, like every morning.  Everything is happening at once.  In the midst of it, Phoebe comes and says, “Do you have time to braid my hair?”

What!?  No, do you see the chaos abounding.  Her sweet smile.  Of course, we have 7 minutes until we have to pull out.  I can do this!

We are in the bathroom.  I am braiding.  Two minutes in and the yelling starts.  I hear a “stop it”, a “shut up” and crying.  I continue braiding.  I try to tune it out.  I feel the blood pressure rising.  I am going to finish this dang braid if it kills me.  They will not win!

3 minutes later, with 2 more to spare.  I finish the braid (not my best work but completion under pressure is important here).  I go out to address the other stuff happening.  I yell, I remind that no means no, I announce it is time to go.

Wait, where are my shoes?  My leg hurts.  So and so is being mean. 

Get in the car!!

We start driving.  I am practicing my breathing techniques.  I watch the clock.  If I make all the lights green, we might make it.

I watch the clock for the next 20 minutes for each drop off and pick up of children.  I am racing the clock.  Everyday… I race the clock.  Everyday… I lose the race.  Every minute counts in the morning.

Do I lose, or is it ok?  My boss is a saint who extends me so much grace, my daughter’s hair looks cute, my kids are all alive and well and off to learn.  When I calm myself and reflect……It is a good life.  I am blessed.

Just need my people to understand that in the morning things would go smoother if they just understood every minute counts.

It is a journey.  It is a challenge.  It is my life.  At the end of the day I wouldn’t trade it for anything.