Some Thoughts on the 27th of May

Some thoughts on the 27th of May

This has been a crazy, busy week at our house. Last Saturday, our daughter Sarah gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Sarah is staying with us while her husband, Charles, is deployed on the USS Eisenhower. Our other daughter, Maria was her birth coach and I have to say, I have never been more proud of my girls. They are great, strong, beautiful, kind and caring women.

Tonight was my piano students’ annual concert. And it went well….the little guys climbed up on stage, on their stools and played. The older kids (and by this I mean 8 and 9 year olds) performed wonderfully and joyfully. They also made me proud.

And in the middle of this week, on this day came May 27th. May 27th is the day that, 18 years ago, my son Jeremy died when he was hit by a car while riding his bike around the corner from our house. He was 6 years old.

When you lose someone, dates are powerful; even 18 years later I am struck by the power by May 27th. Everything in my life changed after that day. It was not long before my marriage fell apart and I found myself, while still grieving, a single mom of a teenage girl and young son.

Today, on this May 27th, I find myself, above all other emotions, feeling very grateful. After his death, Jeremy’s teacher wrote, “some would give anything, even their own lives, for 6 years of joy with such a child.” I miss Jeremy still, but at the same time the years have helped me concentrate on his life and the great blessing that it was, rather than the great tragedy of his death. I was blessed to be his Mom.

I am also grateful for my other children. For Maria, whose loving, nurturing nature is so beautiful. For Ryan, teller of great stories, whose heart is so much like my own. For Seth, so thoughtful and determined. For Sarah, so brave as she adjusts to life as a new Mom with her husband so far away. I love how they love one another. I am so thankful for their presence in my everyday.

I am so blessed by marriage to such a kind, generous, wonderful man.

It’s true it all fell apart….18 years ago today. But somehow all the pieces are so invaluable. So sweet. And I am grateful for each piece.

Jeremy…sweet boy of mine. I miss you still and always. Heaven draws nearer every day.


Can I, who have of others oft compil’d
The songs of death, forget my sweetest child…..

Dear Lord, receive my son, whose winning love
To me was like a friendship, far above
The course of nature or his tender age;
Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage:
Let his pure soul, ordain’d seven years to be
In that frail body which was part of me,
Remain my pledge in Heav’n, as sent to show
How to this port at every step I go.

(by Sir John Beaumont 1583-1627)

Some thoughts from a great writer.

I have been a fan of Donald Miller's since Blue Like Jazz first appeared. I love the way he explains what it means to be a Christian - in very unchurchy ways. So here are a few of my favorite thoughts - of his! These are from "Searching for God Knows What."

On knowing about God or knowing God:

Jesus says there will be people who will heal other people, but when they die He is going to say He didn’t know them. It is somewhat amazing to me, once again, that all of Christianity, all our grids and mathematics and truths and different groups subscribing to different theological ideas, boils down to our knowing Jesus and His knowing us.Apart from the booby trap of getting redemption from believing we are right and they are wrong, there is the booby trap of believing we gain access to God by knowing a lot of religious information… Scripture says the nature of sin is deceptive, so deceptive that a person’s mind can be carried away, and he will have no idea he has become something arrogant and proud and offensive until one of his friends slaps him on the back of the head. And I wonder about... how much of my faith I apply in a personal way, deep down in my heart on the level where I actually mean things. I know there are selfish motives mixed with my faith, that this community of faith is the jury of peers and they applaud when I know a lot of fancy theological stuff, and that can really screw a guy up. I learn more and get more applause and learn more and get even more applause. To describe people like me, Jesus would use the word hypocrite, which at the time, was a term used to describe Greek actors. Those on the scene must have found the similarities quite humorous—the exaggerated language, the proud countenances, the broad and showy mannerisms. How obvious it must have been to Jesus that his was all a sham. They don’t even know me, He must have thought. They don’t even know my father.

The tough thing about Christian spirituality is, you have to mean things. You can’t just go through the motions or act religious for the wrong reasons… this thing is a thing of the heart. It’s intimacy with Christ, rather than a dog and pony show is the center ring of the circus...it’s a trick of Satan to ge us to go through religious motions divorced of their relational significance. It is the trick of Satan to get us to perform religious actions without meaning them.If we are going through religious motions to get people to think of us as religious, praise us, and all that, we are receiving out redemption from a bunch of people who are going to be dead in fifty years. This is a shabby replacement for an eternal God.

House of Light

She lives in a house of light
But keeps her eyes tightly closed against the glare of Truth.
Like a small child, she thinks that if she can’t see the light,
from behind her hands as she hides,
That it doesn’t exist.

She lives surrounded by truth
But stops her ears so that it is muted
and almost indiscernible
As if ignored truth ceases to be
thus allowing her to choose another.

She lives among people of light,
But from her vantage point
She sees their transparency as a deficit
Some things are better kept in dark closets,
away from illumination.

Still, light shines in this place
And its primary colors,
Love, mercy and truth
Shimmer off the walls.
They peek from the books on the shelves
And soar in melodies of praise
They resonate in conversations
And hover in whispered prayer.
How much joy she would find
in simply giving in to them.

Oh Lord,
Take away the blindness that keeps Light at bay.
Gently pull her hands away from her eyes
And whisper the truth of Your love to her unhearing ears
And let her see and hear only You.


Kay Stringhm 2001

Why I Believe

You, no doubt, are sure you know the answer to the above statement. You would say:

You grew up in a Christian home
You’ve gone to church all your life.
You’re a pastor’s wife (twice)!
You became a Christian as a child.

And all of that is true.

It is also true that I believe:
The Bible is true and infallible and relevant.
God is the creator of heaven and earth and you and me.

All of these are reasons. They are all true. But when I think about why I believe, why I have continued to believe and why I have chosen a life of service to the church it all comes down to the relationship I have experienced and continue to experience every day. Let me try to put it into words.

I have awakened in the night, having lost more than I can live without, and known in the depths of my soul that God loves me. I have felt his loving presence, his peace in circumstances that themselves were the opposite of either of peace or love.

I have watched as He has used the experiences of my life, both good and bad, to forge meaning out of loss and resilience and strength from my weaknesses.

I have struggled with the hardest of questions and found great wisdom and help in both God's book and His people.

I have known the pleasure of answered prayer. I have also seen that when the answer is, “no” that his idea of what is good for me far outweighs what I thought would be good.

I have seen transformation in my own soul that is ongoing. I am not who I used to be. I have found courage I did not posses. I have learned to forgive the unforgivable as well as the small daily grievances I encounter. I am learning to both give and recieve grace.

I have been surrounded by a caring, kind, and praying community of people who know it is their reliance on God that makes them strong. Like me, they are imperfect people, in process, aware that our journey together enhances our process.

I have learned that this relationship I am in is not about rules or ritual or religion, but truly is a living, breathing, friendship that goes far beyond any obligation or duty. Jesus does love me, with an intensity that I can’t really fathom. That Love, that person who is love, begs me to respond with as much devotion and worship as I am capable of.

That’s why.

You Catch My Eye

I love this poem. I love the words, the "ointment appointment" and "surround to astound." I didn't write it, but its author has quickly become my favorite. Enjoy.



You Catch My Eye
You catch my eye
In the eye of the storm;
You hold ointment appointments
When hell’s hornets swarm.
When I find no time for stillness
You tell me there’s still time;
When my words are clashing symbols,
You are Reason
Rhythm
Rhyme.
You are the song that rises
In my soul
The coin that clatters in
My begging bowl
You're a bed of roses on a crowded street;
A peppermint balm to my blistered feet.
You are rich in rest,
When rest is radium-rare.
By cool pools you position me
With passion you petition me;
In fog and smog,
You re-condition my air.
You are the unexpected cheer
That lifts my game
In the vinegar and lemon juice of life
You are champagne
Like honey on the throat to Frank Sinatra,
Like a goat's milk bath to Cleopatra
You surround me to astound me
You soothe and smooth.
You are the stalker
Who is good for me;
The jailer
Who can set me free;
The trap and snare
To bind me into love.
You who have refined me
Come find me
Mind me
By grace grind me
And bind me
Gentle jailer
Into love.
© Gerard Kelly, 2004

Nonconformity

I have raised a bunch of non-conformists. Sometimes that makes me proud; that you are all individuals, with minds of your own. You each have strong (and differing) opinions and not one of you will ever be content with the status quo.

Like I said, sometimes this makes me proud. Other times I want to go beat my head against the wall.

Because it’s not about being different. (Different, than what?) Different is only good if it is better than the alternative. When all the nonconformists sit in the same room, the perspective changes. Funny, they all look alike.

Alike, in that, no one can tell them anything. And that’s the part the gives me a headache.

So with my bloodied head, I still have a few things to say….

Sometimes the “free-er” you are, the less you see yourself as a participant in the “system,” the less choices you actually have. Those who don’t participate in the system, more often find themselves at its mercy; not a good place to be.

If you stand on principle (and by that I mean good, sound, right principle) your differences count for something. Having spend a lifetime, attempting to live out the things I stand for (“attempting” being a very intentional word) I can say that they have given value to my existence and while the cost has been steep at times, it’s been worth it

“I can do what I want” is not standing on principle. It is selfish, worthless, and dangerous.

The biggest price tag is stuck with super glue to the large label that says, “unteachable, always right, refuses to listen.” That costs. On the warning label is clearly listed, “dangerous to relationships, can result in loss of love and respect.”

There is no universal young adult law that says one must reject the values, faith, lifestyle of his/her family to be a true individual. Conformity is bad if that to which you conform is bad. To conform to that which is good is, well, wise.

Now, I will go bandage my head, take some Tylenol, and try to put something over the dent in the wall.

All the Kinds of Moms I Am

I wrote the following several years ago - when more of you lived at home. But I want to share it with you...

ALL THE KINDS OF MOTHERS, I AM

I’m not sure when it happened. But at some point the line that separates “your kids” and “my kids” was almost completely erased and Maria and Ryan, Seth and Sarah, just became OUR kids. It was about the same time that they stopped referring to us as “your Mom” or “your Dad” and we became “the parents.”
“Where are the parents?” “What did the parents say?” “Where are the parents taking us for dinner?”

We liked that title. All of them have other parents in other places, but as a combined force in our household, we were now THE parents.

Which brings me to the other thing I have been thinking about, trying to explain. Last Mother’s Day, Pastor began reciting a list of all the kinds of Mothers there are.

“Some of you,” he began, “are mothers because you gave birth.”
“That’s me,” I said as I nudged Steve.
“Some of you are foster mothers.”
“Been there, done that,” I whispered.
“Some of you are adoptive mothers,” he continued.
“That’s me, too.”
“Some are stepmothers.”
This time Steve nudged me as I nodded yes.”
“Some of you are spiritual mothers to those you have discipled in the faith.”
“Guess that’s me, too.”

Now as he continued I conceded that I am not yet a Mother-in-law nor a Grandmother, but still it seems that I have come to the title of “Mom” in all the ways it is possible to do that.

And each of my five children hold a place that is unique in my heart, yet at the same time equal.

There is nothing like whispering to you husband, “We’re having a baby” and seeing that look come over his face that in some ways never disappears again. Having a much-longed-for and awaited baby growing inside you is so astonishing, so utterly amazing. Neither Ryan’s nor Jeremy’s births were the result of long and arduous labor. Jeremy burst into the world in the same fashion he would later jump into every activity in his short life and Ryan, just came in his own good time and way. I remember every detail of their births and every joy of holding my two sons for the first time. I loved them before I saw them or held them. Before we were first introduced, they filled my heart and still do.

Becoming Maria’s Mom was different, but no less magical. I stood at the door as the social worker walked up my sidewalk with the three year old beauty. She wore a faded purple dress and shoes several sizes too big and in one hand she held a can of Coke while tucked under her other arm was a baby doll. At that moment I only knew that she would be with us for while and that probably she would not stay forever. I didn’t know that we would fall in love.

But one Wednesday evening as I walked into church, she turned around from her perch in the front pew and when she saw me, her brown eyes sparkling, she said the one word that hooked me forever, “Mama!”

Later she would say to the nasty boy who teased her about being adopted, “Listen, when you were born your parents were stuck with you. My Mom and Dad chose me!” But in truth, she chose us, too.

When she was still little and loved best to be “Wonder Woman,” she would say, “Mama! When I turn into Wonder Woman I’m going to get my udder-one Mom out of the cage” (her birth mother, we assumed, was in jail somewhere). And then she would always add, “And then I’ll come home.”

Becoming Maria’s mom was magical and mystical and equally amazing to loving that newborn that God made inside me.

With Seth and Sarah, it was different still. Maybe the best way to describe it is like an arranged marriage. We all came together as kind of a package deal. And while the individual packages looked really attractive, we were all aware of the huge amount of baggage tied to each one. How do six strangers become a family? That’s hard to answer. Over time, commitment turned to love, obligation faded into genuine affection and the initial awkwardness of strangers turned into the ease of true familiarity. At some point we were each overheard saying, “my Mom and Dad, my sister, my brother, my children” without that preceding disclaimer “step.”

I love Seth and Sarah with all my heart. They are the children of my heart, too. The fact that they love another Mom, too, is simply beside the point. To think that loving a step-child (or for that matter step-parent) demands that in turn they have to choose who they will love best (or instead) is in itself the polar opposite of what love is. In a recent sermon our Pastor said, “Following Jesus mean we give up the right to choose who we will love.” In a step family, loving each other means we give up the right to think of ourselves as the only one they should love.

We are an affectionate family. Maria is quick to give a lingering hug and quicker still to end every conversation with “I love you, Mom.” Ryan is playfully overly affectionate, not just with me, but with both his sisters. In fact he “loves them” until they scream. Sarah, snuggles up to me on the couch and lays her head on my shoulder. And often, as I feel a gentle hand rubbing my shoulder, I hear Seth whisper, “I love you.”

They are dear and special to me, all five of my children. And there is nothing they can do to undo that. Ever.