God Wink: Doves

I went down to the basement with Andrew early Sunday morning. Toys were everywhere from his playtime with Daddy the night before. I picked up dozens of Hot Wheels cars, tossing them back into their bin. I knew that cleaning up didn't make a whole lot of sense because the day was VERY young, and the toys would be used again and again in the next 13 hours.

Is it terrible to already be thinking of bedtime before you've had your first cup of tea?

The plastic train bin was dumped as well.

I'd debated pulling out all of Jack's trains for Andrew. I remember what a HUGE deal it was to anticipate and plan for each one. Each new train represented a holiday or milestone in his young life. If Andrew started out with a complete set of Thomas trains, all jumbled in a bin, they would never be as special as they were to Jack, who slept with the train catalog under his pillow. When things come too easily for us, it's hard to appreciate them.

I remember how Jack would quiz me on each train's name and number, and after all these years, I still know them. The funniest memory was when he convinced us there was a train named Scarbuffle, Number 17. Scarbuffle was one of the gang and was included in all of our Jack's quizzes and train stories, but he existed only in Jack's mind. It was fun to realize that such a structured, orderly kid had an imagination too.

I decided to give Andrew all of Jack's trains, because I know something else will take hold of his passion-- whether it's trucks, superheroes, or something else entirely. To him, the trains can be just regular toys.

Sunday, after I tossed all of the trains back into their plastic bin, I felt something sharp under my bare feet. I wasn't surprised to see that there had been debris in the bottom of the bin. We haven't been in baby mode for many years, so I've had to be vigilant about sniffing out tiny vehicle tires, screws, and legos from our old toys before Andrew can put them in his mouth.

I bent down to scoop up the tiny sharp objects, before they attracted his attention. They were small and white, shaped like hearts or birds, but what WERE they? Puppy teeth? Mouse bones?

Immediately it clicked.

They were the white DOVES that come out of sand dollars when they are cracked open. Technically, they're the sand dollar's teeth, but according to the legend of the sand dollar, they represent doves that  stand for peace or goodwill.

Jack's trains had been closed up in a bin for a very long time, perhaps a decade or more. I assume the doves are from when I must have shared the legend of the sand dollar with the kids at some point. I'll have to ask Margaret. She remembers everything.

How interesting and fun to discover these little doves when Andrew dumped the trains.

Years later.

A different house.

Same love.

Birds. Peace. Trains. Jack.

Thanks for the God-wink!

Always Learning

Shortly after Rare Bird came out, a friend from my kids' old school invited me to lunch.

We mainly knew each other from the car pool line and quick hellos at school concerts, but I knew enough about Lori to know she is a big pray-er. In Christian circles we call this a "prayer warrior." I knew she had been praying about Rare Bird for more than a year, as well as praying for our family in other ways, because I had asked her to.


You see, Lori's knees hit the floor before her feet do in the mornings. And she doesn't just say, "I'll be praying for you," she does it. It doesn't matter if you are in the Target parking lot or the aisle at church, she will pray for you right then and there, and I love that about her. She is also very real, approachable, and easy to talk to.


When we met for lunch, Lori brought her journals from the time of Jack's accident.


She had something to share, but hoped I wouldn't think it was strange. I assured her that not a whole lot seems strange to me any more. Losing a child is the ultimate in strange.


Lori opened her journal and read about how God spoke to her during her prayers one morning a few days after the accident, telling her, "Go where they found him, and I will meet you there." She knew God was talking about Jack. I asked her what that was like; did she hear an audible voice? She replied that it was a clear knowing inside of her that God was speaking to her. I like thinking about how just as a sheep knows the shepherd's voice, we, too, can recognize the voice of God, especially as we spend more time with Him and know his nature.


The problem was, Lori didn't want to go to the creek. She resisted. Our small community was wracked with grief and confusion, and she didn't want to go to the spot where Jack was found. It was too sad, too hard.


She put it off, but one day, upon driving over the road where Jack's body was found, she pulled over, parked, and walked down to sit in the (dry) creek bed, the steep banks looming up on either side of her.

"Okay, God, I'm here and I'm ready."


And she waited.


She said God showed her a few things pertinent to her own life and her family, but nothing about Jack. Then she looked up toward where she knew our neighborhood was, and the direction Jack's body had traveled. At that moment she saw a large bush hanging out over the side of the creek, in front of a big bend. In that bush were three cardinals, which to her had been signs of God's faithfulness during a very difficult time in her life. At that moment, God spoke to Lori's spirit again, saying,


"Before he was there, he was with me."


God was sharing with her that before Jack's body was trapped and stuck, he was already in God's presence. What Lori experienced that day mirrored what I feel in my heart, and what others have shared with me.


She also felt God was telling her the words, "Sacred Ground" about where she sat.


Lori didn't explain why she hadn't shared her journal with me three years earlier, and I didn't ask.


I just figured there must have been a good reason. That is one difference between the Anna today and the Anna of three years ago. I have started to embrace mystery, and let go of having all the answers.


I don't get to choose to have Jack safe and alive with us to adulthood.
I don't get to choose which prayers get answered in the way I want them to.
I don't even get to choose how and when comfort comes to me!

You see, with my conservative faith background,  Lori would have been the ideal, even expected, messenger to deliver God's comfort to me, and I would have surely put her story in my book.


But she didn't share it. Not then.


Yet still the comfort came. Through the Holy Spirit.  Through blog readers around the world. Through a dear friend whose spiritual side had seemed wacky to me. Through dreams and visions. Through symbols as seemingly insignificant as clouds, blue jays, songs on the radio, and now, three years later, the hearts I seem to find everywhere around me.


I believe that if God wants to tell us something, in this case an assurance that Jack was with his Heavenly Father almost immediately, His message will get through. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."


I wonder if  this was a case of my being stretched, personally, so that when the time came for me to use my broken heart to start reaching out to many other grievers, I would be able to listen to their experiences solely with love and not skepticism, even if their experiences differed widely from my own. Perhaps it was so that I would have to trust that the examples I put in my book would be the right ones to touch readers in a way they needed.

I don't know. It's a mystery.


But I am grateful to Lori, who listens to God. I am grateful to God, who finds ways to get through to us again and again. And I'm grateful to YOU, for being here with me.

Wonder-filled Wednesday

Six months after Jack died, my sister Liz ran along her usual trail in southwestern Virginia, trying to make sense of our loss, her loss. She had taken up running at around age 40, and since Jack's death it had become her refuge and her therapy. She would end up logging nearly 2000 miles that first year alone, moving from 10ks and half marathons to full marathons and eventually even a 50k in the grueling August heat.

But most of her runs were like this one, solitary, as she pounded the shit out of the path, crying out to in despair. She was a Christian yoga teacher as well, but she couldn't do yoga right now. She needed something brutal, punishing, and painful, like our new lives. Besides, who was she to be spouting off to her students about the goodness and provision of God when everything she'd ever believed felt cut off and upended now, lost in seconds in a stupid creek?

Sometimes she prayed to see a blue jay on her runs, ever since we'd started associating blue jays with our "rare bird." They rarely came. On this morning's run Liz was angry. Angrier than usual. Why give Jack a huge heart, if he couldn't use it beyond 12 years? Why did her kids have to suffer the loss of someone so beloved--  why did her son lose his best friend in the world? Why do evil and darkness and lies flourish? Why would she have to lose her mother so young, then her nephew, and now most likely her sister, changed forever by the scars of grief? And what did all this mean to her faith?

As Liz approached a familiar line of pine trees, she saw a flicker of color in one. Blue. Finally, a blue jay. Her breath caught and she smiled, then kept on running. The blue jay sailed up and flew to the next tree, further down the path. As Liz ran, so it flew, from tree to tree to tree until it disappeared into the woods.

The bird seemed playful, as if it were teasing her. Liz felt her anger dissipate. A peace washed over her. She told me later that the message she felt in that moment was, "I am okay and joyful and I love you. I know you are suffering. I am here to bring you joy and comfort."

Liz has since moved away from that town, from that trail. But she still looks for blue jays. She doesn't care when people tell her blue jays are ungainly creatures with a mean streak that runs a mile deep. That they aren't all that "rare." To her they are beautiful. And the one that kept her company that day was clever and loving and full of comfort.

Just like someone else she knew.

Chilly Monday Warm-up

Cold and dreary Columbus Day. I'm in my comfy pants cozied up to my computer with my 6th (!) cup of tea for the day. At this rate, I'll need some serious Crest Whitestrips by the end of the winter.

Experiencing procrastination and writer's block, so I thought I'd finally share this amazing picture sent to me by a wonderful blog reader. Perusing photos on the blog, she saw something interesting and sent it to me as an encouragement. Cloud photo on left courtesy of local friend who saw this in the sky while thinking about our family shortly after the accident while being urged, "Look for Jack." Photo on the right is from the Jack's birthday balloon launch in March.

Hmmmm, do you see what the reader saw?

Pretty cool, huh?

Hope you are staying cozy today.

Oh My

Here's what I promised you yesterday, from a reader who lives in my town. I want to preface this by saying that the day she sent this I had not been able to stop commenting on how cool the clouds were. They just seemed so clear and to have so much dimension. Later that night I got this in my inbox:

Hi Anna,

I have been very hesitant to send this to you, but I just must. I'm sure you don't remember me, but I have been following your blog since the accident and sent you some pictures of the sky from the night of the accident a few months back. I know this has been a difficult month for you and hopefully what I am about to share will be comforting for you and I pray that you don't think I'm a nut job. The last thing I want is to cause you any pain at all, but I had to tell you what happened tonight.

I was sitting at my son's lacrosse practice tonight at XYZ Elementary school, the weather was gorgeous and as the sun began to set, I was taken by another strangely beautiful sky. I was sitting on the ground at the field and decided I would take some pictures of the sunset.

I had an overwhelming urge to look for something in the sky, the feeling of "look for Jack" kept going through my head (I hope that isn't weird, but I think about all of you all the time). So I looked to the other end of the field where the clouds were totally different than the view towards the school - bright and puffy sky and clouds. I still had the feeling that I needed to look for Jack, but honestly, I wasn't seeing anything so I kind of gave up and quit taking pics and started watching practice again.

Then something told me (very strongly) to look up now. I almost fell over and quickly grabbed my phone and started taking pics again. I hope you see what I saw, I even confirmed with my 8 yr old that I wasn't making myself see something that wasn't there - he saw what I saw. I will let you decide for yourself and if it looks like nothing, I apologize for bothering you.

Wishing you peace and comfort each and every day – and especially today, for some reason it feels like a very special day. God Bless.

******
Wow! I have always been "cloud impaired" and have never been able to see the rabbit or the teapot or whatever in the clouds...but I definitely see this. Thank you for sharing it with us!

Rare Bird: Part 1,365,212

Via email and this blog, so many people have shared neat stories about Jack and God. These stories continue to amaze me, lift me up, and convince me that while I miss him more than I could ever imagine, Jack is doing just fine. Some I have shared, and some I have put in my pocket and kept to myself to pull out when I need them the most. Maybe I worry that if I share everything you'll think I'm grasping, unstable, and losing my shit. But then I think, well, maybe some of these happenings aren't just for me, that they can have meaning for others as well.

Remember the blog reader who snapped an astounding picture featuring Jack's Bible verse in South Africa? That message surely could impact more than just my little family, right?

What about the comment Luv2Run left about praying for us as she ran on the bike path and having a bird fly right the heck into her? Sounds super scary to me, but she insists it was rather cool. I am assuming that having a bird fly into her had to have some sort of... well... impact on her...just as her story did on me.

What about the friend who felt compelled to write a poem about Jack entitled, "Rara Avis" or "Rare Bird," and another friend who had been hearing those very same words in association with Jack almost daily and was given an overwhelming sense of peace about where Jack is?

Others have shared dreams, visions, nudges, songs and other signs that point them toward God, or at the very least to a sense of "there is more, more, more going on here than we ever imagined, and it is more than okay." Coincidences, signs, "God-winks," the work of a very clever soul who knows how to delight-- they just keep coming. Whatever you want to call them, I am grateful for your taking the time to share them with me, and I hope it's beneficial for me to share some with you.

Well, I have another story for you today, sent last night by a reader:

*****
Hi Anna,

I have been a silent reader of your blog since I was directed from "Motherhood in NYC" to visit in a time when thoughts and prayers were desperately needed. Your writing has kept me coming back to hear more about your wonderful Jack and your family (I also jumped on the Bieber bandwagon and was so happy to hear that Margaret got to see that dream come true!). Anyway, I wanted to a story with you.

My boyfriend and I went up to Door County, WI a couple of weekends ago for a short getaway. Following the advice of our waiter of must-see scenic areas, we wound up driving around a fairly secluded wooded area (Ellison Bluff County Park) and walking around the look out over the lake.

At one point while we were driving, I couldn't help but think of your family and become a little sad, as this setting was similar to pictures you've posted. Right at that moment, something caught my eye... a tree with a bright blue ribbon tied around it; it took a moment to sink in, and then it just made me smile. On our way back from the lookout, I had my boyfriend pull over so I could take a photo, in hopes that sharing this story might be one more small bit of encouragement to your family.

Maybe I'm digging here, but the story continues... I was walking back to the car after taking some pictures of the ribbon/tree when another car that had been stopped a few hundred feet behind us pulled up next to me and rolled down their window "Did you get it?!?! That was incredible!" I had no clue what they were talking about, why on earth would they be as excited about a blue ribbon as I was?

"Get what?" I asked. "The eagle! That's what we were watching, there was an eagle right above you in the tree over there" pointing to a tree about 40 feet from where I had been taking the pictures. I couldn't believe I missed it, what a great photo opportunity that would have been. We all laughed it off that I somehow missed an eagle while I was taking pictures of a tree trunk and I hopped in our car. My boyfriend asked what the couple had said to me, so I told him, and as I was recapping our conversation, it hit me... an eagle! A rare bird indeed.

I have attached a photo of the ribbon on the tree; unfortunately, I missed the eagle so I can't share that :)

I am constantly praying for you and your family. Per your last post, do what you need to do, your silence is just as powerful as your words...
****
Wow! I love this. Missing a "rare bird" while taking a picture for me because of my "rare bird."

And, uh, just wait until you see what I've got for you tomorrow, or later today if I just can't wait.

Rare Bird Part 4

So I teased you a while back by showing you a picture of a bird on my windowsill, promising to fill you in later. I have a story to tell you about him, but I have hesitated in case you are starting to think I’m a whack-job with all of the signs I’ve received since Jack died: the Bible verse that showed up on my phone hours after the accident, the songs that played on their own, the achingly beautiful sunsets for months of rainy Thursdays at the exact time of his death, a divinely-inspired poem that captured the essence of my son, your dreams and visions and experiences that have shouted “Jack is more than fine!”, a “jacked up” Valentine’s crossword puzzle, and a feeling of peace and hope that makes zero sense yet pervades my days.

I thought about keeping this sign, the bird, to myself. But, as I told a friend last week, I care less now than ever before if people think I’m a weirdo. It’s as if having lost a child, there just isn’t much else to lose, you know? I also have a strong sense that sharing what’s going on is important, even if I don’t understand it fully. Important for me in the telling, but perhaps important for you, too.

So here goes:

About 3 months ago I was having a particularly shitty Saturday. I’ve told you weekends are the worst, right? During the week I seem to muddle through with work/school /dinner/homework/bedtime pretty well, but the weekends just kind of ooze with their wretched Jack-less-ness.

So I cried out (inside my head, lest I would scare the neighbors) that I was desperate and hurting and miserable. I didn’t think I could go on. I needed help. Scary images of the accident and my beautiful brown-eyed boy in a terrible situation flashed through my mind again and again. I felt sick about the future of our family.

I cried out, then I did what any grieving blogger would do to while away some time—begin to cruise the internet in my office. I noticed a few tiny fuzzy gray feathers stuck to the window right next to my desk. In my anger and frustration, I may have said to myself, “Great! I need comfort and all I’m going to get is a dead bird. So NOT helpful.” I refused to look more closely because I didn’t think seeing a dead bird on the ground outside my window would provide any solace while I was missing my Rare Bird so terribly.

An hour or so later I stood up to look directly at the windowsill —which is not visible when I’m sitting down. The cutest chubby gray bird sat there looking at me, perhaps stunned from flying into the window earlier. But if it hadn’t been for the tiny bit of feather fuzz stuck to the window from his mishap I never would have known there was anything to see out there, so I was now thankful for that fuzz.

I wasn’t sure what to think. Was this my sign? Another visit from a bird? Was the bird here to keep me company as I blogged and moped and railed? Had it been hanging around all day, for I know it had been there several hours at least. I wasn’t sure what to do next. In such an instance, do I talk to God? Do I talk to Jack? Do I talk to the bird?

I decided to take pictures.

A lot of pictures, with the camera buzzing and flash flashing. The bird let me get super close and still it didn’t budge. He just sat there looking cute as I made my way back to my desk, sheepishly wondering if it was somehow disrespectful to cruise Facebook while experiencing what was most likely a gift of supernatural comfort.

After a while I thought, much as I appreciate my little visitor, what if the little bird COULDN’T fly away? A maimed bird is right up there with a dead bird in my book as far as depressing signs go. I mean, I wanted the bird to be hanging out because he wanted to, not because his wings were broken. So I went outside and walked right up to him. I put my face close to his and then he flew. He flew! He flew into a holly tree next to the window, where he proceeded to... look at me some more.

I felt euphoric that he could fly! I felt surprised that in my time of great distress, once again I was comforted by a little bird. I felt this would make my clever Rare Bird smile.

In a short time, my mind had traveled from the darkest place of hopelessness to a place where I could ponder the humor and creativity of God and of my my sweet boy who, while physically separated from me, still lives on if I really do believe what I say I believe. Once again, I was reminded of how the veil between here and there, earth and heaven seems to be so much thinner than I ever could have imagined. I thought about how we are all in for some neat surprises when it's our turn to go.

But then I wondered, how long do I hang out with the bird? What if I have to go to the bathroom? What if I just have a ridiculously short attention span and am ready to move on with my day? Could I please just take my comfort “to go?” So I picked the tiny gray fuzz off the window to keep, smiled at the bird, and went back inside.

And yes, I washed my hands.

At Which Point We Call Our Son a "Trunk Tool"

The night of December 23rd, Tim was in despair.

He prayed that he, too, would see a sign letting him know Jack was okay.

The morning of the 24th, while Margaret and I slept, Tim decided to do a
crossword puzzle. He pulled out one of the spare Washington Post puzzles he
keeps in his bag. Geek-ish, I know. The puzzle was from Valentine’s Day 2011. Yeah, a 10 month old puzzle.

And the answer to 1 Across?

JACK

Do I understand this? No, but I sure do love my puzzle boy.