I slammed the cupboard door with a resounding thud. "Really, the crockpot? He took the crockpot?" Hadn't he taken enough? My hopes for the future. My dreams of an intact family. I had lost 15 pounds in the fourth month of pregnancy with my first son and was hospitalized on bedrest. He left. He decided he didn't feel like being married after eight years of marriage and he left me to be a single mom. He didn't want to be a dad and he had completely lost his mind. And now, he had taken the darn crockpot too. He didn't even know how to use the crockpot. I can't even remember the last time he cooked anything. I had been crushed. I had been broken and wallowing in despair. But, at this moment I was just plain mad. I was mad at God. That man had taken so much from me in the blink of an eye and now I didn't even have a crockpot to make dinner while I worked long hours to support my son and I. I finished packing up the kitchen for my move and cried myself to sleep. There was no time or tears left to linger here. I sold the house and was moving to a cheaper condo near my job. Life had not been fair or what I had expected but it marched on....tears and all.
Some weeks later, as I was starting to show my pregnancy, I began the process of moving into my new home. An army of friends surrounded me and cleaned, painted, and repaired my new humble abode because I still was not allowed to lift anything too heavy. My dear friend Diane was scrubbing out the kitchen cupboards when I heard her laugh out loud and call me into the kitchen. She had been party to many grumbling sessions where I cursed him for leaving and then taking the crockpot on top of it all. She would nod sympathetically and hug me and pray for my wounded heart--that somehow I could look beyond this crushing blow to the hopeful new future God had in store for me as a mom. I had witnessed God's unfailing provision in so many ways-- the quick sale of the house, the provision of funds to cover my hospitalizations during the pregnancy and inability to work as a nurse due to my lifting restrictions, and of course the endless army of helpers that surrounded me at every turn.
I guess I thought I had used up my prayers. I put God in a small box--the size of my ability to imagine provision and I did not allow myself to envision Him any bigger. After all, who in their right mind prays for a crockpot? You know--it's kind of silly. There are people starving in Africa--sleeping on the ground. Some people don't even have a cupboard...so that would be selfish, and a waste of a prayer, right? Yeah, I know he numbers the hairs on my head but that doesn't mean he wants me to eat steaming hot pot roast when I get home from work. Oh yeah, and there is that too--if He really cared I wouldn't be in this situation to begin with, right? Yeah. Right. I begged Him and I prayed night after night for God to change my husband's heart and He didn't......so why would he care about my stupid crockpot? Yes, I had put God in a very small box indeed.
Diane called me again. She beaconed me to the kitchen, "Kim, you've gotta see this!" I waddled in, tired from the move. I could feel Isaac kicking. It wouldn't be long at all. Honestly, I was expecting she had found a pipe leak or something else broken. My bitter heart was expecting the worst. Diane's grin was as wide as the sky-- her eyes twinkled and she had a tear streaming down her face. The cupboard was wide open and she pointed. "Look, Kim, do you see it?" There on the bottom shelf, still sealed and new in the box was a crockpot. A brand new crockpot. My heart stopped. In His sovereign loving care God had provided a brand new crockpot for his bitter, broken, angry child-- to show her He still loved her, He still was in control--and yes, He did want her to have steaming hot pot roast after a long day at work.
My box was broken that day. I realized that no care is too small, no request too silly, and no need too obscure to bring to the One who loves my soul. He will not always protect me from the trial but He will walk me through it--sometimes carry me through it--and He will provide all I need to the very end. And sometimes, just because He loves me He provides things I don't need. But, just like a loving earthly father, He desires to lavishly grace us with our heart's desires when it is good for us. That crockpot from heaven taught me I can trust God to provide for my every need and then some.
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Willow's Run
In the spring of 2005 Aunt Willow sat in the middle of our living room with a pile of boys around her as she always did. She had a grand idea for the backyard, and wide-eyed Logan, not even 2 years old--chubby cheeked Caleb who was nearly 4, and precocious Isaac who would be turning 6-- were frozen as they listened intently. She wanted to buy them a swing set. The real sturdy wooden kind with a fort on top....one that Daddy would build-- not the flimsy metal kind that hops and skips when you get the swing high enough to reach the stars. A swing set! Aunt Willie was going to buy us a swing set!
I remember it well. Willow and Pete took off to the lumber yard and returned with a rough plan and a book of accessories for the boys to choose from. There was a steering wheel to go atop the fort, a telescope to spy distant ships, a panel of controls and the list went on. The boys had to pick two. Since Isaac was the most vocal he quickly put in his vote and the always agreeable Caleb quickly acquiesced. They would need a steering wheel to steer their ship and a telescope to spot their enemies. It was decided. Daddy got to work right away. Every time Aunt Willow came to visit she was like a kid herself....scampering to the back yard to see the progress that had been made. She was magical. She was incredibly generous and sprinkled those she loved with joy. I still can hear her hearty laugh as her boys would tumble off the swing set to come see their Aunt Willie as she pulled in the driveway....they would run to her and leap into her arms with big hugs and the littlest one would get lifted way up in the air and get "zerberts" on his belly with squeals of giggling. She would call out their pet names-- "I-man, Shorty, and Lumpy" and suddenly it was "Aunt Willie Time" and the boys would relish her very presence for as long as she could stay.
When we unexpectedly had to move from that house two years later, the boys were adamant that "Aunt Willie's swing set" had to come....and so it did. Truth is we all wanted it to come. We couldn't imagine leaving it behind. It had provided so many hours of entertainment...and thus peace for me that it was not even a question. The swing set nestled into it's new setting with ease. It was erected before many of our rooms were unpacked.
While a gaggle of three boys was busy playing on their fort, mom and dad really could accomplish so much more. There were grand builds in the sandbox in which toads were captured from the woods and temporarily became part of the play set where Lego guys and Tonka trucks were only allowed to tread. There were games of tag and monkey bar antics hanging upside-down. There were whirling plunges down the slide. There were skinned knees and smiles, imaginary monsters and squeals of delight. There were fights about whose turn it was, and tears. There were apologies, and sneaky tricks, giggles and grins. There were melted ice cream cones, spilt juice cups, caterpillar "habitats" and ant corrals. There were secret clubs and meetings in the fort. There were signs erected, "No girls allowed". There was a contented mama sipping her lemonade and watching it all. Watching it all and thanking Aunt Willie. I would treasure the times she would visit and sit beside me and witness it all herself.
We would joke about growing old together...about wearing purple....about watching the boys grown up and get married. She wanted to open a café and make soup and teach people how to knit. I thought it was a fine idea and thought it would be great to join her when Peter retired. She was my cousin---the boy's Aunt Willie...but for 44 years we were joined at the heart. We would reminisce about our childhood together, life on the farm, our Nanny and our Bumpy, or any of the hundreds of "Thelma and Louise" like adventures we had been on together in our decades long friendship.
Today I wandered out into the yard after a rain storm. The swing set was damp and had the look of an abandoned ghost town. A few broken trucks dotted the sandbox and the grass around the swing is tall...for no foot steps trample it down like they used to. Those boys are now nearly 18, 16, and 14. Swing sets are for little boys. Over the past few years I've thought long and hard about if it should be torn down...reconstructed in someone else's yard where it can live again and ignite the imagination of other littles....however, as I sit here on the damp steps with tears streaming down my face I cannot do it. I am not one to hold onto worldly possessions. When the boys outgrow clothes I give them away immediately. If I haven't used a cookbook or worn a piece of clothing in 6 months it is fair game to be gone. I don't want to be tied down, cluttered, or encumbered. However, I just cannot part with this skeleton in my yard.
You see, 18 months ago Aunt Willie took her own life. In a tragic, horrible, unexpected, and crushing blow she was gone. And now, I cannot part with the gift she gave us that provided years of laughter, blessings, imagination, and fun...because that was also WHO she was to us. As I lean against the old timbers, weathered, worn--they provide little comfort from the loss except to remind me of a happier time-- that day in the living room with a pile of boys gathered around her, wide eyed, and the shrieks of joy when they learned about their new swing set that was coming.
Suicide changes everything. It kills a person...but it also kills dreams. It kills hopes. It kills plans. It kills innocence. But it cannot kill love and it cannot kill faith. If you have never experienced it in your life than you are very blessed. However, statistics being the cruel purveyor of truth they are-- indicate that in our lifetime each of us will be intimately touched by suicide in some way. It is the leading preventable cause of death in many age groups.
Willow's Run was created as a charitable run/walk to eliminate the stigma and barriers to discussing suicide and raising funds and awareness for suicide prevention and education. I never envisioned, as I watched my boys playing under the swing set-- that my life would take this turn. I am an accidental advocate. I found myself in a place of such horror and deep pain that the only way out was to do the most loving thing I could muster--and that is to tell my unlikely story of an ordinary mom who had an extraordinary relationship with a cousin she loved like a sister. All I can do is educate people to know the signs of suicide, not to be afraid to get help and talk about it, and to support programs that are working in our community. Perhaps when you hear my story, you will stop imagining this happens to other people and you will start being aware that it could happen to you and you will be more aware...eyes wider open...smarter...and know what to do and what to look for. With knowledge comes the ability to act.
Perhaps you have an Aunt Willie in your life. They are the magical, beautiful, sensitive people who have been wounded, are dealing with mental illness, who perhaps cannot see past the pain of today. Please visit our web site, please come to our event and please donate if you are able. If you or someone you love are in crisis please don't wait. Call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline- 1-800-273- TALK.
Hope. Help. Healing. It's the only way to move forward.
God Bless.
Kim
www.willowsrun.wordpress.com
I remember it well. Willow and Pete took off to the lumber yard and returned with a rough plan and a book of accessories for the boys to choose from. There was a steering wheel to go atop the fort, a telescope to spy distant ships, a panel of controls and the list went on. The boys had to pick two. Since Isaac was the most vocal he quickly put in his vote and the always agreeable Caleb quickly acquiesced. They would need a steering wheel to steer their ship and a telescope to spot their enemies. It was decided. Daddy got to work right away. Every time Aunt Willow came to visit she was like a kid herself....scampering to the back yard to see the progress that had been made. She was magical. She was incredibly generous and sprinkled those she loved with joy. I still can hear her hearty laugh as her boys would tumble off the swing set to come see their Aunt Willie as she pulled in the driveway....they would run to her and leap into her arms with big hugs and the littlest one would get lifted way up in the air and get "zerberts" on his belly with squeals of giggling. She would call out their pet names-- "I-man, Shorty, and Lumpy" and suddenly it was "Aunt Willie Time" and the boys would relish her very presence for as long as she could stay.
When we unexpectedly had to move from that house two years later, the boys were adamant that "Aunt Willie's swing set" had to come....and so it did. Truth is we all wanted it to come. We couldn't imagine leaving it behind. It had provided so many hours of entertainment...and thus peace for me that it was not even a question. The swing set nestled into it's new setting with ease. It was erected before many of our rooms were unpacked.
While a gaggle of three boys was busy playing on their fort, mom and dad really could accomplish so much more. There were grand builds in the sandbox in which toads were captured from the woods and temporarily became part of the play set where Lego guys and Tonka trucks were only allowed to tread. There were games of tag and monkey bar antics hanging upside-down. There were whirling plunges down the slide. There were skinned knees and smiles, imaginary monsters and squeals of delight. There were fights about whose turn it was, and tears. There were apologies, and sneaky tricks, giggles and grins. There were melted ice cream cones, spilt juice cups, caterpillar "habitats" and ant corrals. There were secret clubs and meetings in the fort. There were signs erected, "No girls allowed". There was a contented mama sipping her lemonade and watching it all. Watching it all and thanking Aunt Willie. I would treasure the times she would visit and sit beside me and witness it all herself.
We would joke about growing old together...about wearing purple....about watching the boys grown up and get married. She wanted to open a café and make soup and teach people how to knit. I thought it was a fine idea and thought it would be great to join her when Peter retired. She was my cousin---the boy's Aunt Willie...but for 44 years we were joined at the heart. We would reminisce about our childhood together, life on the farm, our Nanny and our Bumpy, or any of the hundreds of "Thelma and Louise" like adventures we had been on together in our decades long friendship.
Today I wandered out into the yard after a rain storm. The swing set was damp and had the look of an abandoned ghost town. A few broken trucks dotted the sandbox and the grass around the swing is tall...for no foot steps trample it down like they used to. Those boys are now nearly 18, 16, and 14. Swing sets are for little boys. Over the past few years I've thought long and hard about if it should be torn down...reconstructed in someone else's yard where it can live again and ignite the imagination of other littles....however, as I sit here on the damp steps with tears streaming down my face I cannot do it. I am not one to hold onto worldly possessions. When the boys outgrow clothes I give them away immediately. If I haven't used a cookbook or worn a piece of clothing in 6 months it is fair game to be gone. I don't want to be tied down, cluttered, or encumbered. However, I just cannot part with this skeleton in my yard.
You see, 18 months ago Aunt Willie took her own life. In a tragic, horrible, unexpected, and crushing blow she was gone. And now, I cannot part with the gift she gave us that provided years of laughter, blessings, imagination, and fun...because that was also WHO she was to us. As I lean against the old timbers, weathered, worn--they provide little comfort from the loss except to remind me of a happier time-- that day in the living room with a pile of boys gathered around her, wide eyed, and the shrieks of joy when they learned about their new swing set that was coming.
Suicide changes everything. It kills a person...but it also kills dreams. It kills hopes. It kills plans. It kills innocence. But it cannot kill love and it cannot kill faith. If you have never experienced it in your life than you are very blessed. However, statistics being the cruel purveyor of truth they are-- indicate that in our lifetime each of us will be intimately touched by suicide in some way. It is the leading preventable cause of death in many age groups.
Willow's Run was created as a charitable run/walk to eliminate the stigma and barriers to discussing suicide and raising funds and awareness for suicide prevention and education. I never envisioned, as I watched my boys playing under the swing set-- that my life would take this turn. I am an accidental advocate. I found myself in a place of such horror and deep pain that the only way out was to do the most loving thing I could muster--and that is to tell my unlikely story of an ordinary mom who had an extraordinary relationship with a cousin she loved like a sister. All I can do is educate people to know the signs of suicide, not to be afraid to get help and talk about it, and to support programs that are working in our community. Perhaps when you hear my story, you will stop imagining this happens to other people and you will start being aware that it could happen to you and you will be more aware...eyes wider open...smarter...and know what to do and what to look for. With knowledge comes the ability to act.
Perhaps you have an Aunt Willie in your life. They are the magical, beautiful, sensitive people who have been wounded, are dealing with mental illness, who perhaps cannot see past the pain of today. Please visit our web site, please come to our event and please donate if you are able. If you or someone you love are in crisis please don't wait. Call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline- 1-800-273- TALK.
Hope. Help. Healing. It's the only way to move forward.
God Bless.
Kim
www.willowsrun.wordpress.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
