A beautiful story of one woman's own drowning experience brings me comfort. Grateful for a God whose perfect plan makes heaven a reality.
http://www.cbn.com/tv/2125902823001
Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Because Accidents Happen
Last week I experienced the clawing hands of panic for the first time in a very long time. A sensation triggered by nothing more than my own thoughts. It left me feeling weak, brought back painful memories and drove me to my knees, seeking peace that comes only from knowing and trusting that my God is in control and that He is good and does good.
Our sweet little Kruz is literally terrified of the vacuum cleaner, of any loud noises actually. One morning he was playing on the floor while Brock was vacuuming the carpets for me. As the sweeper came closer to Kruz his little body tensed and trembled and his face contorted in fear and distress as a loud wail burst forth. I immediately scooped him up into my arms and he looked back at the sweeper as if to make sure it wasn't chasing after him. As I held him close, I whispered words of comfort to him. "Momma has you now. Momma won't let anything hurt you. Momma will keep you safe."
My words of love and comfort were swiftly swallowed up by the harsh reality that these promises of safety are not promises that I can make with confidence. Because I am human, because we live in a fallen world, I cannot guarantee that bad things can never and will never happen to this or any child of mine. It is a reality that terrifies me.
Another time last week, as we entertained a large group in our yard, panic came once more....... swiftly, unexpectedly. A younger couple had come with their three lovely children. When mother asked father where the middle child was, the answer was "I'm not sure, he's running around here somewhere." And just like that, the ice cold fear returned once again. Fear that comes from knowing what these young parents only know on a cerebral level.
In spite of the "shame on you" comments and emails that I occasionally receive from do-gooders who say things like "I have a three year old and I never take my eyes off of him," I know that sometimes we lose sight of our children. Children are quick, curious, adventuresome. Sometimes, even though, as parents we do everything in our power to protect our children, accidents happen. And sometimes our worst nightmare is realized. Sometimes........death comes.
At times the question "can I keep this child safe" feels like it will be my undoing. My finite mind knows that child death is something I could not endure again. And so I do the one and only thing that I know to do. The only thing that makes each day, with all of it's uncertainties, bearable. The only thing that brings peace for a future that I cannot see.......... I commit this child to my Lord, the one who created him. I remind myself that, while I am blessed to be called his mother, his greatest source of identity is through Jesus Christ. Kruz is a child of the most high God. Although it is unfathomable to my simple mind, Kruz is loved by his Father God in a way that I, in my humanness, will never be able to love him.
Our sweet little Kruz is literally terrified of the vacuum cleaner, of any loud noises actually. One morning he was playing on the floor while Brock was vacuuming the carpets for me. As the sweeper came closer to Kruz his little body tensed and trembled and his face contorted in fear and distress as a loud wail burst forth. I immediately scooped him up into my arms and he looked back at the sweeper as if to make sure it wasn't chasing after him. As I held him close, I whispered words of comfort to him. "Momma has you now. Momma won't let anything hurt you. Momma will keep you safe."
My words of love and comfort were swiftly swallowed up by the harsh reality that these promises of safety are not promises that I can make with confidence. Because I am human, because we live in a fallen world, I cannot guarantee that bad things can never and will never happen to this or any child of mine. It is a reality that terrifies me.
Another time last week, as we entertained a large group in our yard, panic came once more....... swiftly, unexpectedly. A younger couple had come with their three lovely children. When mother asked father where the middle child was, the answer was "I'm not sure, he's running around here somewhere." And just like that, the ice cold fear returned once again. Fear that comes from knowing what these young parents only know on a cerebral level.
In spite of the "shame on you" comments and emails that I occasionally receive from do-gooders who say things like "I have a three year old and I never take my eyes off of him," I know that sometimes we lose sight of our children. Children are quick, curious, adventuresome. Sometimes, even though, as parents we do everything in our power to protect our children, accidents happen. And sometimes our worst nightmare is realized. Sometimes........death comes.
At times the question "can I keep this child safe" feels like it will be my undoing. My finite mind knows that child death is something I could not endure again. And so I do the one and only thing that I know to do. The only thing that makes each day, with all of it's uncertainties, bearable. The only thing that brings peace for a future that I cannot see.......... I commit this child to my Lord, the one who created him. I remind myself that, while I am blessed to be called his mother, his greatest source of identity is through Jesus Christ. Kruz is a child of the most high God. Although it is unfathomable to my simple mind, Kruz is loved by his Father God in a way that I, in my humanness, will never be able to love him.
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:37-39
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Time to Run
Dear Friends and Family,
It is, once again, time to begin preparing for the St. Jude Run. The three of us are, once again, teaming together to raise funds for St Jude. 100% of every dollar raised will go toward the research and treatment of childhood cancer, and for the care of children who fight this deadly disease.
Childhood cancer first left an impact on Jamee’s life when, in kindergarten, her little friend, Nicholaus, lost his battle. Since then there have been several children in our community who have fought against cancer. Lexi, lost her battle several years ago. Brock a student in the class ahead of Jade, has also battled and survived this mighty disease. Most recently, Jada, the daughter of our church youth pastor was diagnosed of Clear Cell Sarcoma of the Kidney. As the three of us run, we will do so with these three in mind, remembering their fight, their courage and their valiant spirits. Running from Tremont to Peoria is no small task but it is nothing compared to the fight that so many children have against cancer.
The death of our beautiful daughter and sister, Jalayne, nearly three years ago, has made us painfully aware of the unspeakable sorrow of saying goodbye to a child far too soon. We cannot prevent all childhood accidents and death but we are determined to do our part in joining in the fight against childhood cancer.
The three of us are looking forward to joining the many other St Jude runners in the race against cancer on Saturday, August 3rd. We will begin running in Tremont and will run the back roads to downtown Peoria. We will run in memory of Nicholaus and Lexi and in honor of Brock and Jada, knowing in our hearts that our sweet Jalayne will be cheering us on from heaven.
This year the three of us are striving to raise $5,000 for St. Jude. If you would like to donate to this wonderful cause, your contributions will be greatly appreciated. You can send a check made out to St Jude Runs to us at
We understand that not everyone can donate monetarily. Still, we ask that you remember us and all of the runners on this day. Most importantly, remember and pray for the little warriors, those who have lost, won, or are still fighting against childhood cancer. It is for them that we run.
May God Bless You All,
Karol, Jamee and Jade
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day
I love Mother's Day. We typically keep this day pretty low key. My family pampers me, playing heavily upon my love language which is acts of service. On this day I reflect on how truly blessed I am to have been raised by a wonderful mother and now to have beautiful children of my own. I know that I am unworthy of all the love that has been given to me.
Yet even as I soak in the love of what I have, as I delight in watching the interaction of my children, my heart aches for my child in heaven. I long for my family's circle to be complete.
Yet even as I soak in the love of what I have, as I delight in watching the interaction of my children, my heart aches for my child in heaven. I long for my family's circle to be complete.
21 For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. 22 But if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor; yet what I shall choose I cannot tell. 23 For I am hard-pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better. 24 Nevertheless to remain in the flesh is more needful for you.
Philipians 1:21-24
Monday, April 29, 2013
JALAYNE "LAYNEE' GRACE HOLMES MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP
Tonight I had the pleasure of presenting Laynee's memorial scholarship to a young lady that I know will prove herself worthy.
Each year the nominees for Laynee's scholarship are asked to write an essay detailing their attitude toward the word retard in name calling. This year there were 9 nominees and, as always, each of the essays were very well written. And, as always, there were a couple that stood out among the rest. The essay that we chose proved that the young lady who wrote it clearly understood the offensiveness of the "R" word. We feel confident from her writing that she not only will avoid using the word, but she will make a point to educate others who do use the word.
It is always with a heavy heart that I stand before the senior class to present Laynee's scholarship. It seems, in so many ways, surreal to talk of Laynee and our love for her, of what she meant to us and to all who knew her. It pains me to talk about he "R" word and the bitter taste that it leaves in the mouths of those touched by intellectual challenges. Yet, as I look out among the many faces before me, I can see the light of understanding on several of them. I can see that it has never occurred to most of them how it might feel to our family and others with disablities when we hear that word used to demean another. I can see that some will walk away with a determination never to utter that word again. I can hope with everything in me, that those who have learned tonight will share what they learned with others.
My mind can barely wrap around the fact that already we have given 3 of these scholarships in Laynee's memory.
Tonight we proudly presented the third Jalayne "Laynee" Grace Holmes scholarship to Miss Taylor Haggerdorn.
Make Laynee Proud Taylor.
Each year the nominees for Laynee's scholarship are asked to write an essay detailing their attitude toward the word retard in name calling. This year there were 9 nominees and, as always, each of the essays were very well written. And, as always, there were a couple that stood out among the rest. The essay that we chose proved that the young lady who wrote it clearly understood the offensiveness of the "R" word. We feel confident from her writing that she not only will avoid using the word, but she will make a point to educate others who do use the word.
It is always with a heavy heart that I stand before the senior class to present Laynee's scholarship. It seems, in so many ways, surreal to talk of Laynee and our love for her, of what she meant to us and to all who knew her. It pains me to talk about he "R" word and the bitter taste that it leaves in the mouths of those touched by intellectual challenges. Yet, as I look out among the many faces before me, I can see the light of understanding on several of them. I can see that it has never occurred to most of them how it might feel to our family and others with disablities when we hear that word used to demean another. I can see that some will walk away with a determination never to utter that word again. I can hope with everything in me, that those who have learned tonight will share what they learned with others.
My mind can barely wrap around the fact that already we have given 3 of these scholarships in Laynee's memory.
Tonight we proudly presented the third Jalayne "Laynee" Grace Holmes scholarship to Miss Taylor Haggerdorn.
Make Laynee Proud Taylor.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
A Unique bond
I met a woman today, one who faces the unthinkable. Our meeting was not a pleasant one. It was filled with soul searing grief. I watched as, in the span of one converation, her facial expressions went from clawing panic over the inevitable to quiet, mournful resignation of what is her life's harsh and brutal reality. My heart lodged in my throat as she spoke of her daughter, saying "It should be me. I should be the one dying but she is going to go before me. I am going to have to bury my daughter."
I had purposefully avoided telling her of my own situation. That I had already buried my daughter. I did not mention how I know that she stands at the brink of a pain so great it defies explanation. This was her story, her grief. It was not the time or the place for my own. I wanted her to know that my sorrow was for her, not for my own situation. So I kept silent and just listened. But as we talked, we learned that we have mutual acquaintances. She knows people that I know. And then she asked where I live. I told her and she asked "do you live in the one with the pool?" When I clarified that we did have a pool but it's gone now. Her face registered clarity and recognition. I knew that she had connected the dots. Suddenly she knew. She touched me as she said "You know. You know what it's like to lose a daughter." All I could do was nod and tell her that I do know. That I am so, so sorry. That no mother should ever have to bury their child.
I am glad that I chose to keep silent. At the same time I am grateful that she discovered the truth. For with the light of recognition in her eyes came an instant connection, an inexplicable bond that is shared only among parents whose children are gone (or in this case "going") too soon. I had no words of wisdom, nothing that could bring comfort to her. I could only embrace her with a promise to pray, knowing that even that seems somehow empty.
Long after we went our own ways, this mother stayed with me in my thoughts. It occurred to me, not for the first time, how very few people that we know personally have experienced child loss. But for those who do know, the bond is immediate. It is a bond that runs deep and connects souls intimately. Each time we see each other, we do not speak of our loss, words are unnecessary. Still........we know. We just KNOW.
I had purposefully avoided telling her of my own situation. That I had already buried my daughter. I did not mention how I know that she stands at the brink of a pain so great it defies explanation. This was her story, her grief. It was not the time or the place for my own. I wanted her to know that my sorrow was for her, not for my own situation. So I kept silent and just listened. But as we talked, we learned that we have mutual acquaintances. She knows people that I know. And then she asked where I live. I told her and she asked "do you live in the one with the pool?" When I clarified that we did have a pool but it's gone now. Her face registered clarity and recognition. I knew that she had connected the dots. Suddenly she knew. She touched me as she said "You know. You know what it's like to lose a daughter." All I could do was nod and tell her that I do know. That I am so, so sorry. That no mother should ever have to bury their child.
I am glad that I chose to keep silent. At the same time I am grateful that she discovered the truth. For with the light of recognition in her eyes came an instant connection, an inexplicable bond that is shared only among parents whose children are gone (or in this case "going") too soon. I had no words of wisdom, nothing that could bring comfort to her. I could only embrace her with a promise to pray, knowing that even that seems somehow empty.
Long after we went our own ways, this mother stayed with me in my thoughts. It occurred to me, not for the first time, how very few people that we know personally have experienced child loss. But for those who do know, the bond is immediate. It is a bond that runs deep and connects souls intimately. Each time we see each other, we do not speak of our loss, words are unnecessary. Still........we know. We just KNOW.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Spring
My heart has been heavy for my little girl lately. Reality is that the heavy, aching heart never really goes away. It's there... always... with every beat... with every breath. But some days are extra heavy.
As much as I love the balmy, springtime weather that those of us in the midwest have been enjoying this week, I cannot help noticing that warmer weather brings greater aching. Perhaps it was her almost obsessive love for the outdoors that causes me to be more keenly intuned to her abscence when the weather is nice. Or perhaps it is the dreadful fact that she died there, in our back yard.
I absolutely love this weather. The sunshine seems to reach down into my soul and transform me, making me almost giddy. The warmth, the new life, the color, the fresh smell of spring dirt add a sense of exuberance to ordinary day. I cannot get enough of spring time
And yet.
There are sharp stabs of pain- pain that comes from being too long without my youngest daughter. Sometimes it is almost as if I can feel her there beside me as I work in the yard, most especially, in her garden. I picture her, in my mind's eye, running and dancing through the grass. This image brings nearly knee buckling pain. The sun, rising and setting, paints marvelous pictures this time of year, pictures that never cease to remind me of her. The more extraordinary the color, the more I long for her.
Today, for the first time, I placed Kruz in her swing hanging from our swing set and my heart clenched tight. I wonder if, in spite of the fact that by now she would be too big for it, I will always think of it as hers. This evening as I was preparing to bring Moise and Kruz in from outside I missed her so desperately, knowing, instinctively that she would be a little mother hen to her baby brother. She would be such a big helper. It seems that everywhere I turn there are little reminders of what should be but is not.
At times I feel exhausted with the constant, unending task of trying to balance grief and joy. How do I, forever, allow the sorrow to be exactly what it is, without allowing it to steal the joy that is my life? How do I do this from now until forever?
As much as I love the balmy, springtime weather that those of us in the midwest have been enjoying this week, I cannot help noticing that warmer weather brings greater aching. Perhaps it was her almost obsessive love for the outdoors that causes me to be more keenly intuned to her abscence when the weather is nice. Or perhaps it is the dreadful fact that she died there, in our back yard.
I absolutely love this weather. The sunshine seems to reach down into my soul and transform me, making me almost giddy. The warmth, the new life, the color, the fresh smell of spring dirt add a sense of exuberance to ordinary day. I cannot get enough of spring time
And yet.
There are sharp stabs of pain- pain that comes from being too long without my youngest daughter. Sometimes it is almost as if I can feel her there beside me as I work in the yard, most especially, in her garden. I picture her, in my mind's eye, running and dancing through the grass. This image brings nearly knee buckling pain. The sun, rising and setting, paints marvelous pictures this time of year, pictures that never cease to remind me of her. The more extraordinary the color, the more I long for her.
Today, for the first time, I placed Kruz in her swing hanging from our swing set and my heart clenched tight. I wonder if, in spite of the fact that by now she would be too big for it, I will always think of it as hers. This evening as I was preparing to bring Moise and Kruz in from outside I missed her so desperately, knowing, instinctively that she would be a little mother hen to her baby brother. She would be such a big helper. It seems that everywhere I turn there are little reminders of what should be but is not.
At times I feel exhausted with the constant, unending task of trying to balance grief and joy. How do I, forever, allow the sorrow to be exactly what it is, without allowing it to steal the joy that is my life? How do I do this from now until forever?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
