Pictures and Promise

On the very day our friends move, on the day of sadness and missing and loss, the Lord does this beautiful thing, and His hand is near.  It’s the gentle love of a Father. And He speaks in ways we can understand, and not for a moment should we ever forget that He’s the giver of gifts and grace…

 

“Let’s get going,” I say. “Let’s load up the van and take your things to the fair.”

The little boys look at me. Our friends have just left. The air in the house feels thick and it's hard to breathe. It’s best to get out. To get busy. It’s best to encourage hearts and minds and to press forward. Straight ahead.

We’re off to the fair to deliver the boys’ contest goods: breads and cookies , Lego mansions, charcoal drawings and a Ferris wheel of Tinker Toys. The big boys tote boxes. The little boys shuffle their feet and look at the ground.

And we all climb into the van.

And we all buckle in.

“Let’s check the mail,” Logan says. “Can you stop? On the way out?”

We sidle up to the curb. Logan’s brown arm reaches to the mailbox. He opens the door and retrieves a bundle.

And what’s on top?                                                               

A package from a friend. Logan and I recognize the handwriting at once. It’s the script that’s been on cards and letters and packages and notes as far back as Logan can remember. The package is slender, but not without bulk. He hands it to me. I can tell from the weight , from the feel, what it is.

Pictures.

From Miss Sarah. One of our most precious friends.

Sarah’s family lived around the corner when Logan and Grant were small. Her three children were dear to us. They still are. But back then, they were playmates, and Sarah was a come-on-over friend.

Then they moved. Far. And my boys? Their hearts were broken. They hurt hard. They stood on the drive and pushed back tears and felt the empty of all that, too.

But that was ten years ago.

And in God’s grace, our families are still close now. Even the small sons, and they weren't yet born when Sarah's family lived close.

“Look what’s here boys,” I say, over my shoulder. They lean forward. I tear at the envelope and the pictures slide out. They are from this summer’s visit.

 There’s a visit every year.

And we pass the pictures around. Sarah's daughter and me in the kitchen. Miss Sarah and Grant sharing a joke. And there’s the gun show. And fun in the pool. That day there had been laughter and joy and good times all around.

And now, today, the boys aren’t crying anymore. We’re lost in the blessing.

We hear the whisper of His grace.

In His hands, relationships can flourish. In His hands, relationships still grow. Miles don’t deter his goodness. Miles don't carry us beyond His grace.

We spend some time, parked snug against the curb, laughing and sharing and remembering. Smiling again. His gift has made dark places light. He’s brought promise and hope.

In a brown envelope. Through the mail. From an ever-close friend.

After awhile, while the boys are still clutching bright pictures in small hands, I start the van.

And then we drive straight ahead.

 

More from Annie Riess - My Baby Leaves Home

Hello friends,

Oh, this one tugs my heart as we've once again delivered Logan to school. There he stood, with his childhood best friend, in their apartment. Taller than me. Stubbly chin. A man. No longer a boy.

And I can't understand how it happened so fast.

Annie Riess, thank you for sharing your words and wisdom this week, for taking me back to God's truth, and for reminding me of how dear each day is. 

I'm grateful.

And I'm blessed.

With love,
Shawnelle

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                                                             My Baby Leaves Home
                                                                       
                                                                           by

                                                                    Annie Riess
                                                          

My baby leaves home this year!  It's hard to believe the years have passed by so quickly! 

            It just doesn't seem like 18 years since we brought this little bundle home, following a very difficult pregnancy. 

           There had been many complications and then… He was "over baked” when he finally arrived nearly three weeks overdue – causing more complications.

            The doctor said "Truly this is a miracle baby!"   If we had lost him before he was  born,   we would have missed out on all the joy and laughter he has brought to our home.

 I recall dedicating him to God and now, as he leaves our ‘nest’ I need to pause, rededicate him, and give thanks for these years we've had together.  I realize that this difficult time of saying good-bye, could well have taken place many years ago, in a much more painful and final manner.

  

By the time he was four, he had grown into a little charmer with a great sense of humor.  He kept us all laughing.  One day our laughter turned to tears when he had a severe reaction to his routine booster shot.  He was screaming and writhing with pain because of the pressure on his brain.   As they were loading him into the ambulance, the doctor pulled me aside and said, "Mrs. Riess, you must realize that you have a gravely ill son, he may not make it." 

           Well, he did make it, and managed to live through several more very close calls. Thankfully, each time he was spared from death and today we are following the usual pathway of separation.

I thank God for the years we've had together.  So even though I am sad this part of our lives is changing forever, I am looking forward to the next chapter. We will be separated by distance, but never separated in our hearts. Yes, the years have gone by all too quickly.  I realize what the Psalmist meant when he said:  “Teach us to number our days!” (90:12)  Each day is a blessing from the Lord, to be savored and lived to the full.

 

Annie Riess farms with her husband Ken, in Saskatchewan, Canada, where she teaches piano lessons and writes freelance. She loves the Lord and has experienced many miraculous answers to prayer.

 

Annie also enjoys cooking, baking, and making cards, but most of all she savors time spent with her friends and family.

 

 

Guest Blogger Annie Riess - My Baby Goes to School

Hello Friends,

I'm excited to share that Annie Riess will be guest blogging this week while I'm half-crazed getting the boys' homeschool year underway.

I met Annie in Rye, NY, when she and I shared the blessing of invitations to the 2008 Guideposts Writers Workshop. Before the workshop, I was moved by a story Annie had written. When I met her in person, I was even more moved by Annie's wisdom and heart for the Lord.

I still am.

Thanks, Annie, for sharing with us this week.

Have a blessed Labor Day...

With Love,
Shawnelle


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                                                           My Baby Goes to School
                                                                    
                                                                     
                                                         

         “Why do I have to go all alone?  We always go everywhere together!”   Our first-born son cried, as we gathered in front of our farm home to see Ryan off to Kindergarten.

He looked so small and helpless as he stood there silhouetted by the rising sun.  He did not want to go alone.  He was heartbroken and just stood there kicking gravel with his foot and sobbing.    

  Yesterday I had taken him in for his first day, and had helped him find the correct bus, which he came home on.  Today was to just be routine.  But routine, it was not.  Silently, I wished that my mother-in-law wasn’t there with us.  She must be thinking we were a little too sentimental.  After all she had lived to see six children off to school, and then off on their own.   

            Ryan took another step down our driveway.  “I don’t want to go to school.  I want to stay home,” he lamented.   “I want to ride my bike and play in the sand pile, like I always do,” With each request and the tears that went with it, it was becoming more and more difficult to stand there waving goodbye pretending we didn’t notice or care that he was in such distress.  He took a few more steps then turned and wailed “Dad, you need me to help you, can’t I stay home?” 

            With only a brief pause, my husband Ken bravely called back: “No …not today.” 

This was so much more difficult than we had anticipated.

            At last, Ryan noticed the bus coming down the road and thankfully he turned and ran down the driveway toward it and disappeared up the steps.  I heaved a sigh of relief, but was careful to hide my tears as I turned back toward the house.  Abruptly, I was stopped in my tracks by a moaning howl that quickly built into the most guttural wail I had ever heard.  It was like the shattering of a wounded soul and it came from Grandma! 

“I should have known she would take it hard.”  I admonished myself, as we embraced and the anguished wails became almost deafening.  “Grandma has practically lived with us ever since Ryan was born; she too grieves for him and his days at home with her.”  In that moment I realized that she found this just as difficult as I.  How could I have wished she were not here?

            On that beautiful fall day I learned a lot more, than how to let my baby go.  I learned that things are not always what they seem, and I must never assume I know what other people’s thoughts and feeling are. 
 I just might be proven wrong.  

Annie Riess farms with her husband Ken, in Saskatchewan, Canada, where she teaches piano lessons and writes  freelance.She loves the Lord and has experienced many miraculous answers to prayer.
Annie also enjoys cooking, baking, and making cards, but most of all she savors time spent with her friends and family.  

The Fort

There's something about a boy (boys) and a fort.

The world is spinning fast. But they don't know. They've found someplace quiet. Someplace still. They've found a place where their only reality is what they make it.

It's a get-away world. A place for secrets and dreams. It's a place to share, too, hearts and time and adventures.

I stand and watch. An outsider.

But that's okay.

Because just standing here, just admiring them, makes my world more slow and lovely, too.

Thank you, Lord, for quiet places for boys to be just boys.

When the Sweet Art of Mothering Hurts

My friend and I stood on the patio while six boys, three hers, three mine, cried. Her family was moving. Far. And when it was time for them to go,when she reached for her boys and I reached for mine, I could see the hurt in her warm, brown eyes. The hurt of a mama whose children, right then, hurt deep. The hurt that presses hard when our children struggle and there's not a thing we can do.

Today Sam is sitting on the sofa. He's been to Sunday School. First week without his friend.  I sit next to him. Run my fingers through his wild blond hair. Pull him to my shoulder. Sam has a deep heart. And it's tough when that deep heart's full of sad.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I miss William," he says.

"I know," I say. And I do. I've seen this with my older boys. Over and over. Friends have moved to Texas. Iowa. Missouri. Michigan. And Will and his family are in Colorado now.

"Does it get better, Mom?" he asks.

I tell him that it does. That it takes some time. I tell him that I understand his loss. I miss our friends, too. Iron-sharpens-iron for Lonny and me.  Role models to our kids, too. This family - they brought something precious to our lives.

Sam looks at me and smiles. But the smile is weak. His pain breaks over my own heart.

What can I do when the sweet art of mothering hurts?

How do I help him when there's not an easy way out? When there's no way to bypass the loss? When there's only pushing straight through?

I don't know.

So I sit and hold my boy and allow him the feelings that will need to run free. And I whisper to the Lord. A plea for mercy and grace.

 And He is faithful.

 His Word comes clear. Sweet direction for our hearts.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Deuteronomy 6:6-7

What can I do?  Guide my son to love the Lord. Impress God's character on his heart. Teach him to seek the Lord's goodness. Not only in His commands, but in his kind mercy and grace.

On this day, I have the blessing of teaching my son. I can teach of the Lord's faithfulness. I can remind him of God's promise to never leave. He's near to the brokenhearted. He blesses the humble. He binds our wounds.  Our Lord  is a father of compassion and mercy. And all good gifts come from Him. I can teach Sam, too, of the privilege of prayer. That because of the blood of Jesus, he can go straight to the Lord. That he can carry Will's burden and lift him, too.

Teaching - all through the day.

Even a tough day.

Like today.

I hold Sam for a bit and then the bustle of the house comes close. I kiss Sam on the top of the head and thank God for the blessing.

For His coming close.

What do I do? When the sweet art of mothering hurts?

I turn to Him.

And I teach my son, my young man, to stretch and turn and know Him, too.

Prayer for Blessing on Their Work

It was a summer of first jobs. Samuel took care of a friend's dog. Grant cared for a friend's boys during the day and served ice cream at night.

It's a precious thing when others trust your children. Trust them enough to give them responsibility.

Now summer gives way to the routines of fall, and we're in a season of change. The jobs shift a little. The responsibilities, too. There will be school books and homework and tests. Time management and discipline and perseverance.

There will also be fun. And joy and laughter and play.

But there will be work.

And it comes to heart this morning, after I've delivered Grant to the high school and the other boys will soon be delivered to different days too, to pray for blessing on the boys' work. That their character would develop strong. That they would grow not only in knowledge but in wisdom, too. And that the Lord would hold them safe and cover them with life-giving grace.....

Father in Heaven,

Thank you for these boys. Thank you for the gift of their lives. For their hearts. For their passions. For their gifts and talents and minds and souls. Thank you for loving them.For holding them in your righteous right hand. For knowing the hairs on their heads and the beat of their hearts and for the work you've created in advance for them to do.

I pray that my boys would be diligent in their work. That they would find value in a job done well. I pray that they would do not only what's asked but that they'd stretch far and go the extra distance. I pray that they'd be honest, that they would persevere, that they would to their jobs to the best of their abilities.

And if they stumble, Lord, I pray  they'd accept your grace.

I ask that my boys would have hearts for serving and that they would value others.

But most of all, I pray that Logan, Grant,  Samuel,  Gabriel and Isaiah would know that whatever they're doing, whatever task or job or assignment, there's an opportunity to honor you.

In your sweet mercy and from the fullness of your grace, I ask for blessing on my boys' work.

Amen

The Proposal

Zay and I are in the side garden. Pulling weeds. Watching the sky shift gray.


"The rain is comin'" I say.

 Zay smiles and plucks something that's tall and willowy and green.

I chase creeping charlie. Around the bush. Close to the house.

Then the drops come. Sweet and slow. The sky darkens. The wind picks up and rustles the leaves. There's a hint of fall, an edge of cool.

"Yep," Zay says. And he's busy again. Pulling weeds. Helping me. He's crouched low and I see the curve of his back, his small toes curled into soft dirt and what's left of the mulch.

The raindrops come faster. They're heavy and make small, dark stains on the back of his shirt.

"Let's go," I say. And suddenly we're dodging drops, running forward, hand in hand, around the porch, through the yard.

Then Zay stops. He's spied a dandelion, lone and tall. He grasps the very bottom of the stem. Pulls. Now it's clutched in his hand.

He straightens. Pushes his gift toward me. And smiles. "Will you marry me?" he asks.

The wind is whipping my hair and his shirt is billowing and we're now standing in the rain.

"Yes," I say.

I say this because he's five and we're together and a storm is rolling in. Soon he'll be too big for such things. Soon he'll have it all figured out. But today his heart is mine.

And I'm going to hold tight.

He hands me the dandelion, grabs my other hand, and we bolt to the house. The door closes behind us, and we're safe together inside.

Lord, thank you for the pure sweetness of a little boy's heart. Thank you, for that a short time, it's mine to hold.