Hi guys! Loretta here.
As most of Molly’s readers know, I recently went from a Ms. to a Mrs. I got hitched. I tied the knot. You may also know that Zach and I (along with an army of family and friends) planned and executed a pretty stinking spectacular wedding in just 5 weeks. What some of you may not know is this. Zach and I were supposed to get married up at the cabin in early September. God decided that March was just more fitting for us, I suppose. You see, I had received a phone call on Tuesday, January 31 at 3:30 P.M. It was Momma, her voice only cracking for a moment after I had asked what the doctor had said at her appointment that day. There was nothing left for the doctors to do. There would be no more treatments. Hope of winning this war against cancer had been shot to hell once again. (Our family has a running record of being screwed over by cancer, but “that’s a post for another day”). I was angry. (I guess I still am) Over the next five weeks, in the midst of planning our wedding, taking 18 credits, caring for Momma on the weekends, attempting to keep my relationship with Zach afloat, and participating in premarital counseling late on Sunday nights, I was angry. But joyful. And sad. But giddy. And lost. But also found. All of this, and more, all at the same time, even now as I write this. I am angry. I am angry at my father for not staying committed to the vows he had made to Momma 24 years ago, regardless of the fact that that ship has already sailed. I am angry that the doctors had given up on my momma, despite knowing that each and every doctor that has ever come in contact with her, in both her personal and professional life, has come to adore her and only want what is in her best interest. I am angry at some of my siblings who have been absent for most of my young adult life, even more so during this time when we could benefit from their presence. I am angry at Momma, she should have gone to the doctor sooner, she could have told me what she knew. I am angry at God, with each drive to and from Mason City I scream at Him while tears force me to pull over to the side of the road. So, again, I am angry. I am joyful. Making the Dean’s List fills me with joy. Damn, I worked my ass off last semester and, apparently, that work paid off. I have never been on the “Dean’s List” before, but I can only assume that I now can park wherever I want on campus without getting a ticket. Laughing with Momma fills me with joy. Over the past 7 months, laughter has filled my heart. We do this thing where we say one word or phrase or sound and we just keep repeating the word/phrase/sound over and over to each other until, finally, Molly tells us to stop. We laugh and, of course, don’t stop. Today’s sound was, ironically, a laugh that would make anyone cringe. We have shared stories about each other’s childhood and what the best brand of dill pickle chips are, so, we have covered what is really important. Zach fills me with joy. In Zach’s arms, I find peace, I find rest, and I can cry ugly tears. Through this season, he is my grace, my protection, and my light. And God is our joy. In God’s arms, we am humbled, broken, and made new. Through this season, He is our grace, our protection, and our light. I am sad. I had a plan for Momma, regardless of who my husband was going to be. A plan I had thought up years ago. I planned on Momma living above my garage after I got married. I planned on making certain that we had an in-law suite just right for Momma. She would “come over” on Tuesday nights for pizza and game night, watch the kids one Saturday a month for date night, and my husband and I would sign her up for ridiculous old-lady clubs that she would say she hated, but secretly adored. Momma was supposed to be my classroom’s designated grandma. I planned on her coming into my classroom and reading to my students the way she had always read to me, using silly voices, wild facial expressions, and unruly gestures to bring the story to life. I was supposed to finally get to take care of my momma the way she had always taken care of me. But, now Momma and I have discussed a new plan, one that is ideal for her, but a little more difficult for me to swallow. First, before anything else, Momma plans on watching over Adeline, my beautiful step-daughter, my first baby girl. As time goes on and Zach and I decide to grow our family, Momma plans on holding our babies long before we ever have a chance to. Momma says that she is going to teach them things that only she can, so we know that Grandma Diane was with them first. Momma plans to still live above our garage, just in a bit of an upgrade from a piddly ol’ in-law suite. I am giddy. I will be frank (I don’t really understand why people use this phrase, what does a hot dog have to do with being straightforward and honest about something), I do not make a very good wife. Hell, I don’t even make a very okay wife. Since I was a little girl, we have always had a “sock basket.” For the longest time, it was an old wooden box that said “LIFE” across the side. In it, us Kraling Girls built a mountain out of ours socks. By us, I mean me. When Molly gave me the task of mating the socks, I would put them in the “LIFE” box and go play with my Hot Wheels. Then, when I needed a pair of socks, I would take from Molly’s dresser, which was always a stockpile of mated socks. The only times I have ever had my own pair of mated socks are the times that I have had to buy a new 6-pack of socks from Wal-Mart. And when I get socks for Christmas. Okay, you are wondering what the point of this story is. Here goes. I am giddy to use the same “LIFE” box as our sock box. Just kidding. Molly already called dibs on the box when we were 10 and 11, so it is in the garage with all her “future home decor” stuff (AKA a pile of Goodwill finds that she painted white). What my real point is, I vowed to steal Zach’s socks. Seriously, on our wedding day, in my real wedding vows. I am giddy to keep our vows raw, honest, and always present in our walk together. I am giddy to be given a lot of grace, a lot of love, and a lot of joy from my incredible husband. And I am giddy to give grace, love, and joy right back. I am giddy as I have watched Momma and Zach gain respect and love for one another over the past 7 months. When Zach was here last, Momma said, “I love you, Zach.” Zach said, “I love you, too.” The two strongest, most stubborn, most incredible people in my life love one another. I am giddy. I am lost. I had to ask my nephew, “What’s it like to lose your momma?” “Tata (family nickname, don’t ask), I am lost.” Jennie passed away nearly five years ago, yet he still, at times, feels lost. For us all, being completely lost is what most people find when death gets settled in. A loss for words, a loss of time, a loss of appetite, a loss of patience, a loss of joy, a loss of understanding, a loss of a loved one. When you walk alongside death, you walk hand-in-hand into darkness, confusion, anger, and, for me, anxiety. Death, without the presence of Life, consumes you. I am lost. I am found. God is life, our Saviour guaranteed that much. Let the record show that life is present, God is here. As I walked down the aisle, hand-in-hand with my momma, being pushed by my father, being lead by the Spirit, I was found. I was made new. I was clothed in white (I was literally in a beautiful white dress), walking towards my joy, holding onto my laughter, letting go of my anger, setting aside my heartache, and singing out, “Your GLORY God is what our hearts long for, to be overcome by your presence.” I am found. I am broken, hurting, banged-up, and bruised but I am found and I am free.
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Mom and Loretta were up all night long.
Momma has been having extreme hallucinations. Not just last night, however, last night was the worst in awhile. She saw dozens of bats and little beedy red and blue eyes staring back at her. Momma explained that a group of them, somewhere close to twenty would move from one side of her wall to the other and then, in a group, climb down into her "funeral dress" which hangs on the outside of her closet door. Momma went on to explain that there were two above her hanging from the light fixture and a few in the very right hand corner of her room. A few times she even cried out for her own momma. "Momma! Momma!" She hollered out. "What's wrong Momma? What do you need? What can we get you?" We replied back. "I just want my Momma." My momma wants her momma. Last night she was terrified. Momma asked Loretta to stay with her and lay next to her. When they got up this morning to use the restroom Loretta promised to check Mom's room for bats. I told her not to indulge this hallucination and Loretta explained to me something profound. "Loretta, do not give in to this craziness. It will only set her deeper into it." "Molly, she is scared. Momma is like a child, we have to tell her she is fine, that she is safe." My momma wants her momma. And her momma is in heaven and soon my momma will be there with her. Pray with us. We may be headed into the hospital very soon. Mom has a tendency to not want to move or do what other people want her to do. She is fiercely independent. And right now we are pleading with her to go. Pray that we all, all three, tune into the Spirit and really lean into what She has to say. Everyday Momma takes steps towards heaven. Pray we all say what needs to be said. Pray that God provides supernatural comfort for her. Pray for strength for Momma's primary caregivers and her other two children. These next few days (hours, weeks) are going to be a rough go. Momma agreed to finally allow a Hospice nurse to begin helping us in this process. Which, to be honest, takes a load off of my shoulders. Loretta, Emmy, and I have come to the point where we are no longer providing the best possible care. We need help, We need professionals.
••• Some days, like today, I completely forget I will soon be without her. And when I remember, it hits me all at once. I become overwhelmingly sad. My heart turns a foggy grey as anger and resentment turn, red-faced fighting towards this disease. A cancer that has stolen my mother and my grandmother. I feel stuck. Like someone glued my feet to the concrete. I cant move. My worst fear is not being able to move. It goes hand in hand with claustrophobia. Once I remember being in the inside seat of a three seat row on a plane. I had a panic attack, realizing I could not easily move from the situation I was in. A large girl stuck in a small corner (fat guy in a little coat syndrome). And here I am. Back in Mason City. In this strange limbo. And in the spirit of honesty, here it is, waiting in this weird in-between state. Unable to move forward, take actual real life steps, feeling completely paralyzed, in fear of burying Mom before she's dead. My New Years resolution was to "cherish every moment." ANDYOUKNOWWHATTHATISEXTRAORDINARILYHARDTODOSOMETIMES. I've noticed myself looking for a lot of ~new~ things. A week ago I started getting on every animal shelter's website in Iowa looking for a cute, abandoned dog to bring home and love. For a while I was dead set on buying a house. I have been watching a lot of HGTV so that's honestly probably where my mind was going. Something I could take from ugly to beautiful. Somewhere to create in. A new project, a new chapter. In the last three weeks I signed up for three different dating websites just to see new people, do something new and unusual. And, to be completely raw, to see if anyone found me new and unusual. A new relationship just may be what my heart needs right now. Hogwash. i don't need a new dog. Junie B is more than enough dog for me right now, in this season. I super do not need and cannot afford a new house. I am not totally sure what in the hail damage I was thinking. I REALLLLLLLYYYY do not need or want to have a new boyfriend right now. I am still processing my relationship that ended two months ago. And because I am feeling stuck and restless. I start moving TOO fast. Doing TOO much, Wanting more and more and way more than I ever bargained for. The person that has known me longer than anyone other human is leaving this earth very soon. So pardon me as I try and smash something, somepet, someone into the hole only Momma fits in. None of of these avenues will glue my broken heart back together and I will fall flat on my face in the pursuit of jimmy rigging that hole closed. And my Father will be right there. Picking me up off the ground, wrapping me in His arms, and healing my broken heart. This will not be, cannot be a one time event, but a daily dive into the promise of Forever with Him. As I continue tripping over my damn self, the Spirit in all of Her grace and finasse will have me off the ground, flying in the air before I can brace my fall. In the mean time, I will be praying that God allows me to deal with these feelings, of abandonment, of loss of a future story with my Momma, of severe grief, depression, anxiety, of reminiscent joy, of anger in a healthy way. A way that honors both Him and myself (mind, body, soul, and spirit). Will you pray with me? My best friend Jake texted me yesterday and told me that people are constantly asking him: "How does she do it all?" For those who may not know, I am working two jobs as well as the main caretaker for Momma. I work part time at a local coffee shop as well as the interim youth minister at Rhythm Church. Both are jobs I love, both I have been trained for for several years, both I am very passionate about. The answer to to the question Jake and I have been asked dozens of times should not be surprising. It should not shock the socks off anyone reading this article. I would have nothing if I didn't have Jesus. My soul would be dead without the Spirit. My body, weary without my Father holding me in His arms. In the spirit of honesty, I want to tell you something. I want to tell you something I have never said out loud or even written down. I am not a good caretaker. I am impatient and selfish. I really love sleep. I am in constant pain. I hate puke and I loathe death. Both things go hand in hand with taking care of someone who is dying. Everyday I pray for extreme measures of patience and for selflessness. I pray that God provides supernatural rest. And that I could wake up one morning without being in excruciating pain. Everyday I pray for enough strength to get through those hours. Enough wisdom to say exactly what I need to say to help prepare Momma's heart for Forever. Naturally, I am not a good caretaker. But I get to learn from God and his Son's ministry on earth. Jesus cared deeply for the sick. Praying simple, calm prayers over them, raising them from the dead, touching their ailing skin. But most importantly, pointing them to Heaven. I am not in the business of raising Mom's physical body from the dead. But I am totally overwhelmed by the gift I was given of raising her Spirit from the depths. I pray over mom daily and wash her face and wounds. I listen to her concerns, cry with her, mourn the end with her, celebrate her life with her. And the coolest thing I get to do is: point her to the cross and to the resurrection of Jesus. •The After Answer• Lately I have been finding myself putting things off until "after" mom passes away. Various meetings, parties, moving into my new apartment, visiting with new people, getting involved in new ministries, etc. All of these things, people, and experiences put off for a soon to come tomorrow. I thought for sure this was a negative thing. I was waiting to do these cool things, meet with these cool people, start helping at cool ministries. All for what? Mom to pass away? That surely wasn't fair to me. But it definitely was not far to Mom. And as I write and process this idea, I am realizing I may just be utilizing the life skill called "boundaries" (cue the scary music- ba dum dum.) Simply put, boundaries did not exist in my family growing up. And therefore, implementing them as a college kid and now as an adult has been very trying. In my next season, I certainly want to make practicing the skill of boundaries a regular part of my life. But that is a different blog for a different day. •Practically Speaking• At this point, most have stopped reading. And that's ok. I have far exceeded the 140 character limit. But for those still reading, I know what you're thinking, "ok yeah yeah the Sunday school answer, Jesus. But HOW is she making it through every day?" Or Maybe not a single one of you were thinking that at all. But I'm going to tell y'all anyway. My best, Andy, challenged me to pull away for thirty minutes and do something creative. Writing simple phrases fancy helps me clear my mind and take a breather. So today, I did just that. And I am so glad I did. After I was finished doodling this little piece I felt an enormous release of emotions. I did not cry, I did not laugh, I did not whimper or even sigh. I just smiled. A big, goofy, toothy smile. As I just looked down.. Momma's very very favorite hymn is "His Eye is on the Sparrow." A beautiful sweeping song, full of imagery and scripture. Whitney Houston sang it beautifully but the place I remember listening to it so many times with Mom was on Sister Act 2. (What a fun movie illustrating a resurrection of an entire community!!) Anyway, I realized that soon momma gets to fly free with the Sparrows. That if he watching the sparrows (a near worthless animal in Ancient Rome) with care and love I cannot imagine how He watches us. His eyes glinting, shining, sparkling with pride. My Father is so proud of my Momma. My Father is so proud of me. I was reminded that I get the opportunity everyday to live like I am free. That again, I am not required to sin as a human. That we were crafted in the very image of a perfect, sinless God. What need do we have to sin? Practically speaking, I do pour myself into every sermon I write for the students at Rhythm. I try and help them understand how our stories can fit inside the Story of God Practically speaking, I visit with a woman I have grown to love very much over the last three or four months. Renee's tender care for my heart has taken load after load of burden off my back.
Practically speaking, being honest and sharing the REALITY of what is going on with Momma helps me process this season. Not only that, but I pray that by my vulnerability helps other people see that it doesn't have to be scary, that it's ok and even an INCREDIBLE gift to open up to people. I pray that the "after" doesn't come too soon. I pray that I continue soaking up every second I get with my Mom on this side of the pearly gates. I pray that I can find ways to release tension and stress. I pray that I can continue utilizing vulnerability to grow closer to the cross and closer to my community here in Mason City. Thank you for joining me in this wandering. Together, we just may find the promised land. Love you, Mol. A quickie but a goodie:
Mom and I both woke up this morning feeling more rested than we have in a long time. Honestly, praise Jesus. Thank you for your prayers and words of encouragement. God is so good. Momma has begun talking to herself in her sleep. I have heard the most peculiar things over the past three nights. In the last ten minutes this is the conversation she had: "Hold on now you hag, what are you talking about? I said what are you talking about?" **I imagine the hag on the receiving end answered Mom's quandary with a spell binding and allusive plan to "get rid of" her because Mom paused for three minutes and then said bluntly: "I knew you were trying to get rid of me. For sure. That would be so stupid of you. Yeah. So stupid." After she finds a good breaking point, I typically interject and gently wake her up. Asking if she is ok, if there is anything she needs. She usually asks me "why in the hell are you waking me up?" I have no logical answer other than I am usually curious to know what the dream was about. Before I leave I ALWAYS take her hand and squeeze it and she squeezes back three quick pulses. A dear and sentimental way Momma has always told us silently: "I love you." If you love someone, don't wait until tomorrow. Tell them. If you can't find words, well, than just squeeze their hand tight three times. I love all of you. Yesterday a man came to the coffee shop I work at. He innocently began complaining about a lack of sleep from the night before. One of his neighbors' left their dog out over night. The dog (of course) was barking and causing a riot, no doubt from fright. The family that the dog belonged to was not at home- actually they were no where to be found. So out this dog stayed to cause a great neighborhood-wide sleepless night.
I politely nodded and told him that his eyes looked exhausted. This man had no idea of the horror I underwent the same hours the dog was keeping him awake. That night Mom, like most these days, had been moaning so loud that she kept waking herself up. With the baby monitor right next to my ear, it is very rare that I catch a few hours myself. Around 1:30am Momma started whimpering, asking if we could come help her to the restroom. Loretta was in bed with me but I was the one who had heard her call out this time. I walked in her room, turned on the overhead light causing our eyes to squint and scream. Mom maneuvered herself on to her right side, grabbing the top of her headboard and pulled herself slowly up. Her arms shake, I take ahold of her left arm in mine and stand "like a tree" as Momma calls it. Momma is always careful to not have me lift very much, she wants to protect my sore back. She stood up, her arms continued to shake as she grabbed ahold of her walker. Her knees wobbled as she took every painstaking step towards the bathroom door. She plopped down on the toilet riser that grandma brought over last week. She sat there and sat there and sat there. I leaned against the towel rack in the hallway. Half asleep, I listened as she rocked back and forth, in excruciating pain, finding it hard to get a full breath in. In case you are unaware what pancreatic cancer does the entire digestive system I will let you in now: it destroys it. Pancreatic cancer patients generally feel like they always need to go number two. And when they try, it is close to impossible to go. It takes every ounce of saved energy out of them. So there Mom sits, for twenty minutes, twenty minutes morphs into thirty and thirty to forty. By the time she gets back in bed she is dizzy and is so worn out, confused, and in such extreme disarray she begins violently dry heaving. These spells can last anywhere from five minutes to a couple of hours. This particular night we were up at least two hours. Offering nausea pills, sips of water, pain pills, new cups to spit into, tissues to wipe off her nose. A few days before this particular night Mom had received a procedure in the office to relieve pressure in her abdomen. Some how her abdomen did not get all the way closed up and her belly has been slowly draining fluids since then. When we got up that night, Mom was soaked. Loretta began wrapping Mom up in a new bandage to get the fluid to stop running all while she was stuck in her dry heave spell. That night was a mess. I was exhausted. So when that homie came in to the coffee shop complaining about a neighborhood terrier yipping, I couldn't help but to scoff a little. If he only knew what I was enduring not only the night before but also every other night, he may not have said anything. But then I realized the most wonderful thing. Because of Jesus and because I had decided eight years ago to follow His leading, I had also chosen to carry the burdens of the world WITH them. N.T. Wright records in his book, "The LORD and His Prayer," about this very idea. "And when we have prayed in that fashion, the test of whether we were sincere will of course be whether we are prepared to stand physically alongside those for whom we have claimed." If I was not willing to stand in that gap, no matter my story, with that man, than I was not being Jesus. It will be a rarity to find friends and peers to compare wounds with. Very few 24 year olds have lost a parent. But that doesn't matter. As long as we are willing to be vulnerable with our very story, God will use it. Let him use it. If there is a way I can help YOU carry your burden today send me a message (I promise not to scoff at you.) [email protected]. PRAY.
**Note: More graphic description of symptoms up ahead.**
Today Momma got a hankering for cabbage (?? I know y'all... I don't get it either...) She googled "creamed cabbage casserole." The ingredients are: cabbage, milk, flour, and cheese. Before I knew it, I was putting a beige, green blob into the oven. Mom told me to add vinegar and lots of salt. After grandma Bram was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer her taste buds craved an access of salt too. It must be a symptom of this cancer. Speaking of symptoms, Mom has started getting worn out very very easily. Simply taking the ten steps between the toilet and her bed often causes violent, scary dry heaves. Dozens that often last fifteen minutes. Mom has lost partial control of both her bladder and her colon. And her abdomen continues filling with fluids daily. In fact, we are headed back to the doctor today to get the fluid removed. I realized today, actually as I was writing this post, that Momma really is in the middle of the grieving cycle. Not that she is exempt from feeling but growing up it was a rarity to see Mom display varying types of emotion. Especially not feelings that set her apart from anyone else around her. Right now she at the point of "denial." This is not a full-blown denial. She knows she is going, she knows she is going soon. But she is struggling with what part of the dying process she is in. Loretta asked her last night if we could get in touch with hospice. Innocent enough, as we are completely ill equipped at this point to full take care of momma. Mom barked back, "DO YOU THINK THAT IS SOMETHING I WANT TO TALK ABOUT RIGHT NOW?!" A reply that was completely fair. No one wants to visit about the intense need for "end of life care." Not Loretta, not my other siblings, not momma's friends, but ESPECIALLY not the woman who would be receiving the care. I cannot say I would respond much differently. Loretta instantly started crying. And asking for forgiveness. Mom apologized for her extreme way of answering a very valid question. And that is where the conversation ended. Cacer sucks, y'all. PRAY. •Pray for wisdom. Y'all, I am not wise in this area. I get to help mom prepare for Forever but am at a loss on what to say most times. •Pray for patience. For all of us. I guess that's all for today. Today Junie B. peed on the carpet. In the eight years Junie has been part of the family she has only peed on the carpet one other time. She was scared and nervous and pissed off at my sister, Loretta. Junie is a beautiful dog. Junie is a Pekingnese Poodle and is one of half a dozen of that breed my Grandma Bram and Mom have owned. She is loyal and special, she has the heart of a puppy and the attitude of an old broad. She is quiet, rarely barks, and knows by how someone walks in who it is. Junie is smart, she cannot sit or lay down on command but she knows her people. When I say "go see mom" she instantly runs and jumps onto mom's lap in the lazyboy. In the months past, Junie has not left that very spot next to mom. She is glued to her side, stares at her. B has been acting strange, I can see pain and worry in her eyes. And before you roll yours, let me tell you, I couldn't be more serious. Junie and I have been hanging out everyday for the last seven months. I know her moods, I know her eyes. Junie is deeply sad, she is anxious and depressed. So now Loretta is on her hands in knees cleaning the carpet with an entire roll of paper towels and half a bottle of windex (we didn't have any pee cleaner under the sink). The only situation I can observe next to this one is the story of Sandy. Sandy was Jennie's dog. She refused to leave Jen's side the last few weeks Jennie was alive. She would not go outside to the bathroom, she stopped eating, and would only drink if Jennie dropped an ice cube. Soon after Jennie passed away, Sandy left her home of 12 years, presumably to die alone. Dogs can sense things humans simply, cannot. And they act out of those senses. Something big is about to happen with mom (I know, I know, newsflash). I will keep watching Junie's eyes and will update accordingly. We hate mornings.
Throughout this entire process the hardest part of the day to get through are the hours with "a.m." written behind them. We never made appointments earlier than noon; we never made plans, invited people over, or even ate a full meal before mid day. And that's simply because, mornings are when momma's symptoms are the harshest. In fact, as this disease has progressed we have pushed "pill time" back a full hour. This morning was no different, mom's tummy felt twisted, sharp pains radiating throughout her entire body. I know how bad a morning is based on how loud her moans were the night before. We recently bought a baby monitor so we could keep better track of Mom's needs. The noises that her body produces, the deep heavy moans that escape her mouth keep me wide awake at night. And I wonder how she even sleeps through them. These excruciating noises remind me that my momma's strong body is growing weaker. That her body, once able to work 80 hour work weeks, is now shutting down, her organs individually starting to fizzle out, so tired. -•- Mom asked two of my sisters today: "What day is Easter on?" Emmy answered: "April 17th, momma." Momma quipped back: "No it's not!" **Mom pulled out her phone and stated googling instantly.** Emmy interrupted Mom's typing. "Ugh. Fine. The 16th." "Oh. Ok. I just might make it to then." The one thing Loretta, Emmy, and I have dreaded most is Loretta's actual wedding day coming and going. One month ago, Dr. Cragg held my momma's hands. Cragg whispered something terrifying significant to momma. She told her that the cancer was terminal and it was spreading quickly. Momma boldly asked: "will I make it to March 11th?" The doctor held mom's hands tighter and through quiet sobs, told her she could not tell her that for sure. Mom silently nodded her head and looked at the floor. Her entire body shook under the weight of the news she was just given. The fact that mom is even asking about Easter is astounding to me. Because honestly, if I were to guess two days ago when mom would go, I would have said "this week." However, if the past two days have revealed anything it is that my Momma's Spirit is anything but weak. It is resilient and she will continue to take captive every moment she has left on this green earth. Momma's goal was to make it to my baby sister's wedding. To see her off to her new best friend, her second half of forever. And she did that. When I asked Mom how her spirit was, how she was truly feeling about meeting her goal she simply answered: "That may have been my goal but it sure might not be God's goal for me." And honestly, who knows how long we all, individually, and collectively, have here. Momma is on to something though. She has not given up on this part of God's mission yet. After seeing all of those people at Loretta's wedding, hugging, and crying together with so many of the lives she had changed, Momma finally began to understand how she looked in the eyes of God. I got to help remind her last night that God thinks she is special and precious. That he is so proud of her and how He cannot wait to see her. Momma is convinced that her mission was loving people with all she was and I honestly could not agree more. Mom wants to continue shining His light and changing His people's hearts. And maybe we all should do that a little more. -•- If we fight our way through mornings, the evenings just might be worth it!!! |
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