Stumbling Towards Perfect

There are anywhere from 5 to 7 to 10 stages of grief and loss depending on who you ask and what website you click on. There's denial and anger and bargaining and depression and all sorts of terms that range from  makes sense  to coldly technical . And, overlapping all that grief and loss, is the normal emotions that any normal person experiences on any given day: hunger, love, sadness, happiness, stress, confusion, frustration, giddiness, goofiness, and, well, I could go on and on. I guess I tell you this because I need you to know I feel like a fish playing a crazy game of Emotional Twister. Imagine, if you will, a floor of painted circles, each labeled with a different emotion. Now, go grab a carp from the lake and plop him down in the middle of the playing field. That fish is going to flop this way and that way (and never in any logical direction). Just when you think it's headed towards happiness it flips on over to anger. In the blink of an eye it has flopped ...

I can feel each and every beat of my heart, each breath I take. It is as if my heart and my lungs are being held in place with barbed wire, so that each time they move, I am cut. With each deep breath I try to take, I taste the metallicness of blood dripping on rusted wire. Except that's not what is happening at all. It just feels that way. Firsts are usually celebrated. First time you found out you were pregnant. First time you heard the heartbeat. First time you found out if it was a little boy or a girl. First delivery. First cry. First feeding. First diaper. First time rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking. First time saying mama . First time riding a bike, going to school, putting the ponytail in all by herself. First dance recital, first sleepover. I find myself now navigating this precariously fragile world of Firsts Without. First spring day where she isn't going to ride her bike. Instead, the bike is just going to sit there. Waiting. Waiting for a girl who...

Worn by T enth Avenue North  I'm tired I'm worn My heart is heavy From the work it takes to keep on breathing I've made mistakes I've let my hope fail My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world   And I know that you can give me rest So I cry out with all that I have left Let me see redemption win Let me know the struggle ends That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn I want to know a song can rise from ashes of a broken life And all that's dead inside can be reborn Cause i'm worn I know I need to lift my eyes up But I'm too weak Life just won't let up And I know that you can give me rest So I cry out with all that I have left Oh, Let me see redemption win Let me know the struggle ends That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life And all that's dead insi...

I walk around the corner, glance to the right, flip the channel, check my newsfeed, and get stabbed in the heart. My eyes bleed tears that burn my cheeks. Throat clamped shut I cannot breathe, cannot speak, cannot understand how the gangly, awkward teen with the thick purple plastic framed glasses who just wanted to grow up able to walk tall through the day has morphed into a Mother Who Has Lost. It takes me by surprise each and every time. I feel like a fool. How can my hurt be so acute, so crippling, and yet I find myself checking through the doorway to see if her Sunday School class has let out. I stop myself short before reminding Matt that he should make sure her bike tires are pumped full of air. I foolishly suggest something I know she would love. And each time it hits me: she is not here . My soul is not mine. At least, it doesn't feel like mine, doesn't fit like mine. I once took a sweatshirt that wasn't mine home from a college party. I could never wear it b...

"You know, Mom, I really am a God Girl." The last sentence I ever heard my 11-year old daughter speak to me. Nine simple words that spoke volumes about her soul. Nine words that I'd go back to over and over and over again: she was a God Girl. She loved God. Word spread quickly through our small community; tragedy tends to. But then something else was being spoken. Amongst the gossip and speculation was a declaration: this faith filled little girl was special. Really special. And then I got that email: "You are Avery's voice. Don't silence her." And I knew. I just knew. I was going to have a concert and Jamie Grace would play at it. Yes, Grammy Nominee, Contemporary Christian Singer, actress in the upcoming movie Grace Unplugged - yes, that Jamie Grace would play at this concert. Avery needed to share the message that was so important to her, that was taught to her through the songs written by and performed by Jamie Grace. I needed the woman w...

I couldn't potty train Avery. She had no interest. No desire. I would attempt to make going potty on the toilet the most exciting thing ever and she would stare at me as if I were a potato sitting on the counter. And then, when she was almost 4 years old, she stood mesmerized in front of the television set watching gymnastics, something she had never before seen. Through her mostly incoherent speech, she told me she wanted to do that . "Too bad," I said. "You can't learn gymnastics until you're potty trained. They don't allow diapers in the gym." She stared silent at the TV, taking in every movement of the entire routine playing out in front of her. Then she turned, walked into the bathroom, and went potty on the toilet. And that was it. No accidents. No problems with bed wetting. She was decidedly done with diapers and ready to learn gymnastics. She was never the best, never the stand out. But she did give 110% at every practice....

"Would you like us to pick out something for you?" I snapped my head up and looked around the room. Matt was sitting next to me, completely out of his element. My Mom sat along the wall opposite the table, on a bench. I looked at my Mom. My Mom would know . My Mom knew that spraying Aqua-Net would take blue ink off  the sleeve of my white shirt. My Mom knew how to file taxes and hard boil eggs and how to varnish woodwork. She would know. I turned back to the funeral director. "Um? Can I?" I stuttered. "I just? It's, uh? I just, uh, don't want her to be stuck in a corner...." I turned back towards my Mom, pleading with my eyes, help me! My Mom spoke. I heard her but couldn't make out most the words. I heard my grandfather's name. The funeral director suggested we meet the next morning to pick out a final resting spot together. Except, the next morning I was late. I was sitting stoically in a sterile chair that was trying too hard to ...

I can't explain it except to say, I wish time would stop. I wish I could go back to those moments of just finding out . I know that sounds strange - why would I dare want to revisit the most horrific time in my personal history? But, well, there's something so absolutely sacred about that time. It's like that moment you give birth, and finally hold that previously imagined baby in your arms for the first time; the emotion that floods you - it's sacred. Over time that fades. Sure, you say you remember how filled with love you were; but can you actually still feel it? When you get that knock on the door, or that phone call, or however the awful news is delivered, that emotion - although sprinkled in disbelief and wrapped in sorrow and pain - the emotion at the center of it all is love . Nothing but love. Sacred love. And I don't want that feeling to fade. Ever. Time goes on. Clocks keep ticking. Calendar pages get flipped. But still, my heart aches. I try to...

These bears were crafted  (with a tremendous amount of love and respect) for Jadrian and Brody using a couple of Avery's shirts.   ...with pink wings for Brody.   When Brody saw his bear he exclaimed, "Mama! This polar bear has pink wings! Just like AVERY!"   Jadrian, whose heart is more solemn, said simply, "I remember her wearing this shirt."   So do I, honey. So do I.

This guy. Avery really loved this guy. Master of hide-n-seek, conqueror of large snow covered hills with a flimsy plastic sled, impromptu bicycle-ride planner that always ended in ice cream. This guy. Matt has always been easy going. A laid back and go with the flow, kind of guy. It's a wonderful quality. Endearing. Comforting. He demands little of the people in his life. A simple smile and this guy is your best friend for life. When Avery started fifth grade this past September her number one goal was to play on whatever school sports team she could. Volleyball season came first and I worried thinking the experience would end up being bad for her. Avery didn't know how to play volleyball. Maybe the gym would be too loud and it would be confusing or her teammates would get upset because she would make a mistake and then she'd get embarrassed, or worse, maybe she would be such a poor player that she wouldn't get any play time at...

Avery might have only been 11, but she had very specific plans. She was going to read scripture in church. And play the piano before services began. And help out in Sunday School. And, also, maybe she could help in the kitchen for coffee hour. (She liked helping out in the kitchen.) She was going to go on mission trips with her youth group, hoping to cuddle orphans and tell young children all about Jesus. (She'd build houses if she had to, but she'd rather work with the little kids.) She was going to go to college at the University of Wisconsin at Whitewater, stay in a dorm with her best friend, Katie and compete on the gymnastics team. (Katie's mom was going to send care packages full of chocolate chip cookies and soda.) After college, she was going to travel to Haiti and save everyone. Because there was this awful earthquake in Haiti and for a while everyone helped... but then the help sort of faded away and Avery was going to make sure that she would go to finish...

Oftentimes, no matter how hard you try to plan something, things will never go as perfectly as they will if you just step back and let God lead. Jamie Grace  was scheduled to play at  Winter Jam in Milwaukee this past Friday (Feb. 1st). So many kids from Avery's school wanted to go. But I didn't. I did... but I didn't. This happens a lot lately. I struggle between Avery would love this! and why is it that Avery can't be here to enjoy this? Grief is a delicate dance between joy and sorrow. I feel the hard tugging of joy on one arm and the hard tugging of sorrow on the other in every activity or event Avery could be found in. In the middle of this struggle I find false comfort in the dark and stillness; it's the perfect place to lay down, close my eyes, and pretend like this is all a bad dream. Except nothing changes. Another day dawns and still I have lost my daughter. And so it was that as the days dawned closer and closer to Winter Jam, everyone became...