The Day

Nine months today.

I asked a dear friend this morning how long before you stop remembering the Day as the anniversary. She would know. She has lived through the loss of her husband and best friend. The news isn’t good. Apparently, some of the sting goes away, but the Day is always the Day.

I guess if I’m looking on the bright side, it means someone in my life was so significant that the Day I lost them, it changed my world forever. I would rather not have the bright side. I would rather just have Chandler back.

This morning on the way to church, I listened to a couple of worship songs sent to me by friends, one of whom is in this shitty club with me.

Yes, I Will, lift you high in the lowest valley
Yes, I will, bless your name
Oh, yes I will, sing for joy when my heart is heavy
All may days, oh, yes I will

Only by the the grace of God, I will.

Then I listened to Scars.

So I’m thankful for the scars
Cause without them I wouldn’t know your heart
And I know they’ll always tell of who you are
So forever I am thankful for the scars

At this point in the journey, I mean these words and I don’t mean them. I would trade the scars for my son’s life. I’m not a martyr or a saint. At the same time, I know crap happens, and every scar means I’m not who I was. Every wound, therefore every scar, has driven me closer to the reality that God is with me.

After church, I went to HotWorx and worked out in 125 degrees of heat for about 50 minutes. Not one of my better ideas. I’d been struggling with a tickly throat, and after working out, I felt achey and tired. So I watched two movies on the couch and scrapped my to-do list for the afternoon.

Except for one thing. I’d been engaging in avoidant behavior regarding the need to replant a succulent bowl on the back patio. Apparently, succulents don’t like their roots to be wet. I’ve been putting off replanting because I suck at gardening. Chip drilled a new hole in the bowl, I added gravel for further drainage, and I actually replanted the succulents. We shall see how it turns out in the weeks to come.

It would be pretty cool if the succulentsI I replanted on the Day began to flourish. I sure gave it my best. Despite feeling pretty yuck.

Tomorrow….a new day. Not the Day.

Kombucha Discovery and Dancing

After a nice run and a strength class at 24-Hour Fitness, I went to get groceries, and there it was hiding in the refrigerator case at the end of the lunchmeat aisle — my new favorite kombucha. Rowdy Mermaid lavender flavor is clean, crisp, low in sugar, refreshing. Aaaahhh. If they could bring the price of the tiny can of booch down to less than a gallon of gas, it would be awesome. Also, I wonder if the mermaids were reprimanded for being rowdy?

This afternoon I got to see Aunt Cho and Ellen. That’s always a treat when they get to come down for a visit since Dr. Cho’s schedule can be crazy.

I absolutely love dancing. I could literally dance all night with little to no convincing. Tonight I got to dance for 1 1/2 hours straight! My friend Alice invited me and a few other friends to join her in the VIP section at the Bell Biv DeVoe concert at Mission Viejo Lake. We tried to act nonchalant as we walked to our seats, but when we discovered we were on the front row, we just couldn’t contain ourselves. “What?!! “ They were right in front of us singing Poison, Cool It Now, and Mr. Telephone Man. Close enough that we could count the rhinestones on Bell’s shiny belt.

After the concert, there was a fireworks show to conclude the summer concert series at the lake. I felt so blessed to be there with friends, taking in the spectacular sky show to the eclectic soundtrack of Sweet Caroline, I Will Survive, and Pennies from Heaven.

On days like this — wonderful, peaceful, relaxing days — I still know something is missing. Someone is missing. It’s always present in my thoughts, this new reality. Tonight I thought of how much Chandler loved dancing. LOVED dancing! I feel connected to him when I dance now.

I just miss him so much. Even on days like this.

Peace, Courage, Strength

This week when I looked up the scriptures that went along with my Jesus Calling devotional for the day, this one spoke so loudly to me, I screen shotted it.

Let my perfect peace calm you in every circumstance and give you courage and strength for every challenge. John 14:27

That pretty much covers what I need most.

The first word I notice is “let.” This seems to connote that I can actually resist and not let something happen. For me, the making room for receiving, the “letting,” lies in my admitting that I am in need and choosing to trust that God can meet me in my deepest points of need.

And, of course, when you feel like you’re just trying to keep your boat from capsizing in a storm, the thing you are desperate for is peace and calm.

Courage. It’s what the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz was in search of. Did he really need the medal of honor bestowed on him by the Wizard to be courageous? He’d already shown glimpses of true bravery while accompanying Dorothy to Oz. Maybe all along, he was more courageous than he thought he was. Maybe that’s true for most of us.

Strength. This just covers so much. It doesn’t mean not crying or not hurting. It doesn’t mean puffing up or spouting off. It means that instead of lying on the mat while the ref counts you down and out, you move. You stay in until the final round.

Challenge. We face these every day. Thankfully, most of them don’t have the power or consequence to threaten to take us out of the game.

God, help me to let your perfect peace bring calm in every one of my circumstances and give me courage and strength for every one of my challenges. Amen.

Day Three -- Bye Felicia

Well, this is where I process my day-to-day life for the first year since…well, you know.

The past two days I’ve been at a LandMark Forum conference.

My post-LandMark thoughts?

First, it is possible to gain insight and truth in almost any context, even if it espouses a different foundational worldview than I do. If it’s truth, it’s truth, whether you attribute it to God, Buddha, or the Ninja Turtles. I came home today with some valuable tools to use now and probably for the rest of my life. Some of those tools and insights came from the LandMark curriculum and some from simply listening to my fellow attendees share about their experiences and breakthroughs.

Second, LandMark will hand you a worldview (nihilism) on a silver platter. So if you are in search of a worldview or are willing to sift through theirs to get to some of the tools that are helpful for you, LandMark might be something to look into. You need to know that around 8-10 hours of the course will be spent telling you how important it is to invite lots of people to the Tuesday evening session where your friends and family can experience the power of LandMark and have the opportunity to sign up for the LandMark Forum.

So why am I home spending a lovely evening with my family tonight instead of sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the LandMark Forum until 10 pm?

After three hours of coaching this morning on how to not take “no” for an answer when I invite someone to Tuesday night’s session, followed by a straw-that-broke-the-camel’s-back incident, I chose to end my LandMark Forum experience early, having gratefully extrapolated the value that was there for me.

The incident? The leader of the forum asked an attendee who had just shared for the very first time to anyone that she had been sexually assaulted as a child to forgive her abuser. Oh, but wait, there’s more. She issued the young lady an additional challenge. “Call him.”

You can hold whatever view you wish, but my view is that this is irresponsible and cruel. I won’t elaborate. This isn’t the place for that.

To give you further insight into the Forum, when I left, a LandMark staff member came outside after me to find out why I was leaving. I’m a grown-ass adult and you’re going to follow me to try to talk me into staying? During the next break, the leader of the Forum called to urge me to return so that I could get the punch line of LandMark and be “free.”

I believe she believes that really is what’s best for me. I don’t fault her for that. And honestly, yesterday she offered some words of wisdom to me personally that I will carry with me in the days and months to come.

I didn’t need to spend 8 1/2 more hours to hear the punch line — “Everything is empty and meaningless. And it’s meaningless that it’s empty and meaningless.” This is nihilism in a nutshell. It’s not new or unique to LandMark. LandMark is free to have their punchline. Their punchline is not my punchline.

I believe I was fearfully and wonderfully made by a loving, intelligent Creator who imbued my life with purpose by virtue of my existence. I glorify the One whose idea it was for me to exist when I live a life of love, reflecting His very essence. I don’t recall once hearing the leader saying the word “love” as part of the core LandMark curriculum. Except when she randomly informed us, “By the way, you know your dogs don’t really love you, right?”

I would be remiss not to acknowledge the breakthroughs that occurred this weekend. Adult children reconciled with estranged parents, siblings long disconnected embraced the possibility of becoming friends again, spouses demonstrated vulnerability that opened lines of communication with their partners. That is powerful stuff. Life-changing stuff. Stuff that matters.

The strength of LandMark is its ability to motivate and inspire people to build relational bridges now, not someday. I can’t replicate the entire Forum experience, but the relational piece here is pretty simple. If there is someone in your life with whom it is safe to communicate and you feel there is a bridge to be built, forgiveness to be offered, or gratitude to be expressed….do it. Now.

Bottom line, I’m glad I went. I love new experiences and learning opportunities of every variety. And I met some wonderful people.

I am so very grateful for friends who prayed for me this weekend, for parents who introduced me to love and security in God, for my hero Aunt Cho who sponsored my Forum experience, for my family that makes me want to come home and spend the evening with them.

Even though I missed the punchline.

Photo by Joel Vodell on Unsplash

Conference Day Two

Day two of my three-day “better yourself” conference in the books.

I will be processing some of the concepts we’ve learned the past couple of days for a while. Some will probably remain lifelong tools I’ll reach for.

Going into this conference, I asked a handful of people to specifically pray that whatever is true will penetrate, whatever isn’t will fall away, and that God would use this time at the LandMark Forum to grow me. It is an intense experience based on becoming authentic about where you’re being inauthentic. But we’ve also talked about the ways our stories about others shapes our behavior within those stories, often causing us to become people we don’t really like or want to be. In all of it, I know God is with me, leading me into truth about myself.

One of the big takeaways for me today came at the end of an exercise meant to help us recognize our power. Oddly, the exercise began by sitting with our fears. I won’t fill in the details in case you do the LandMark Forum, but at the end we came to the realization that essentially everyone is running around trying to look good for one another, or to avoid looking bad for fear of being judged. (There’s more to it than that, but I won’t unpack it here.) I have enough power that someone is trying to look good or avoid looking bad to me so that I won’t judge them. You have that same power. Now, I’m sure each person had a different takeaway from this exercise. Here’s mine. Why would I give away my power to other people by making decisions, big or small, based on whether I will look good or avoid looking bad to them???

Now off to do my homework to be turned in at 9 am tomorrow….day three.

Authentic

What does it mean to be authentic?

I’ve been pondering this question since it was first posed this morning at the conference I’ll be attending the next couple of days. I love how Charli put it last night when she asked, “It’’s a conference to better yourself, right?”

All day our group of about 78 tried to better ourselves by grappling with a variety of questions. How have I been inauthentic? With whom? How has it impacted my life? How can I create new possibilities for myself by becoming authentic in that area?

We also talked about blind spots. What we don’t know that we don’t know.

The idea that I worked with was how I might me inauthentic in the ways I handle difficulties in my life, specifically now the loss of Chandler. I said with my mouth, “I have pretended to have my crap together, but actually I am scared and devastated and miss my son. And I’m afraid I will come to the end of my life and not have fulfilled my purpose….left the legacy I want to leave.”

But I wonder if in the moment I was being inauthentic about being inauthentic. As far as I know myself, I believe I put out there honestly when I’m scared, when I’m not OK, when I’m angry, when I don’t believe the best. My default, however, is to look to my Higher Power, to God, for the assurance that ultimately all will be well. I believe in the power of hope of prayer of faith. This is not to say these things are magic and make everything better. But I have found through decades of experience and weathering some pretty rough storms that they change my outlook and therefore my actions.

So tomorrow I go back to the group and continue grappling with some big questions. I need to get in bed for a relatively good night’s sleep.

God, show me my blind spots. Let me see where I’ve been inauthentic about being authentic, and give me the courage to do something about it. I’m not alone. You are with me in this. Amen.

Offering

Tonight my friend and I went to a gathering called Night of Worship at a little place up the road called Saddleback Church. Once again…tears. So many tears. This time I didn’t even begin to try and dissect — worship? grief? gratitude?

Maybe when it’s offered up to God the best way I know how, all of it is worship.

I have long resisted the notion that worship is the time in church on Sunday when everyone sings hymns and other songs together. Or even that the church service itself is the epitome of worship. Certainly, one expression of worship is singing songs of reverence and adoration to God. There is a sense of encouragement and soul nourishment that happens in such times. Paradoxically, as we acknowledge and worship a power greater than ourselves through song, we step into a new realm of empowerment. That’s not the point, however. Whether we ever felt encouraged or inspired or any other kind of positive outcome, God would still be God and worthy of honor.

To me, the greater demonstration of worship most often happens in the nitty gritty of everyday life. When honoring God requires more than singing a song with a bunch of other people who are singing along. When it requires the humility to say, “I was wrong.” The perseverance to say, “I won’t give up.” The grace to say, “I forgive you.” The courage to say, “Enough!” The generosity to say, “Here, take mine.”

Every single day presents us with new opportunities to worship God. I am grateful tonight for the opportunity to show up with hundreds of other folks to sing songs that honor God in the midst of my nitty gritty. People who, like me, are just offering it all up the best they know how.

Never Another Tear

I was so happy when I drove by Chandler’s bike memorial today and saw several vases and pots of fresh flowers! THANK YOU! It is medicine for my heart to see that Chandler is remembered by the community he loved. That we are not alone.

I dropped by after hot yoga this evening to take a picture and add some water to the vases and pots. As usual, my mind began generating unwanted images — all aimed at filling in blanks. What exactly happened here on December 15? For today, I chose to tell myself, “Let it go.”

It was an extra encouragement to see the new flowers this afternoon because this morning was so tough. And so beautiful at the same time.

At our back-to-school orientation, we had a time of worship together. I was wearing a cherished bracelet that says “Brave” given to me by the amazing lady who lead worship. From the first note of the first song, it was like a faucet was turned on. The tears streamed continuously throughout the entire time of worship. To my right, Stephanie, a rock for me, held my lifted hand. To my left, Dawnell, one of my adventure sisters, put her arm around me. I asked myself why my eyes and my heart were overflowing. Was it a sense of worship toward God? Was it overwhelming gratitude for the support of my friends? Was it the missing…the deep, deep missing of my sweet boy? I decided it was all of the above and that it was all good. I just let it be without trying to further dissect it.

When the singing was finished and they moved on to communion, I had to leave the room. I felt like I was going to lose it again. And I did. My friend Joanne came to find me. All I could say is, “I just miss him so much.” She hugged me and prayed for me.

The only reason there is a finite number of tears I will cry for Chandler is because one day I will cease to exist on this earth. In the next instant, I will see Chandler again….and never cry another tear.

Typical New Normal Day

Today work was crazy — getting ready for back-to-school next week. Despite the current crazy, I love my work and my people at work.

I loved spending time with my friend who talks a lot different from me, but I still understand her. Her British flag watch is pretty cool.

And I loved ending the day with a 6-mile hike with a couple of my adventure sisters. The trees and hills surrounding us in the cool of the evening, the laughter and conversation about everything from food to future adventure ideas to how our kids are doing in their next seasons of life. Only one of us brought a phone. The one whose phone screen turns black when you try to flip it for a selfie. So the photo is pretty darn good considering Wendy took it sight unseen. It was anyone’s guess if all our heads would be in the pic or if it would look inspired by some special mushrooms we’d ingested along the way.

There were just a couple of tough few minutes today. The first, I would honestly have to scan my brain to remember the trigger. I do remember it was nothing directly related to Chandler. The second, I was driving into my friend’s neighborhood and saw some young kids setting up a pretend city in their front yard. I immediately thought of the countless days when Chandler would gather outside our condo in Irvine with friends and devise all manner of activities, most of which would not have been approved by any Safety & Propriety Committee. Details on that later. I miss those days and would give anything to live just one of them over again.

Driving out of the neighborhood, one of the little guys was being held in his moms arms, crying. I imagined what could have happened. And I remembered holding Chandler when he was hurt or sad or scared. His cheeks. Oh, his little cheeks. He snuggled so close. Anything. I would give anything to hold that little guy….that big guy….again.

It was a good day. And another typical picture of what this grief journey looks like. Random yet predictable. Painful and yet joyful. Shared yet lonely.

Tomorrow. Another day.

Content

Yoga. Nature. Friends.

Any one of those things alone is food for my soul. Combine them all in one Saturday morning…how could it get any better? Well, I guess you could add food for my belly — breakfast together at The Trough, a local restaurant I hadn’t yet tried (adventure!). I know, it sounds like a place where pigs would line up to dive into their daily rations. It’s actually a pretty cool spot that serves a fantastic breakfast.

As our yoga session began, the instructor told us to think about our intention. What word, thought, feeling did we want to bring into our practice and our day? A few possibilities floated through my consciousness. Sitting there on the green grass in the cool morning air, surrounded by trees, the blue sky above, perched on my mat between two of my adventure sisters, the word that settled into place like scrabble letters on a board — content (accent on the last syllable).

Everything was right there. Nothing lacking. Complete peace.

There is a scripture that says, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength (Philippians 4:12-13).”

How are those two connected — contentment and the strength of Christ? Maybe it’s about trust. Maybe the more I trust that strength will be given to me at the time I need it, the more I can settle into this moment without fear or restlessness. I’m just processing, not saying this should be put on a plaque or something.

I want to cultivate that sense of contentment. But the achiever in me says, “NO, then you won’t get anything done!” Contentment doesn’t mean having no goals or never looking for ways to improve things. It doesn’t mean collapsing with a big sigh of resignation and saying, “Oh, well…”

I don’t pretend to know the balance between contentment and living a life of forward movement and purpose, both of which are good things. But I’m willing to learn. I get it in bits and pieces, like this morning’s perfect (except for the bunny poop on my mat and the intermittent smell of dog pee) yoga session at the park.

Thank you, God, thank you, for access to good things that feed my soul. And good food that feeds my belly. Help me learn to be content, whatever that looks like in the context of real life. To trust that in all things, you will give me the strength I need when I need it. Then I can settle into the moment without fear or restlessness. Maybe that is the key to learning contentment. I’m sure willing to find out. Amen.

The Thing About Today...

I started out this day enjoying a peanut butter banana smoothie with a dear friend who just found out her son has Type I diabetes. She is strong, resourceful, smart, and full of faith. She has passed that on to her son who is accepting this new normal with grace beyond his years.

There is still pain and fear and grieving for what this mom had hoped would be a relatively uneventful childhood. It’s a steep learning curve for her to figure out carb counts and glucose levels throughout the day and night. And, as she said today, this isn’t an experiment. She has to get it right.

We wholeheartedly agreed that neither of us would have checked the boxes for what has befallen our sons. We also agreed that somehow in God’s wisdom and goodness, He will not waste any of it. Not one tear, not one punch in the gut, not one bit of pain. He will bring about good from what, right now, seems the opposite of good.

We talked about Chandler. This dear friend was with me from the day Chandler was in the accident. Our hearts are connected.

Tonight I went to a college planning meeting at Charli’s high school. I glanced over at the diving board towering over the swimming pool on my way into the gym. I remembered Chandler diving off of that board just a few short years ago for his diving competitions. I recalled the times I’d entered that gym as Chandler’s mom for various events. I tried not to skip forward to May 2020 when I will watch Charli graduate without her brother to cheer for her.

After the college planning meeting at Santa Margarita Catholic High School, I went to a meeting at Dove Canyon Golf Club. This is where a multitude of people gathered on January 13 to honor Chandler and let us know we are not alone. I’m not sure when walking into that place will cease to tap into the deep crevices of longing…of missing and hurting.

Tonight I walked into Chandler’s room to look for something. I glanced up at the pictures of him we’ve hung on his wall. It is too much to comprehend. It is not possible that I won’t see those dimples, that smile, those innocently mischievous eyes again.

The thing about today is that from morning until bedtime, there were constant reminders of Chandler. The reminders are good. I would rather live with them than without them. I think it might be really cool to have at least a few of the reminders without the pain attached to them. I’m pretty sure that’s beyond the scope of possibility.

God, when life gets really real, help me lean into your grace and strength. Be my confidence and my guide. One day at a time. Amen.

Friends, Memories and Maggots

What I wanted to do was sit down after a long day and write. What I got to do instead was spend an hour or so killing maggots! There’s pretty much nothing grosser. I decided to take out the kitchen trash because it just wasn’t smelling good. I looked down on the floor and saw the first of a multitude of the white, creepy, worm-like creatures. They seemed to multiply before my eyes. I didn’t know if there was a maggot protocol. For the sake of time, I made up my own. I started picking up the buggers one by one with a paper towel and dropping them into a big Zip-loc bag. Then I sprayed the floor with cleaner and wiped it down. If there’s a better strategy, I’m all ears. I don’t have a really confident feeling that I won’t wake up to a maggot party in my kitchen tomorrow.

If I’m being really honest about how this journey goes, I have to tell you that today as I was standing at the copier at work, thoughts of Chandler in the hospital kept flooding my mind. Specific images were overwhelming. I had to erect a dam to stop the flood because I had a family in my office that I was meeting with. I thought to myself how odd that these images would come to me while performing a routine task at work that had nothing whatsoever to do with Chandler. That’s how it works, this grief thing.

Now for the good stuff before arriving home to find the maggots.

Charli and I went to a reunion of sorts this evening.

When we moved to Dove Canyon 17 years ago, I was blessed to have neighbors who became my closest friends. Our kids played together every day. We did outings and mini vacation getaways. There was an open-door policy at all four homes — your kid is my kid. Countless evenings were spent at the house in the middle eating dinner and sipping wine while the kids made all manner of creative messes.

We were on each other’s emergency pick-up lists for the kids. One morning, Charli had decided to take an early nap, so I was curled up in my chair with a cup of coffee and my book, savoring the rare silence while everyone was at school. Out of nowhere comes a knock at the door. It was Chance with my friend and next-door neighbor Mary. Apparently, the school had tried to call and tell me to come pick up Chance because he had a migraine. I hadn’t heard the phone ring. Mary schlepped her own baby out to go pick up my son 15 minutes away only to walk in and see me lounging in my living room with my beverage and my book, oblivious to the fact that I had unknowingly transferred my motherly duties to her for NO good reason. She will never let me live it down, but she would also do it again in a heartbeat. That’s friendship. I can count on any of these friends, anytime, for anything.

Tonight, for the first time in years, all the moms and kids were at the same place at the same time —eating dinner, sipping wine (the moms, not the kids), laughing, and telling stories about building things, falling off things, swinging on things, and making messes of things (the kids, not the moms).

On a day that ended with maggots, I needed the laughter and love of friends who will always be friends. It may be what kept me from utter maggot despair.

All Fall Down

Today a friend at work told me about a song that had meant a lot to him a few years ago. He had heard it during a pretty calm season in his family’s life, but a storm was approaching. He had no idea when he first heard it that this song was soon to bring him tremendous comfort and encouragement. It’s called We Fall Down, an oldie from 2000.

After work, I googled the song and listened to it. I will be listening again and again.

We fall down but we get up
We fall down but we get up
We fall down but we get up
For a saint is just a sinner who fell down and got up

Every one of us falls down. Some of us get knocked down. Hard. From out of nowhere.

The falling down does not define us. The getting up does. We don’t have to get up gracefully. Or quickly. Or even voluntarily. Sometimes people come around us and lift us up when everything in us says, “Just stay down.”

Something about the getting up makes us stronger. Our compassion runs deeper. Our capacity for grace reaches further.

By your grace, dear Lord, I will keep getting up. Amen.

Chandler Being Chandler

I’m not sure which strand of DNA propelled Chandler to randomly run up tree trunks and do back flips.

Location didn’t matter. In high school at Santa Margarita, he was known to have a favorite back-flipping tree.

But he didn’t discriminate. If there were no trees around, a tall fence, a rooftop, or even a kitchen counter would suffice. A bridge was even better.

I apologize to every parent who took Chandler along on their family vacation only to be traumatized when they glanced up just in time to see him jump.

I do not have that strand of DNA. I don’t get it. What I do get is that my son leaned into the moment, true to who he was…fearless. He didn’t do it for anyone else. He was just Chandler being Chandler.

Live Like Jojo

What an honor to participate in today’s CHOC Walk to benefit Children’s Hospital of Orange County. Even more of an honor….to walk with Team Live Like Jojo.

I met Monica Kalua Kline, Jojo’s mom, after Chandler died. We had coffee at a Starbucks a few months ago, and our souls connected. Her young son, Jordan (aka Jojo), died last year.

Just after arriving at the CHOC Walk this morning at Disneyland, Monica connected me with another walker I knew — the father of one of Chandler’s BEST friends! Actually, Monica and I wouldn’t have even met initially if it weren’t for this man. How providential that we got to walk together, chatting about life in general, but specifically about our sons.

The best moment of today…after our CHOC Walk, Monica was being asked about details regarding a restaurant for breakfast. She said she needed just a minute. Surrounded by t-shirts bearing her son’s picture, a grieving mom turned to another grieving mom, gave me a hug, and asked, “How are you doing?”

I was able all morning to keep at bay the profound sense of deep loss that I carry every minute of every day. This was Jojos’s day. Despite the fact that Monica had so graciously invited me to carry a poster with Chandler’s pictures on it. When this mom whose soul connects with mine took a moment from her son’s special day to see me, I choked up.

In the midst of her own whirlwind of celebration, loss, and every other emotion on earth, Monica said the truest words anyone could have said to me today. “No one can know unless they’ve lived it.”

Dear God, thank you, thank you, thank you…for soul connection with a fellow mom. For the privilege of sharing in the life of her son Jojo who I never met but feel like I know because of the legacy he left. For every mom who has lost a child, I pray your comfort, your strength, your peace, your sustenance. I pray for soul connections. For fellow moms who see one another and know the familiar pain. You are a good God. Thank you. Amen.

Legacy

I was reminded today, as I was on January 13, that we all leave a legacy. It is up to each of us what our legacy will be. Our day-to-day choices accumulate over months and years, shaping our character, and thus, our legacy.

This morning I had the privilege of attending the memorial service for Dr. Jesse Miranda. Dr. Miranda was a leader of leaders, described by one speaker this morning as the “Moses” of the Latino faith community, bringing together diverse groups of people as he strategically mentored and empowered them to pursue excellence in their calling, whether in the marketplace or the church.

I have to add that the resemblance between Jesse Miranda and Grandpa Reggie Espinoza is uncanny. Chip has considered it a privilege to serve on the board of Dr. Miranda’s Center for Hispanic Leadership, and I know Grandpa Reggie, who entered heaven the day our middle son Chance was born, is very proud of his grandson.

To list all of Dr. Miranda’s accomplishments would be beyond the scope of today’s blog. Google him if you want to read more about Jesse’s life. It’s worth your time.

I heard a few sentiments repeated by multiple speakers this morning:

Humble. Mentor. Family man. Passionate about education. Visionary. Strategic. Influential. Bridge-builder.

One of the greatest leaders of the late 20th century.

I listened as speaker after speaker shared so eloquently about their very personal experiences of a man who took time to truly be with people. Jesse would be the last to boast that his name lent credibility or prestige, but every speaker shared how Jesse had been willing to use his influence to help them achieve their goals and fulfill their calling.

Everyone needs a Jesse Miranda in his or her life.

My mind skipped to some future day when people will stand up and say things about Lisa Espinoza. What do I want them to say? And what choices am I making today…and tomorrow…and next month so that what they say is congruent with the person I want them to remember?

That is just too much to contemplate in one sitting.

A couple of things I know for sure. I want to be remembered as a person who loved my family with every fiber of my being and considered it the highest honor for Chase, Chance, Chandler, and Charli to call me “Mom.” Not only an honor, but one of the greatest, deepest, purest joys of my life. And I want to be remembered as a person who somehow reflected the love of God in the middle of my messy humanity.

God, please surround and saturate the Miranda family with your peace, comfort, strength, and hope. Thank you for Jesse’s life and all the ways it reflected who you are. Amen.

Well done, Dr. Miranda.

Unwelcome Reminder

I hate reminders like this.

When I called to talk to the ambulance company about this bill on Wednesday, I hoped they would keep the conversation to the point. I didn’t want them to ask me how he was doing after his seven-mile ride to Mission Hospital on December 15. Thankfully, they didn’t ask. I chose not to tell them, “The least you could do is spell his name right.”

I hated looking at the itemized list of services that were necessary for Chandler that day. Just in the few minutes he was in the ambulance.

It makes it all too real again. As if there isn’t enough evidence already.

I popped into Board & Brew this evening. It is always good for my soul to hug this tribe that brought Chandler’s life so much meaning and joy. As I walked toward the bar to say hello, I pictured Chandler back there chatting it up, exuding infectious energy and genuine care for every person he served. He took pride in his community at work. They weren’t just his work people. They were his friends. Some of his best.

Being at B&B is good. But it also makes it all too real again. Seeing his skateboard on the wall. Sometimes I can’t look.

Some reminders are good. They mean Chandler was here. He made an impact. They are still painful, for the most part, right now. But I hear that in time, they may carry more joy than pain.

Some reminders absolutely suck. Like the ambulance bill. I don’t want to see anything that triggers memories of what happened on December 15 and the days following— what I saw with my own eyes and what my mind attempts to recreate to fill in the blanks. I have enough of those memories on my own without external triggers.

God, give me the strength and courage to encounter every reminder, trusting that it will not take me out. It will not possess me. Unless I let it. Amen.

Carried

I have no idea who this man is, but when I saw him today with his little girl, it spoke to my heart. Actually, I noticed his little girl first. She was obviously tired — her head nuzzled against his wide chest, her tiny arm grasping his. She had no worries about anything. She just settled into her daddy’s arms.

The contrast was evident. His strength, her vulnerability. His protectiveness, her trust. His magnitude, her smallness.

He carried her ever so carefully down the beach so as not to disturb her impending slumber. She had nothing to fear. Her trust was complete. She was safe.

I saw myself in the arms of God where I am safe. Grasping onto Him, sometimes for dear life. Trusting that He will carry me when my feet or my strength fail. Or when I just need to be small.

I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. Isaiah 46:4

Reunited

This is what over three decades of friendship looks like.

We have carried one another through the deepest losses and rejoiced together through the greatest joys.

We met in Tulare, California, before any of us had kids. Some of us had mullets. Some of us had perms. Some over-achievers had both.

We would decide at the end of each week, with our whopping $30 in the bank (I’m speaking now for the Espinozas), where we wanted to go. Usually it was Arby’s in Fresno for roast beef sandwiches and Jamocha shakes along with shopping at Fresno mall. Sometimes to Shagnasty’s or Mearle’s Drive-In in Visalia.

We used to go street witnessing on Friday nights to tell people that Jesus loved them and invite them to open their hearts to Him. Then we would go to Jay and Carole’s house to watch Miami Vice.

Trips to the coast were a highlight. We’d pack up on Saturday morning and head to Pismo Beach for the day. Carole, who brought from Wisconsin a knack for making bagel sandwiches, usually shouldered the responsibility for the day’s tasty nutritional requirements. We would attempt to pack lunches, but they paled in comparison to Carole’s creations featuring quality cheese, lunchmeat, pickles, and fresh bagels. I’ll be honest. As a Texas girl back in the day, I don’t know if I had ever even seen a bagel. Roman Meal sliced bread was the furthest I’d ventured from plain white Wonder Bread for sandwiches.

The worst sunburn I ever got happened on one of our Pismo Beach days. I remember distinctly, I was wearing a Minnie Mouse one-piece swimsuit Chip bought for me. Oh, the agony of trying to sleep that night with flaming flesh. And yet, it was so easy to fall asleep on the sand in Pismo just hours before….sans sunscreen.

The common thread in these friendships….we loved each other, enjoyed being together, and accepted one another’s imperfections. And we loved God. We wanted our lives to reflect His love for people. Were we perfect? Absolutely not! Are we perfect now? Are you kidding?! The common thread remains…we are 100% dependent on God as our source. And we are 100% grateful that He chose to bring us together so long ago, knowing the hardships we would help each other endure. And the joys we would share.

God, you are the giver of all good gifts. Thank you for the gift of lifelong friendships. Thank you for those who stick with us through the good, the bad, the ugly. And help us recognize that the first on this list is you. Amen.

Not About to Sink

This morning’s devotional on my Pray As You Go app was from Matthew 14:22-33.

As the story goes, Jesus walked on water to get to his disciples who were in a boat on a lake. The disciples were frightened and thought it might be a ghost. Peter said, “Lord, if it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water.” I’m not sure why seeing Jesus walking on water would not have been all the proof Peter needed that this guy was legit, but I’m not judging. Jesus told Peter to come to Him. Peter did it. He got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But then he looked around and saw the wind, got scared, and began to sink. He called out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus caught him and said, “You of little faith….why did you doubt?”

I can relate to so many elements of this story. I’ve seen God at work and asked for proof that it’s Him. I’ve stayed in the boat, and I’ve gotten out of the boat. I’ve walked on water, and I’ve sunk. In this season, the part I relate most to is…”Lord, save me!”

There are moments I feel like I’m getting sucked under. Sometimes I thrash about trying to keep myself afloat. But most of the time, my immediate gut-level response is to cry out…

Lord, save me!

Jesus, I need you!

God, I can’t do this without you!

He always pulls me up. Through a sense of peace or strength or assurance. Through a text from a friend. Through a devotional on my Pray as You Go app. Through a song someone sends me to listen to. Through a book given to me by a fellow mourner who shares my pain. Through a hug.

God, when I begin to sink, please let me always remember where my help comes from. Let my first inclination be to cry out to you and trust you to pull me up. Amen.

Tonight’s Chandler-ness:
3-5-97 - You stood on the porch naked with a baseball cap and guitar around your neck singing, “Jesus is still alright with me.”