Elena's Tree

Nana and Papa added some extra Christmas joys to your place this year. A gingerbread house, a snowman, a little white fence with some garland. But most importantly your tree was there. The tree that they put all of your ornaments on every year as their way of saying "Merry Christmas" and "We love you." The tree that has stood just below your headstone for six years now.

We miss having you here to wake up with Zaya on Christmas morning. To toast apple cider with us at midnight on New Year's Eve. To throw your arms around my neck and give me a skinny-arm squeeze.

I don't visit your place as often as I should. But I love you forever. And you're with me always. It will be another year of many blessings for our family, but it will also be another year without you.

The Things We Remember

O.C. Walk To Remember 2008 from Jonathan Pascual on Vimeo.

Forest Through the Trees

I believe in the divine. I've experienced it a handful of times in my life, primarily in the more recent years. The most obvious of these encounters was the birth of my daughter. There is something about experiencing new life and death, beauty and tragedy, almost simultaneously that reminds you you're not the one pulling the strings.

Consequently, Elena has been the cornerstone of most of the other divine experiences I've had. Because of her short life, I have met and befriended some amazing, compassionate souls who enrich my life every day. The boldest example of her influence came upon meeting the grandparents of another angel baby named Elena. About three years ago, they had called me to get a bracelet for their daughter, who had just given birth to her own child, a stillborn baby girl. They arrived and entered my home very tentatively, unsure of what to expect, still overcome with grief themselves. After about an hour or so of sharing stories of loss, they rose to leave. I hugged them both goodbye, but my hug with Elena's grandfather was no ordinary embrace. It was a powerful experience and turning point for the both of us. From him I felt the release of anger, a return to hope. And for myself, a new understanding of purpose.

Divinity struck again recently, appropriately enough on Make a Difference Day this year. October 28th. It was the end of a very packed month for the Fund and for our family. I had been feeling like I was trudging through weekdays just to make it through each event-filled weekend. Each day that passed was another mark on my checklist. And then came the unexpected. We had packed everything up having had a great gathering of volunteers, family and friends. Jon even wrapped up the flowers that had adorned the tables. We decided we would take them to Elena's grave.

Arriving at Babyland in the cemetery, I saw several parked cars and then the distinct green tent came into view. A funeral was in process. From where I parked, it was clear the funeral was happening very near to Elena's gravesite. Not only that, it was set up facing her direction. My first instinct was to leave and not disturb the family. But the next thought I had was, "I want to know about that baby." Jon was having the same thoughts, so we elected to walk to the rear of the funeral and listen in. Immediately upon seeing that tiny white casket, I fell apart. It was Elena's funeral all over again. The pink flowers, the white satin, the looks of pain and confusion on every face.

It was a short service, everyone started to head back to their cars. Jon pointed out that the flowers we brought for Elena were in two bunches. I wanted to give one to the mother of this baby, but wasn't sure it would be good to approach. Instead I tracked down the minister who had performed the service. "Excuse me...I don't know this family. My husband and I just came to bring flowers to our own baby's grave. But I'd like to give them to the mother." The minister responded, "Come with me. She is my niece." He walked me right up to Sarah and introduced me. "This woman has lost a baby too." Sarah and I hugged immediately and wept openly. "I'm so sorry," I told her. "So, so sorry." She thanked me profusely, said she was overwhelmed to be approached by a stranger that way. I told her I didn't want to keep her but gave her the flowers for her baby, Rachel. And then I stepped back to Elena's grave where I had placed the second bunch of flowers.

It was in that instant that I realized how significant the placement of Elena's place was. Her headstone was immediately adjacent to the burial set up for Rachel. The green indoor/outdoor carpeting was laid so that it covered all of the headstones near Elena's, but her's was in plain view. It was as if she were sitting right there, watching over this new little one being ushered to heaven. I knelt and cried, felt a little like I was outside of my body for awhile.

Within a few minutes, someone walked up next to me. I turned to see Sarah there. She said, "I wanted to talk to you before you leave. I...don't know how to feel." I stood up and hugged her and we talked for quite awhile. She asked questions, I learned about her family. I found out Rachel was born at 26 weeks and lived for 5 days. Sarah had spent a good deal of the pregnancy on bedrest. She was feeling guilty that her body did this to her baby. She had this look of desperation, needing to reach out to something or someone. She introduced me to her husband and said she wanted to call me. I gave her my card and said, "Anytime." I hugged them both before they left to join the rest of the family. And then I stood there, in awe, still not totally in touch with what had happened.

This was clearly my reminder. It was God saying to me, "Remember I always have a plan. Remember I'm always working. Even when you feel exhausted, run down...I'm there. And I love you." It was exactly the message I needed. It was a crystal clear view of what the whole month was about. It was divine.

I think divine opportunities come up at different times for everyone. The sad thing is that when we're focused on the wrong things, we miss them. I'm still overwhelmed when I think about this recent encounter. We could have arrived minutes later and everyone would have been gone. The funeral could have been set up completely covering Elena's gravesite. The minister could have been non-responsive to me. The flowers could have been in just one bunch. But we didn't, and it wasn't and he was and they were. And that's what it's all about.

Thanks for listening.

October

October 15th
We Remember

Answers

A recent conversation and a visit to my daughter's grave with a really good friend prompted this entry. It's an attempt to answer some very common questions (both spoken and unspoken) that face the loved ones of families like ours who are missing a child.

What helps, what doesn't? What are the right things to say and the wrong things to do? How can you offer the support that your soul longs to give in a situation that your brain can't comprehend?

First, love us. Love us in an honest way, don't be afraid. Don't feel compelled to use words, sometimes we just need you to sit with us in silence. At the same time, don't be afraid to tell us you feel helpless, speechless, unsure of what to do. Your presence is often enough.

We don't expect anything, there are no obligations. Be confident that you know us. You've celebrated our victories and loved us through other types of hurts. If you look at us with sincerity and see the role that our missing child plays in our lives, you are likely to want to honor her life as well. Purely by the nature of who we are to you.

Ask questions. We want to tell you how tiny she was, what our time was like with her. How perfect her toes and eyebrows were. It is impossible for us to instill a remembrance in you, if you never met her. But we can share her with you and give you a sense of who she was and the meaningful purpose of her short life.

Remember that it's ok to laugh with us, as well as cry. We still have a full range of emotions, not just the sad ones. A little humor, a touch to our shoulders and a warm hug go a long way.

For those who try, thank you. It takes courage to step outside of yourself in such a desperate time. It's the simple things that mean the most. Thank you for reaching out to us. Give us time, we'll gather strength. We'll never get over it, we're not supposed to. But we'll get through. With you. If you'll just be there.

Four

Today makes four. Four years since my life was graced by the presence of a creation so small and wondeful, I was changed forever. Each year seems to go by a little faster now. As I mark the milestones of my miracle son, I breathe a sigh and shed a tear for the missed milestones of my miracle daughter.

Elena, you came to breathe life into me that wasn't there before. You submitted to the will of God and served a purpose so great, my human mind will never fully grasp the magnitude of it. You stole our hearts in a quick second but filled them for a lifetime.

I love you, beyond this world's definition of love.
Mommy

Exposed

"Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, 'Where are you?' He answered, 'I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.'"
Genesis 3:8-10

This is going to sound really lame, but it's true - I've been hiding from my blog. Not for lack of something to say. On the contrary, for having too much on my mind, uncertain where to begin. When I started this journal-of-sorts last July, the intention was not so much for others to read as it was for me to process my own thoughts and feelings. And yet less than a year later, I found myself cowering from the light of my computer screen, hiding from the very core of who I am.

Being naked, in both the literal and figurative senses, is a scary thing. The word naked is defined as "having no covering; being without concealment, disguise or embellishment." An alternate definition cuts even deeper to our fears, "being exposed to harm; vulnerable." Sometimes we are so afraid to be naked that we hide under layers of covering as a preventative measure. If no one can touch you, then no one can hurt you. The only problem is that no one can love you, either.

The past few months have been a period of personal struggle and simultaneous growth. I've faced fears that I've hidden from for most of my life. I've battled wedges in my closest relationships. And I've gone toe to toe with the person who is most often my biggest critic and toughest challenge - myself. One of the most valuable lessons I've learned as a result is that I am a person in progress, I have by no means "made it." And that's okay.

I've spent too many years of my life covering up, concealing. I was afaid of the vulnerability that comes with admitting I am flawed. I don't always have the answers. I do make mistakes, I stumble, I get scared. I was foolish enough to believe that I'm the one who makes the rules, and that I had to follow them. And when it looked like things were not going according to MY plan, I found it so easy to wallow in self-pity and resentment.

The beauty of God's light is that it can find us in the darkest of dark places and gently lead us forth into warmth. That's where He found me, knowing I was disconnected, but afraid to make a move for fear of drifting even farther. Even when I was feeling bad, there was a twisted sense of comfort because it was familiar. I was hiding, but He found me. He carried me out into the light and removed the binding layers. He exposed my nakedness, not to embarrass or condemn me, but to liberate my soul. And once I felt His rays, I knew I was safe. I examined all of myself, the good and the bad, and found the me I'd been missing.

So here I am. I am a work in progress, and I'm not ashamed. I've rediscovered the people I love and experience them in a new way. Like a kid looking forward to a Disneyland trip or summer vacation, I have an excitement again. Oh, there are still weak moments, and there always will be. But they are no longer looming over me, overbearing, stifling. They are a part of the whole of me.

Here I am. Connected. Alive.

Naked.

Thanks for listening.

Weights and Measures

When I tell people we're blessed, it's not just something to say. I mean it, we are truly blessed with a capital "B." It has nothing to do with quantity of material possessions, and everything to do with quality of life.

Lately my mind has been full of numbers, mainly because it's the dreaded tax season. My mornings are spent at my day job, a CPA firm, watching clients stream in and out the door, hoping that in between they'll find out they can expect a hefty refund. At those very same moments, I'm sitting at my desk trying to figure out if the number of hours I'm putting in will cover the amount of household expenses going out. Usually, it's a pretty close call.

Then in the afternoon, I come home and attempt to find creative ways to help The Shining Light Fund spin a few dollars of cash into comfort for thousands. That's no easy task, either. Thankfully, life cannot be measured in numbers. It's measured in meaningful moments, hope and faith, laughter and love.

Our blessing is being surrounded by people that God has strategically placed in our lives, people who care and help get us through. People like our parents who always have a hug to spare and make sure we know that everything's ok. People like Margaret, our landlord, who lets us slide on paying the utilites for a whole year (literally) until we get our tax refund. People like friends who e-mail out of the blue to say "keep going, you're doing great things." Not everyone has this kind of overwhelming support, and it is for that reason I say we are blessed beyond measure.

Sometimes in my humanity I wonder out loud to myself, "What would we do?" if we didn't have help coming in from this way and that. But God reminds me that He's already figured it out, and that's why the help is there. He didn't just close the gap by accident. He placed a strong a sturdy bridge over it with the utmost in care, considering all outcomes, as He always does in His most fatherly way.

And because I can trust Him to guide my feet, my mind and heart can get back to where they belong. Those simply amazing, fulfilling moments. There's no ruler long enough to measure moments like these.Thanks for listening.

Keeping true to "Thing's I've Heard"

"Although each of us can be defined by the brief physical time that we as individuals exist, we have the ability to make that time extend far beyond our physical existence."

Dr. Maya Lin, Architect &
Designer of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.

A lamp unto my feet

Last Sunday, the first day of the new year, our pastor at church passed out a simple half-sheet of white paper on which to list our goals for the year and keep track of our progress. He mentioned that it was nothing fancy, but often times writing these things down for yourself to see can be helpful in achieving your goals. The visual reminder creates a personal challenge.

I'm usually the type that would fill this sort of thing out immediately, but for some reason I've been much more thoughtful this time. Probably because I'm also the type to tuck a paper like this away somewhere, only to find it years later and toss it out.

This past week, I've spent some time seriously thinking about real and achievable goals for 2006. I have come up with three, which I will not be listing here because these challenges are...well...personal. I will, however, share with you the scriptures that I was given after writing these goals down.

Psalm 121
I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you - the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

Isaiah 41:10
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

I'm fully aware that come December, I may not be exactly where I had hoped to be. There will be twists in the road between here and there. But what the word promises is that I have nothing to fear, for the one who is in control loves me and is way more qualified than I to guide my path.

Thanks for listening.

Those Pesky Justs

How many times have you been out to dinner with a group when someone in your party asks you for a bite of whatever you're having. "I just want a taste." But you know what they're really thinking is, "I'm starving and I'd love to eat every last crumb on your plate because what you ordered looks way better than what I got."

This is the nature of "just." It's a funny little word meant to indicate that we're not as greedy as we truly are. "I'll just be a minute." "I just want one." "I'm just buzzed." When you hear people say these things, you've come to accept that you'll be waiting at least half an hour, they'd really like about a dozen and they are probably drunk outta their minds.

During this first week of the new year, I've had a recurring just of my own.

"I just want to see her."

It's no secret that I miss Elena, she's my daughter. In the three years since she died, I've struggled with many painful moments. But what I've been feeling this week has been very specific.

"I just want to see her."

I think it has a lot to do with Isaiah's development. He's Mommy's big boy now. I love to sit and run my fingers through his curly hair or watch with excitement as he takes steps toward me. And every time I look at him, my mind's eye can see a little girl with a face so similar to his holding my hand. She has long, bouncy curls and a big toothy smile behind her perfect pouty lips. And I want to see her, here.

This feeling has come over me several times a day at various times. It really overwhelmed after watching this week's episode of ER, which paralelled two seemingly unwanted pregnancies. At the end of the show, I found myself sobbing, hugging my husband and thinking one thing.

"I just want to see her."

As I've thought about this feeling, I know that seeing her is not all I want. If some strange miracle happened and I was granted the chance to see Elena as she would look now, once for a brief time, I'm sure I would think, "I just want to hold her." And if that wish came true, I'd be hugging her so tightly thinking, "I just want to push her on the swing," or "I just want to read her a story." And eventually, all thoughts would lead to, "I just want to keep her. Here. Forever."

Those justs are so misleading. I think we've all become accustomed to hiding behind them, hoping no one will see past them and find out what our true desires are. But I'm learning to deal with the justs that allow us to do all that we can, all that we're capable of. I'll continue to be proud of her, and yes, I'll miss her.

But mostly, I'll just love her.

Of Kings and Emperors (or, A funny thing happened on the way to my blog)

The secret's out...I get sidetracked. It happens all the time. Usually it's the unfortunate result of trying to do too many things at once. But occasionally, a nice little reminder will pop up and bring me back so that I can tie everything up in a package with a pretty bow. This is one of those times.

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Los Angeles County Museum of Art just before the King Tut exhibit left. I was thrilled, mainly because we were gifted free tickets by my boss, and these days anything free is a good deal. I think I had an idea what to expect in terms of the artifacts, and they did not disappoint. To see physical evidence of history, in amazing condition, right before your very eyes, there's really nothing like it. What I didn't expect was to come out feeling like I'm the one living in an ancient culture.

One of the main rooms held two very small golden busts. They were not particularly noticeable, compared to many of the grander items. But a label on the side of the display indicated in one short sentence that these were only a small part of treasures that were crafted for the burial of two of King Tut's children, two stillborn baby girls. I was fascinated to learn that these babies were buried with jewels and treasures comparable to other notable Egyptians. This was way beyond acknowledgement, these little girls were honored and respected.

I was recently reminded of my fascination while watching March of the Penguins. Now, I have to point out that I was not particularly excited about seeing the film because I was so disgusted by the bandwaggoning that went on when this movie came out and "swept the country." (If you want to see the real documentary, with a truly amazing story, rent the DVD and watch Of Men and Penguins, the behind the scenes doc - there's the film that deserves critical acclaim. But I digress...).

As Morgan Freeman eloquently describes the suffering and sacrifice of both the male and female Emperor penguins to protect their eggs, I was struck by nature's example of honoring life. It is after the penguin parents travel the 70 mile distance to the breeding ground that the real challenge begins - transferring the egg from Mom to Dad without touching the frozen ground, and then keeping the egg warm enough to survive through months of unmerciful winter. Even then, those that hatch run the risk of being consumed by the cold. It's a true miracle that any of them survive the harsh conditions. And for 1/4 of the babies that don't survive, many of the parent penguins will lay down and literally let themselves wither away in despair. It's an example of a selfless creature acting solely on behalf of another creature - an example that's clearly lost on humans.

It never ceases to amaze me how blind we can be to the things that are right in front of our faces. Present nature and ancient history point to the value of one solitary life, but modern human beings will go to great lengths to dismiss it. Especially if it will make things easier, less awkward and more convenient for themselves.

I for one believe there are lessons to be learned in the smallest and simplest things all around us. I just hope I never get too sidetracked to notice.

Thanks for listening.

Must...catch...up...

December 31st?!?!?! Sheesh, where have I been? I almost couldn't remember my password to login to this thing. Pretty sad. Is it possible I missed a whole month somehow? Where did I put it? It's not under the bed. Maybe it's in the back room with all of the junk we threw in there to make room for the Christmas decorations.

Now that I think about it, I seem to have misplaced 2005. Where did it go? Let's see if I can jog my memory to answer my own question.

This year, I've been...
Changing diapers.
Missing sleep.
Folding laundry
Five feet deep.

Washing dishes.
Paying bills.
Brushing up my
money juggling skills.

At work:
Phoning, faxing, emailing, then
At home:
Phoning, faxing and emailing again.

But in the midst of it all...the stuff that really matters.

Savoring smiles.
Tickling toes.
Singing along with
Baby videos.

Pushing swings.
Reading books.
Trying to capture
each of his looks.

Feeling and knowing
and having a ball.
Crying and laughing
and loving it all.

I enter 2006 with two beautiful guys by my side and an amazing little girl watching from above.
Happy New Year family.

Gratitude

NOTE: I just found this post that I had written on Thanksgiving weekend and for some reason, only saved as a draft. After reading it now, almost a month later, I'm convinced I was meant to revisit it and be taken by surprise. And I was.

So here I am, late on a Sunday night at the end of a wonderful weekend of Thanksgiving. As usual, the holiday reminds me again that giving thanks should be done on a perennial basis. Especially after the fullness of this short year. I never got around to posting about October, but then there really aren't enough words to express what it was like to lay the groundwork for the future of the Fund, brick by brick. And I can't possibly paint an accurate picture of my heart as a mother watching her son mark his first year. What I can say is that I am thankful...for each and every experience in my life. The sum of these parts is where I am today, exactly where I am supposed to be.

Listening to the radio this morning, I heard an angry man, asking the question I've heard asked countless times before. There have been books written about it. We've all asked it ourselves at one time or another. "Why do bad things happen?" But this man was so unwilling to hear any answer. His anger stood in the way of really being able to explore the question. And as he busied himself with arguing and continuous questioning, I realized that maybe he didn't really want an answer. He just wanted someone to listen. He didn't want to still be feeling the pain of whatever had caused him to ask this question in the first place.

I can certainly understand not liking the feeling of pain. Who does? But where, or more importantly, WHO would we be without it? Take away the heartache and tragedy you have experienced in your life, but don't forget to take the lessons learned, the growth achieved, the inspirations that came with that hurt. It's a fine balance, but that's how it works, all or nothing.

Jon and I have said it to each other many times before. What wouldn't we give to have Elena back? To see her turning 3 years old, chasing butterflies, running into the house with skinned knees. But to have her here would be to have never known Isaiah, to have never discovered all those other precious families in the shadows, to have never learned all that she taught me in her special way. I'm thankful that God is in control, I just couldn't bear to make decisions like that.

Yes, I'm thankful. I can't imagine being anything else.

Chosen

To bring forth life and watch it pass away,
To see hope spread wide from one so small,
To learn the many sizes and shapes of love,
This is the blessing of being chosen.

To be held up when all strength is gone,
To have stillness amidst the noise,
To understand the joys of sorrow,
This is the blessing of being chosen.

To hold new life and watch it grow,
To see a dream fulfilled each new day,
To love beyond all that is known,
This is the blessing of being chosen.

To be part of the great but love the simple,
To reach outside and be touched within,
To look for the giver before the gift,
This is the blessing of being chosen.
Happy Birthday, baby boy. You and your sister fill me up to overflowing. I'm so thankful I've been chosen.

Godspeed, Little Man

Here we are, in the midst of all the preparations for October 15th. This is such a huge day for The Shining Light Fund, as we join with others in the community to outwardly show support for families and honor their babies. We've been crazy with preparations (hence my blog absence)...advertising, setting the program, phone calls, you name it. And then last night I hear the news about another dumpster baby, a little baby boy left in a little white box to die. And he did.

It's really not uncommon to hear about babies literally being thrown away in Los Angeles. In fact I think the term "dumpster baby" was coined here, though those two words were never meant to go together. But we're hearing an awful lot about this baby because authorities actually found his mother - Holly Ashcraft, a student at USC. She had hidden her pregnancy from everyone. And she thought she could hide the baby, too. But an anonymous homeless man collecting cans found the baby, called the police, and started a series of events that led to Holly's arrest and charge with murder.

There's so much to take in from this story. My heart breaks for this baby boy who struggled to live, giving up his last breath inside that box. I am enraged by Holly's actions and her complete disregard for life - not even a foreign life, a life that came from within herself. And I feel an almost eager anticipation at seeing what will come from this. How will the public react to a woman being charged with murder in this circumstance?

It's so hard for me to reconcile that this woman could have gone in for an abortion just weeks ago, and everything would be fine. But because she killed her baby by leaving him to die now, she's a murderer. Can these two things really exist simultaneously in one "civilized" society? Apparently so.

I just want people to decide. Make up your mind. If you really believe that a fetus is not a baby, what is it? And when does it become a baby? And if it's a baby, is it a person? And if it's a person, how do you put a value on his life? And how can you guarantee me that you have all the right answers to these questions?

I'm so tired of people talking out of both sides of their mouth and making the rules about life according to convenience. That's not the way it is. The sky is blue. Life is life. You can't change that.

I must add that I am not a completely heartless person. I've thought a lot about what Holly must have felt during her pregnancy. I don't know her at all, but from what's been reported on the news, she was suspended from USC for academic problems and she kept the baby a secret. I would guess that she was acting on 100% fear. Her parents wouldn't understand, a baby would complicate her education and career goals, she was in a really frightening place. But to say that what she did was justified by her circumstances is to say that her life was more valuable than her baby's, and I'm in no position to make that call.

For now I rest in the knowledge that Baby Ashcraft is safe in the most loving place and in the most loving hands imaginable. His life means something. If not to his mother or anyone else, at least to me. I know he was created for a purpose and I may never know what that is. But I don't have to.

Thanks for listening.

Singin' in the Rain

Most people get depressed when it rains, especially in SoCal. But I have to say that when I woke to showers this morning, complete with thunder and lightning, I couldn't have been more pleased. Each of the four seasons has its own beauty to offer, but autumn just brings me the most joy. The air cools down, the house warms up and things seem a bit more peaceful.

I can remember being a kid and itching for summer vacation. It was hot everyday and I would spend weeks at a time at my grandparents' house, swimming in their backyard pool. And with no homework and no place to be, summer seemed to last forever. But, appropriately enough, as the seasons of my life have changed, I've grown to love the passing of summer into fall. It's definitely not the rain I love (just ask anyone else with naturally curly hair). It's more of a cozy, curling up in your favorite chair kind of feeling.

Summer is sunny yellows, ocean splashes and plump fruit juicy-ness. Winter is icy blues and frosty smiles. Spring is fresh greens, new growth and rebirth. To me, fall is the start of it all...warm reds and crunchy browns, being welcomed inside to spicy aromas, friendly tricks and back-to-school treats. After seeking adventure and excitement in the summer sun, fall lets you get back to your roots.

Jon and I got married on the first day of fall, September 22nd, 2000. Perhaps that's why I experience fall as a beginning and not an end. Two days from now will mark the 5th anniversary of the day we began this amazing journey together. The foundations of our love go back much further, but that first autumn day marks the beginning of our true union and commitment to family and future.

This year I find myself giddy with thoughts of taking Isaiah to the pumpkin patch and watching him (inevitably toddling) around the Thanksgiving table. We'll celebrate his first birthday this fall and marvel at the amazing grace and goodness that created him and chose us to be his parents.

Snuggle up, everybody. It's just around the corner.

Thanks for listening.

Hope Floats

It may look as though I've been ignoring Hurricane Katrina and its devastation. I haven't written about it, and I really haven't talked much about it either. Mainly I think I'm still processing my feelings. It's impossible to ignore something this huge. It's impossible not to stop and think "What if that were me?" "What if I were separated from my husband?" "What if it was my child that died?" That's a lot to take in. My words of sympathy and concern really can't compare to the images of destruction that we've all seen over the past two weeks. But for what it's worth, I do care, I am saddened and I pray for the thousands of people who will start their lives all over again.

And then tonight, my family and I settled in to watch the inevitable celebrity benefit concert. I'm thankful that they do their part (as they should) and I know they will raise some much needed funding to help those in need. But as I watched, I couldn't help questioning the message. Something just didn't match up. I wondered how am I supposed to explain this type of thing to my son as he gets older?

"You see, Isaiah, it's not okay to have the name of God engraved on any public buildings. It's against the law to talk to Him when you're in school. You really don't have any right to talk openly about your belief in God because somehow just the mere mention of that belief infringes on the rights of others to not believe. In fact, it's best if you just cut God out of every aspect of your life completely. Until, of course, something bad happens. When there's tragedy or disaster, that's when you should call on God and expect Him to be there. Even after you've ignored Him and cursed His name every step of the way, you should expect His prompt attention to your need."

I can't count the number of times I've heard people say that they don't go to church and they can't stand Christianity because of the hypocrisy. But who's the real hypocrite here? If we treated anyone else in our lives with the disdain and anger that we point at God, we wouldn't dare expect them to turn around and help us. Why is it different with God?

What I want my son to know about God is what the bible teaches. He is love. He is forgiveness. There is nothing that can ever separate us from Him except our own choice. He wants what's best for us and He's willing to give it as long as we're willing to let go of what we think is best for ourselves. It's really quite simple.

In the midst of all the news reports about how slowly our country responded to the victims of the hurricane, there are plenty of unreported stories about neighbors helping neighbors and people sacrificing of themselves to help their fellow man. These are the stories of hope. These are examples of people who recognize grace in their lives. These are the stories that exemplify God's love by sharing it. And because hope, grace and love are things that, by nature, point to God, these are the stories you'll never hear.

Thankfully, I don't have to teach my child according to the media. Because I know God through a personal relationship, I can tell my son about all that He's done in my life. I can say with confidence that He was there in New Orleans when the hurricane hit, and He's still there now. Those who know Him know that faith and hope cannot be drowned, even in the tallest of hurricane waters. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Thanks for listening.

Life on a Stick

When I was little my mom used to take me to the pier pretty often. Not that we lived close to the beach, just close enough that the pier was one of those "What do you want to do today?" destinations. We'd walk all the way from one end to the other, stopping along the way to look at every trinket in the window. If I looked over the edge, I could see tiny surfers like dots in the water. It felt pretty close to magic to be walking right above where the waves were crashing.

Saturday afternoon I took my first trip to the pier as a parent, with my son. As Jon and I walked along pushing Isaiah in his stroller, I felt like everything had shrunk, like there wasn't much here to see. Cheese on a stick was just about the most magical thing I could find. That is, until I looked at Isaiah's face. His eyes were wide around as he tried to take in every image. I paused to think about what this must be like for him, all the colors, the voices, the music and the aroma of tasty treats. Suddenly, the magic was back.

I know why God said we should "become like little children" (Matthew 18:3). Kids are impressed by the smallest of things. They pay attention to details. They're not cynical, like adults. Children immediately recognize the beauty that is everywhere. Just sticking your tongue out to feel the wind is enough to spark wonder and amazement. The colors on the spinning kites create an entire rainbow fantasy world. Everything's bigger than life because everything's bigger than you, and it's exciting.

It's really easy to lose that excitement when you're stuck on the freeway or waiting in line at the market or on hold with customer service. But I bet if you just take a look around, wherever you are, in a quick second you can find something that will lift you out of the mundane. Like a spider on the ceiling or shivering leaves on a tree. And if you just can't escape that jaded trap, go buy yourself an ice cream cone. Make it two scoops, two different flavors. Say yes to whipped cream and a cherry. Let it drip just a little down your thumb. Forget the napkin, wipe your face with your hand. Savor every drop.

When you take that last crunchy bite, I dare you not so smile.

Balance, Part II

Funny how God always knows when you need to hear from Him. While I've been struggling to figure out how to juggle my responsibilities at home, at work and with The Shining Light Fund, He's been preparing to speak to me and show me that He's there, He's listening and He's waiting for me to release it all.

Yesterday we spent the day at the original First Born Chapel, the place where the spiritual heritage of my husband's family was born. Jon comes from a family of ministers and it all began with Granpa Fillon at a small white church in Torrance. When the congregation outgrew that building, they moved to the church in Lomita that we attend today, where I met Jon and where we were married.

I found myself listening to stories about the old church with a huge smile on my face. It was a joy to watch everyone experiencing the warmth of remembrance. It also brought back to mind the vivid memories that I have of my own grandmother, ever on her knees in prayer on behalf of her family. This is the foundation upon which I was raised and I can now pass on to my son.

Then this morning, as we entered our church for morning service, I was handed a bulletin, just as I am every week. Sometimes I read it all the way through, other times I look just for the scripture reference for that week. Today I opened it up to read the following:

Anxious soul, God is saying to you today, "Be still and know that I am God." And there's a reason He's saying it. Your activity, when born out of anxiety, actually prevents Him from showing Himself strong on your behalf. That doesn't mean you're to be passive or lazy; it just means you're to do whatever He leads you to do without running ahead of Him in the energy of the flesh. It also means you're to submit to Him first, then slow down and wait. In other words, make sure you have a sense of peace to go along with the ideas He's given you. Ask Him to reveal to you His will in the matter, then "be still" and acknowledge that He's God, He's in charge, He knows what He's doing. Learn to trust Him without always demanding to know what He's going to do, when He's going to do it and how He's going to carry it out.

Until you really embrace that God is the vine and you are a branch, you'll keep trying to do things that only God can do - like blessing yourself, promoting your own ministry, solving your own problems and answering your own prayers. Or worse, you'll try to cover up for Him because you think He's not doing it fast enough or in the way it should be done. Give it up! Try less and trust more. Jesus said, "I am the vine and you are the branches." All you have to do is stay connected.

It's not up to me to be the glue that holds all the pieces together. I just need to play my role. And when bad things happen, which they will, it's not the end of everything. If I fall or if I fail, I have only to stand up again and take the next step with some added wisdom. And that's not so bad. That just makes me a person, and if I'm not mistaken, that's exactly what I was meant to be.

Thanks for listening.