Monday Musings: Changes

Jack was one of the brightest kids I've ever met, and although I know it is not always the case, his stellar test scores and grades attested for that.

He was a whiz. He was a high achiever.

But he was also a cutup in class-- as much as you can be in the small, laced-up, private school environment he loved.

We didn't really witness this, because of his quiet side at home, but we'd hear from other families that entertaining "Jack Stories" were part of their dinnertime routines.

Last summer Jack and I talked about middle school, and he shared that he wanted to be seen as more than just a funny guy. His wit and charm had been there from birth, but some of his clowning around had started as a way for this extreme introvert to fit in or find an identity. He didn't think he needed that anymore. While at home, on the ball fields, and at scouts we saw a more serious Jack, at the school he loved he had been a foil, sometimes a follower, and often a clown.

Entering middle school, Jack was interested in letting his more thoughtful, serious side show. He and I talked about how hard it is to change your image, particularly when you are in the same old setting, and when people like who you are. I proposed switching Jack to a large public school. Jack lobbied hard to stay where he was, and knowing that even in his small school, middle school would be different enough and would present more growth opportunities for him, we agreed.

So on that fateful Thursday, the second day of school, we drove home and I heard how excited Jack was about the coming year. How great he thought his Math, Bible, and English classes would be. How he loved his classmates.

Then he started telling me about a funny skit he and his friend made up that day. In the left turn lane, waiting to pull into our neighborhood, I looked at him in the rear view mirror. My eyes narrowed and I said sharply, "Jack!" That one word contained a bit of exasperation, maybe some venom, and certainly a big dose of expectation. Oh to be firstborn and have to carry the weight of it all!

That one word said: "Jack, I thought you were going to rein it in this year! What about our talk? Will others ever have the chance to truly see the Jack WE KNOW AND LOVE?"

He responded immediately with his rapid-fire speech: "No Mom No! I know what you're thinking! It wasn't like that at all. It was free time. It was great. Seriously, this is going to be the BEST YEAR EVER!"

We pulled into the neighborhood, continued our conversation about the future, and I truly felt we had made the best decision for Jack. He felt so positive about his friends, his teachers, his identity. I knew it would be his chance to grow and lead and flourish!

Well, you know how this story ends, but it got me thinking today about expectations and changes.

It takes a brave, strong person to change, especially if others aren't ready for it or don't understand it.

I've already shared that Tim and I have had to adjust our expectations of one another since Jack's death. I've turned more inward, and my inward husband has become increasingly social and physically fit. My couch potato-ness has reach new heights (depths?) while he is running, rowing and playing team sports to keep sane. We have to accept this in each other.

Sometimes we are given a change of perspective, and that changes US. This isn't always comfortable to those around us.

A mom who decides to stop drinking might feel marginalized at neighborhood events. Adopting a healthier diet or lifestyle could come off as rigid or weird. You may have changed your family priorities in light of some new perspective gained, but it has left your social circle wondering "Why?"

I have heard from many people who have changed as a result of Jack's accident.

They are closer to God. They are mad at God. Some have found more motiviation in their work. Some think their jobs are meaningless. They are praying more. Hugging more. Worrying less. Spending more time with their families. Ending unheathy friendships and habits. Trying to find more meaning in this life.

When you see things in a new way, turning back to the old way is an option, but it squanders whatever wisdom has been gained. And this wisdom is usually gained at a high cost.

For example, I was an ardent meeting-goer in my previous life, but at this point there is no way I'm going to get all up in arms about the minutiae of church business or youth sports, or whatever. I mean, seriously, if it's not about LOVE or LIFE or DEATH or HEAVEN, it seems like bull to me at this point. I want to keep this eternal perspective, even though I wish I'd never been given it in the first place. I don't want to squander it. Does that make sense?

Jack was ready to make some changes, but we never really got to see how that would turn out.

What about you? Do you have some changes you are pondering? I'd love to hear more.

From Tim

A year ago, Jack and I took a trip to San Diego for Spring Break, headed for the Legoland, the Mecca for Lego fans young and old. The trip was a late brithday present. I remember Jack asking why we were taking this big trip for his 12th birthday. "Shouldn't we wait until next year when I turn 13? That's a big birthday." I don't know why we decided to go last year. Maybe we were concerned that Legoland would not sound as cool to a 13-year old boy about to complete this first year of middle school. In any event, we made the trip, and I am so grateful that we did. We stayed with Anna's cousin Mark while in San Diego, and he was a great host. Jack and I drove to LA to watch the Dodgers, Jack's little league team last year. The game ended in dramatic fashion with a walk-off home run and high fives and fist pumps all around. But the next day was the big event: a day at Legoland. And it did not disappoint. Jack (and I) were in awe of the hundreds of Lego creations. While other kids sped by each display, Jack methodically examined each one, from every angle possible. I felt an urge to hurry him along, concerned that we would not be able to see everything in the park. But I backed off and let him enjoy the day at HIS pace. This day was for him. Jack made me take pictures of everything. At first I insisted that he get in each picture, learning from Anna that photos are much more fun to look at later when they have people in them. But after awhile I got tired of making Jack pose, so I just kept clicking away at the hundreds of Lego diplays, until the battery on my phone died. Recalling our trip a year later, I am so thankful that we shared that time together. It is one of my favorite memories of Jack and is special for me because it was just the two of us spending time doing the things that we liked to do the most. But at the same time, as I reflect on our trip a year later, I am so disappointed and angry that Jack and I won't have another opportunity to get away, just the two of us, and seize the day like we did in San Diego--at least not in this life. I love you, Jack.

P.S. From Anna-- As I drove the kids home from school that rainy Thursday in September, Jack asked again why we had given him his "big trip" when he was 12. I can't remember what I answered. Margaret then said she would be more than happy to wait until she was 13 if it meant we would let her go somewhere "really good" like the Bahamas!

All's Well That Ends Well

The Well-Raising Yard Sale was a smashing success! It felt miraculous! From the neighborhood kids waking up at 6:30 to help us set up, to the weather that turned around (not a drop of rain,) to the GRAND TOTAL of more than $1,400 brought in, we felt God's hands all over this one.

Now I've had a lot of yard sales in the past, but even when they've been moving sales with tons of big ticket items worth hundreds of dollars, we've never, ever brought in that kind of money. There wasn't even a rush of customers. Just little sales, here and there. How did it all add up?

Perhaps it was this little cutie asking for donations:

Or maybe it was the alluring sight of me in a neon t-shirt and fanny pack:

But I really think it was the prayer circle my small group and I had before the customers started coming.

And there were no Early Birds... Isn't that a miracle in itself?

Speaking of miracles, we loaded up 5 complete van/truckloads to donate to charity afterwards. It felt very loaves and fishes-like to me.

A regret:

When my cleaning lady's sisters showed up early in the day, I charged them full price for stuff. If I had realized we were raking in the dough, I would have given it to them for free. I'm going to feel embarrassed the next time I see them, and not just over the piles of dog hair in my house.

Not a regret:

When a mom complained about the price I was charging for paperback books, I didn't budge. Later in the day, we were giving them away-- I just didn't like the snotty 'tude, lady.

An observation:

I am so glad my kids don't have a real shopping bug in them (unless we're talking Legos). The neighborhood kids bought and bought and bought. This helped with the bottom-line, but it made me glad my kids don't bring home a lot of little junk. I want to be the only junk bringer-inner in this family.

Thank you so much for your encouragement and support throughout the whole process! After an awesome $1,000 donation that came in on Friday night, which is a story in itself, we have reached our $5,000 goal.

Can't wait to let you know which country our well will be built in. I hope you will enjoy following the progress with me.

One Life Down, 8 to Go

Last week I let Shadow out of the house so she and I could pick up the kids from school. She took off after a big orange cat that had been sitting in our driveway. They tore past me and soon the cat was whizzing up a really tall tree. Shadow circled back, and with a running dash, made it about 6 feet up before falling to the ground.

What was easy to climb up, was a challenge to get down, so the cat remained perched in a V in the tree while I picked up the kids from school. I’m not good at gauging distances, but a neighborhood poll had that cat being between 25 and 40 feet off the ground. An hour passed, then two. There were NO lower branches, so a trip down would mean coming straight down the trunk or falling head over heels. The cat was freaked. A neighbor called Animal Control whose party line was: “Let it come down on its own. We don’t see many cat skeletons in trees, so it’s bound to come down eventually.” They didn’t mention if they had seen cat skeletons at the base of any trees.

Three hours passed. The cat’s view down was our yard, where Shadow the Raging Beast lived, and, on the other side of the fence, a busy road at rush hour. I’m sure the cars zooming by didn’t make him or her feel more inclined to risk coming down. I toyed with the idea of calling the fire department but didn’t know if their willingness to rescue cats from trees was just a myth from children’s stories.

Eventually Molly and I took my uneaten dinner, conveniently a plate of tilapia, and placed it under the tree. The cat meowed like crazy as the scent wafted up. We videotaped the cat’s every move. This made me a little nervous. I was torn between wanting to make $10,000 on America’s Funniest Videos and fearing that Molly would be traumatized if the cat went splat. Nothing happened.

After hour 4, I could take it no longer. We called the fire department. I learned a lot about ladder length. They dispatched a truck. Before they got here, a neighbor girl burst into the house yelling, “The cat is down! The cat is down!” The tilapia must have proved tempting, because the cat had stood up, teetered off the branch, and started to fall. It grabbed the tree and shimmied down rear first before running under the shed. Whew! A quick call to cancel the fire truck and our lives returned to normal.

Both kids were a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see an exciting rescue, but we were all glad the cat was safe. We still don’t know whose cat it was, but he/she hasn’t been seen hanging out in our basement window wells since.

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