Signs and New Video

We are one week out from the paperback release of Rare Bird. I pray that it will find its way to the people who will benefit from reading it.

Here's my new video trailer that tells a little bit more about the book, namely, that I write about signs from heaven--- something I had never even thought about before losing Jack.

Watch it here:





Last week I asked An Inch of Gray readers on Facebook if they had experienced signs from God or loved ones, and there was quite a response. If you would like to share your thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them!

That day I received a blog post from a reader in Egypt, with her reaction to the book. The post she wrote was also on the subject of signs. Riham and I are a world apart in physical distance, but so similar, and I thought you would love to read her words here:

http://rihamiat.blogspot.com/2015/08/rare-bird-asfour-nader.html

Happy Monday!

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.

Great Things

So the big race was last weekend! Tim and 11 other family members and friends ran a 199 mile relay in Jack's memory, and generous supporters donated 150 Lego sets to seriously ill children in the hospital. Thank you so much for your support! It was super hard to go into the Lego store for the first time without Jack, but I did it. I know that's not as hard as running almost 200 miles in the sweltering heat, or in the middle of the night, or up an almost vertical hill, but it was something for me.

As the racers gathered at our house before the race on Thursday afternoon, a bird flew into the kitchen! Through the garage, into the kitchen, and right onto the window ledge. There's a picture of it on the An Inch of Gray Facebook page if you want to see the little guy. It was calm. After a few moments, it flew out again. I couldn't help but think that our rare bird was stopping by to give his stamp of approval on the weekend to come.

The weather was much hotter and the course much hillier (mountainous!) than everyone expected, but the runners dug deep and finished strong. Way to go, Team Jack's Lanterns!

I want to tell you something my sister, Liz, shared with me yesterday. She is quite the runner, using her running as therapy and prayer time after Jack's death. Each time she runs a race in his honor, she safety pins a laminated photo of him to her back and takes off.

After each race, she likes to take a look at her bib number to see if there is anything significant she can learn from it in her Bible. For instance, if her bib number were #413, she might think of Margaret's favorite verse, Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." This might lead her to consider the ways in which God strengthens her, too.

This time, the team had the race number 149 on their bibs. This didn't stand out to Liz as significant or remind her of any special verse, so when she went to her Bible, she decided to go to Jack's favorite verse, Luke 1:37, "For nothing is impossible with God" and keep reading in case there was a Luke 1: 49.

There was.

 "For the mighty one is holy and
He has done great things for me."

Once again, Liz felt that her Jackie Boy was close, so close, because that verse sounds very similar to a line from Jack's Psalm of Thanksgiving that he wrote in 6th grade and is on the back of the prayer cards we handed out at his service. I want to share it with you today:


A Psalm of Thanksgiving
by Jack Donaldson

God, You are good,
Your goodness extends beyond
the bonds of eternity.

God, You have done great things,
Helping many in times of need.

God, you have done great things for me,
You have helped me in times of struggle.

God, You are merciful.
Sacrificing Your only Son for our life.
God, You are powerful,
You reign supreme over all of the nations,

God, You care about me,
Your love endures forever.


Even though it's hard to see it sometimes, God did do great things for Jack in his short life. And He still does great things for me. Many days I can see this, and that is good.

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.

Rare Bird God Wink

One of my closest friends and her husband founded a Christian school in New Jersey a few years ago. To illustrate just how close I mean when I say "closest friends," let's just say we were together during our Junior High youth group days a la mullets and short OP shorts, ardent bordering on obsessive devotion to the 1984 men's Olympic gymnastics team (Bart Conner!), were college roommates in the late 80's, and served as bridesmaids in each other's weddings.

After Jack's accident, my friend asked if she could share his story in a school chapel service. I said of course, as long as she wasn't trying to present Jack as perfect, but just a special kid who loved God and others. This spring she did just that. You could have heard a pin drop as shared about Jack's life and death. She read a Prayer of Thanksgiving he wrote, and many, many people were touched by what they heard.

But the neatest thing happened on her way into the service. She was praying and listening to Christian radio as she arrived at the school. A Chris Tomlin song called "I Will Rise" was playing. It deals with death and victory over the grave. Pretty fitting since she was going to talk about Jack's new life in heaven.

Here's the chorus:

And I will rise when He calls my name
No more sorrow, no more pain
I will rise on eagle's wings
Before my God fall on my knees
And rise, I will rise

Listen to the entire song here


As she pulled into the lot, she saw a sight she had never seen at the school before, even though she was there every day:

Yep, an eagle. A bald eagle. It was still there when she left.

Rare bird. Rare bird. Rare bird.

Love my kid. Love God's creativity in sending us comfort. Love you for caring about us.

A Little Birdie Told Me

Remember when my dear college friend told me during the weeks after the accident she kept seeing blue jays and having the overwhelming sense that Jack was okay? I thought it was neat because although she did not know it, Jack had always been associated with birds in our minds.

My friend did not know that Jack's first word was bird.

She didn't know he made up his very own baby sign language sign for "bird."

She didn't know we had a special group of birds that came to our kitchen window every winter that we lovingly called "our flock."

She didn't know that I got the kids a special Christmas ornament each year and that Jack's last one was a bird.

She didn't know Tim and I had used bird imagery when we spoke to Jack at his 6th grade dinner 3 months before.

She didn't know another friend would write an amazing poem about Jack, describing him as a "Rare Bird" or in Latin, the language he took at school, "Rara Avis."

...and she didn't know WHY this message of comfort for us would come through a BLUE JAY, of all birds.

What she did know was that when she would see these certain blue jays in her yard, she would get the overwhelming sense that Jack was thriving. She would hear the words "Rare Bird" over and over in her mind. And she got a playful sense from Jack that there was a puzzle behind WHY it was a blue jay, rather than another bird. The boy did love puzzles.

I was kind of "huh?" when she told me about the blue jays beause I'd always considered them big, loud, and mean, not like Jack at all. I mean, how about a cute little songbird, even though Jack couldn't carry a tune? Or a tufted titmouse or downy woodpecker-- plain "Downys" we called them-- from our kitchen window flock? Or maybe a powerful hawk? I haven't told you that the morning after the accident, Tim, Margaret and I (separately) saw a HUGE hawklike creature that must have been at least 3 feet across, swooping down and around our house for hours in the maddeningly beautiful sunshine. "Did you see that huge bird?" I said. Yes, they had. We didn't think of it as a sign for anything except perhaps that our world had been turned to shit,o who the heck cared if huge birds were swooping around us? I mean, if one of the world's most careful kids could get swept away in a creek, I wouldn't have been surprised to see a Pterydactyl land on our carport at that point.

But back to the blue jay.

My friend puzzled and pondered...

Was it BLUE because vibrant blue ribbons and bows were soon associated with Jack? Maybe.

Jay as in "J" for Jack?? Perhaps.

Or was it for the baseball team the Blue Jays? NO...Jack was a Yankees fan.

Well, what about the traditional symbolism of the blue jay?

Talkative, able to mimic (acting!?),
Determination,
Faithfulness,
Loyalty,
Intelligence,
Curiosity,
Vibrancy,
Clarity,
Energy.

Oh my yes. Sounds like someone I know and love.

Here's some additional info:

"Blue jay animal symbolism resonates truth, faithfulness, and solidarity because they are vigilant in their tasks. They also keep the same mate for life, which is symbolic of endurance, patience and loyalty. The jay is an excellent symbol for those wishing to honor their long-lasting bond between friends, family and lovers.

In the spiritual realm, the blue jay speaks of clarity and vision. In Native American symbolism (namely the Sioux Nation) the azure of the jay against the blue sky indicated a “double vision” or double clarity. This visual/spiritual “blue on blue” concept speaks of purity of the soul, truth of the heart, and clarity of thought."

I've also learned that the gradual color change on a a blue jay's feathers sometimes represents a link or bridge between Earth and Heaven. I definitely feel that Jack's life and death are linking a lot of us here to a there that it not so very far away. His death is showing us thin places between heaven and earth.

All of this symbolism resonates with me and helps me believe the blue jay (like the rainbows and sunsets and other birds!) is a generous and creative sign from God that our Rare Bird is thriving.

But my sister, who has seen numerous blue jays on her runs since the accident, pointed out another aspect of the bird that should not be overlooked --the cute little crest on its head.

Kind of like a "Jack hair floop," I suppose.