What does real love look like? Seminary, Cohorts and M.E.

What does love with forbearance and forgiveness look like?  What does love lived with passion and open eyes look like?  Can the two be one?

My cohort may never forgive me for this one, but I pray they 'get' it... In fact, I am pretty sure they will.

In my cohort of over 20 people we have all kinds.  We come from all over the country.  Not everyone would choose to spend time as 'best-ies' outside of school, but we have found a common connection beyond our call.  It is called love.

We are not perfect.  We drive each other nuts even as we drive each other on in joy. Here is a short list of some of our better or worse attributes (you decide if they are good or bad, it is all perspective):

Some of us are:
Sociable         Talkative             Timid                Private              Boisterous              Methodical
Studious         Loud                   Meek               Confident          Artistic                   Capable
Skilled            Experienced        Expressive        Modest             Flashy                    Articulate
Simple            Detailed              Humble             Joyous              Self Conscious       Self starters
Driven            Affectionate        Bubbly              Frustrated         Busy                       Calm

You see, we are all kinds of things.  Sometimes annoyingly so, even to each other.  But in those moments that would drive anyone else mad, we are blessed with this amazing grace that lets us see past the annoying part and LOVE the person in front of us.  They are part of us, they are us.  We know no matter how good they may be at something we are not good at, that they are a little doubtful of a different, weaker, skill of attribute of their own.  We know we all bring something to the table.  More than anything, I have seen tremendous patience.  It allows us to breathe, to listen and to HEAR and see each other and what is really happening around us, not just what is colored by our immediate reaction.

This group of people is full of imperfection and disagreement.  One of my closest friends in this group goes NUTS every time she finds out I have not started a 10 page paper that is due in 5 hours- because she is a planner and does her work methodically and carefully.  I on the other hand vomit words on paper and try to sort it out.  It works for me. Hers works for her.  The best part?  We both get A's but if we tried it the other way we would fail miserably.  The lesson here is that we could really drive each other to distraction with our differences, but instead, we love each other all the more.  We (or at least I do) find great comfort in the difference that we see with eyes wide open, full of passion and yet, in forbearance and forgiveness.  (She really needs to forgive me for the white hairs I am giving her when she finds out about these papers... I will buy her hair dye as a token apology next time I see her.)

We are NOT this way because we are future pastors... but we are this way because the Holy Spirit allows us to LOVE with eyes wide open, with deep and convicting passion, with forbearance, and most importantly, with forgiveness.  I could not ask for more.  Now I just wish I could bottle that for the world.

Imperfection and M.E.... sharing the TMI at church

I have attended many churches in my life.  The moving has created an opportunity to see and experience more fully how people do and see 'religion' differently.  One aspect never changes though.  Perfection.  Or rather, expectation of perfection.

Whether you attend a service that is dressed to the nines or wear jeans and t-shirts to church, there is still an expectation.  We don't want to see imperfection.  We don't really want to know what is happening in our neighbors home- that might get messy and we would have to give up our precious time to help or support.

We don't want to know the pastor is lonely or struggling with a bully in the congregation (yes, there is always one and pastors won't tell you who it is, but trust me, they are there and they are mean because they can get away with it because pastors won't be mean back).

We sure do not want errors in the bulletin or errant slides or heaven forbid, a bad sound system or musical gift.

We want perfection.

As I read M.E.'s thoughts for today, she speaks of false expectations and at first I was caught up in the friendship side she mentions.  But after some time in silence and meditation I read the passage again and the words "we have false expectations of our holy days, of our churches" jumped off the page at me. Immediately I knew I was guilty of that.  I want my church holidays to deliver some meaningful, emotionally laden and personally life altering experience.  That is not what the church is for.

The church is also not a place for us to put on a face of perfection.  The fact is, you go to church with people who suffer.  They fight inner demons of alcohol, drugs, cruel fists, sexual yearnings and more.  They are not perfect and neither is your pastor.  We are just human.  All of us.

A few places we have been my first complaint to Lance was that I felt like I wasn't being 'let in'.  Really.  I was welcome to help at church and worship there but the personal lives were bricked off like Ft Knox.  I wanted relationship. I wanted personal.  I wanted real.

 How can I pray for you when you won't tell me?  But why on earth would you tell me if I am going to judge or blab about town? I get it. No wonder we build those walls thicker at church than at home.  We are afraid of the judgement.  I know that feeling very well.  I am blessed with a daughter who knows no sense of secrecy when it comes to 'life'.  Her greatest desire upon being hospitalized for depression was for us to tell people where she was and why.  She figured they might be able to find their own inner demons and fight them if she shared hers.

 The hardest part was being so transparent to others at church and her school.  Let me tell you, offering up in verbal prayer to the whole congregation that your daughter is hospitalized for suicidal thoughts is not easy.  It had me quaking in my boots.  I remember thinking, they really will think this is TMI (too much information) but my heart yelled at me, "this is not about them, this is about Sandy and what she wants and needs to heal!"

So I did it.  I prayed for her safety and health and spirit out loud.  I shared with her friends and then, I left service crying several times over the weeks she was not with us. What I found though was not judgement. (*Caveat, there was fear deeply wrapped about the 's' word- and that is another blog for another day- shame and suicide).  Instead I found arms of solace and even more shockingly, as I shared, more and more people came to me crying themselves for the pain they had never shared with another soul or outside their little families.  They worried for grown children, for teens at home.  They mourned their own years of despair spent alone and afraid.  Some of these wounds were dozens of years old!  One woman had watched her little brother go through this when she was a teen, now she is in her late 40's.  Not one word to anyone else in all these years.

As I lowered the mask of perfection, what I saw, felt, heard and experienced was a freedom.  For me, yes.  But for those around me too.  When I took that first step (coerced by mothering instinct alone) I gave them permission to open up too. This allowed my daughter's and my cry for help to be their cry for help in those moments.  Together we grieved and found solace. That would not have happened if I had maintained "perfect" standards.

Don't get me wrong, church is not the place for broad, personal, verbal confession, but it is a place we should find imperfection and we must follow that up with the gifts of grace, mercy and absolute forgiveness. Let's let the message really work.... but first, we have to admit we are imperfect.  

Madeleine L'Engle and Pastoral & Family Care

I am engaging a 40 day journey with my favorite author of all time, Madeleine L'Engle.  You may know her from her "Wrinkle In Time" books.  As I journey through this study, I thought I might share some thoughts that pop up.  You will find me referring to her as "M.E.".  Here goes~

I read a new definition for the word agape today.  It spoke of a love that does not seek control, thanks or enjoyment- just loves.  M.E. said it taught her "not only about forgiveness but about how to hope to give guidance without manipulation."

This kind of love never excludes.  She mentions the weak or old or enemy, but it went so much deeper for me.  It was about control.  It is easier for me to relinquish controlling those I do not like or spend time with by choice.  It is far more difficult to imagine not controlling those dear to me.

I am a control freak by nature.  I would make a horrible drug addict because I cannot stand the feeling that I have no control when I am on pain meds.  I can only imagine it is like that a million times over to be a drug user or addict.  Did you ever think you might find a situation where someone using drugs might be preferable?  Well, there it is.

My need for control steps over into every area of my life.  I want my kids to have perfect hair and skin or at least not to embarrass me in public... or what I imagine others might think about them and then me.  How very selfish.  How unloving.  I want my husband to act and be a gentleman all the time, the perfect suitor.   How very selfish and unloving.  I want others to like me, to find me enchanting and funny, smart and witty, passionate and inspiring.  How very un-agape of me.  In those moments, it is about me.  It is not as M.E. described at all.  It is a love that seeks control, thanks or enjoyment at every turn and is exactly the opposite of the love that Christ seeks in us.

I cannot control those around me and if I were really honest deep down inside, I don't want to because then I would know the results are false positives.  I don't want to control my God either, then I know that it is about me and the promise of forgiveness and salvation then rely on my works, my thoughts, my needs as opposed to the work of the Spirit and Christ on the cross.

I would lose so much in that control.  I would lose a promise that I glimpse every so often.  One that does not ignore my ineptitude or vile selfishness.  Instead it is a promise that lives on in spite of these.  That gives in spite of these.  It forgives my controlling need and leaves a place for me that does not need me to be any of those things I want others to think about me.

As I ponder the lessons of my Pastoral Care class from June, I cannot help but apply them to this concept.  As I seek to support, guide or honor those around me, I cannot in any way expect control. In fact, I will more than likely find myself regularly in the deep end with no sense of control whatsoever.  It is there, in that murky cold and scary water that I will find myself the most accurate.  How I respond then, how I give up the right to control and allow God to move and protect and save will be the life or death of me as a shepherd.

Right now though, it starts at home.  With the little things.  With the ones I love, but may not agape very well.  Today, I learn to live in agape.

How I met Lance

So I am at this fundraiser for our youth group in Germany. We are hosting a Mexican dinner and it is near the end and we are done serving so we all sit down to eat and watch the slides from the last trip (to Spain). I am 16 and with all my friends...and I see this guy sitting all alone at the end of the long table. So, being the outgoing person that I am who needs to make others feel connected... I scooch down the table and invite him to join my friends and I.

Turns out he almost didn't come to the dinner. He bought tickets at the PX(like a walmart on Army posts)and then his friends blew it off. Well he decided to come after all.

He stayed and helped us clean up and then afterward we stood outside looking at the stars while i waited for my ride. We talked about his hometown in Michigan and I knew I was in love with him that night. There was no doubt.

I invited him to join me at church the next day... and he did. I was so glad! After service we would walk across the street to the burger bar and sit and talk for hours. That is what our courtship consisted of. He became my best friend first. I didn't think I stood a chance with him so I never told him I loved him. Then I went out with another guy and the look on Lances face told me I had a shot! I dumped that other guy soooo fast.

So Lance was a new soldier at his first duty station and home sick. We would sit outside the main gate waiting for the bus and talk about home- our home that we would have someday. He told me he loved me and we talked about our future together and he had not even french kissed me! Talk about respect!

The first time we went on a real date we walked downtown with my friend and her boyfriend (also a soldier) to get spaghetti eis ( a German ice cream that looks like spaghetti). While there he held my hand for the first time. I also tried to show off my vocabulary. He made some comment about something that was obvious and I said, " my aren't we astute?" He dropped my hand and stopped walking and asked, incredulous, " I'm a what???" We still laugh to this day! So much for showing off and impressing him- he thought I was calling him names!

Next blog will be about how we lost each other and found each other again- titled My Life: Lost and Found

Amid the boxes and packing paper

Lately it seems my blogs have ended up in my seminary blog, but today, this is just about me and my life.  Not about how it works with seminary.  Today, it is about the fact I sit in this house, as it is almost empty of our things; things that made it our home.  I look around me at all the space- which by the way, feels really good in a whirlwind of busy-ness- and I think of all the room that was made in my heart for my friends here.
We were blessed with a great little congregation.  Not that there have not been times I wanted to rip my hair out over frustration with them, but just like marriage, I believe a congregation chooses you, not the other way around and you stay; a commitment.

Our house is not the only empty place we will leave.  By sheer volume of Kelly bodies alone, we will leave an entire pew empty in our quaint little sanctuary.  And we worry.  Will someone sit and lead other parents and adults in study on Sunday mornings now?  Will the archiving of church photos be completed?  How will the youth groups fare when losing a large number like this?  Not that my family is the be-all end-all for this congregation, but we are a small one and we are not the only ones leaving.  One of the members is leaving to live in warmer weather, another has gone home to await us all.  Many empty spots will appear over this month and ours will be among them.

I look at my boxes, labeled with things we own and often think, they are just things, they are not what matters.  Yet it is the moment I unpack those things that I think of the ones I love and memories we have made along the way.  The Austrian cowbell from friends who took thier parents all over the continent when we all lived in Germany.  The crystal returned just days ago from co-hosting a fancy fundraiser dinner that will now make me think of her as I put it away in my new home.  The vintage map of the Hudson Valley that will be framed and hung to make me think of my dear clothing designer friend, who loves all things vintage.  There will be beach passes to empty from my wallet to make me remember a summer spent learning to walk on an injured ankle down to a hidden cove where we sat, sunned and swam with local friends and read trash and fluff all summer.  And little things will stay on for a while- probably like my A&P and Shoprite store cards on my keychain- that will be months before I remember to take them off- but see them every time I put a new one on for L.A. groceries and pharmacies.

What is always hardest is realizing that like the forwarded mail, the daily thoughts will become fewer, less noticeable.  I will make new friends to add to my growing list of blessings along the way.  I will find new haunts for coffee and new local spots for swimming and hanging out.  I will not forget NY, nor the friends made here- the family of choice that comes with Army life.  I will treasure them and when I pick up these things to pack them again, to leave L.A., I will think the same things again.  So they are not just things.  They are reminders, they reveal in a way the memories that get forgotten in daily life.  They will keep my friends close in my heart, even long years from now when we may have lost touch.

 For now though, I wrap them up with care, I label them and I move on to the next item.  Because if I don't, it isn't about not being ready in time, it is about not being able to function.  I have to set them in those boxes and move on.  I have to say farewell and start again, just like I did in Savannah, in New Jersey, in Wisconsin, in California, in Germany, in Colorado, in Florida, in Tennessee, in Kentucky, in Virginia, in Michigan, and now, New York.  

The answer is... suck it up and drive on

Many a time I am asked, "How do you do it?  How do you live with a man, give him your heart and bear him children, all while knowing he may leave for battle and never return?"  They even ask, "How does he do it?  How does he live with the fact that his job may take his life?"
All too often I want to say, "we don't".  But we do.  We just don't think about it too often and when we do, we pull up our big girl panties, suck it up and drive on.
That is what got every soldier through every battle.  That and the knowledge that 'someone' was back home, praying they would return.
Recently we were blessed to see a dear friend home on R&R (rest and relaxation in the middle of deployment for those non military).  When it was time for us to go, I hugged him and whispered in his ear, "Come home safe. Come home whole.  Not in a box.  Please."  As we walked away all I could think was I love his wife dearly, but I did not know if I would have her strength to help HER through that if it were to happen.
The point is, it happens.  So we cannot ignore it.  We don't "not think about it".  But we do avoid it when we can and live this life, this day, this moment.  We savor this kiss, this hug, this great marital intimacy, NOW.  We even find a way to savor the fights and frustrations.  I may complain that my beloved leaves his dirty underwear on the floor (apparently this is not an uncommon male trait), but as I do, I say a silent prayer of thanks, "he is here to do this, capable to do this, may he always be so."
I teach my children to be proud.  I cry when the National Anthem is played, when any patriotic song comes on.  I teach them and myself to let ourselves be caught up in this moment.  Why?  Because someday, that moment may be all we have left to remind of the one we loved and lost.  But we cannot dwell on it.
I make sure our ducks are in a row. Every good Army wife is trained too.
  Do you believe me?  Our training is subtle, but constant, and as necessary as theirs.   I know where all his paperwork is.  I know whose name is on every policy and what it will deliver should that day come.  I know how to put his ribbons back in order for an open casket.  I know what to expect if that black car pulls up and a chaplain and another officer get out. I know how long I have in housing, how long it will take for the first gratuity to fly in loved ones, what protection is granted us- and what isn't (Westboro baptist thugs) I know these things because if- that ever looming 'if' that is asked all the time of me- if it happens to us, I might be able to lean on that training when nothing else will work inside my broken heart and mind.  My training will be what I act upon by instinct.  And should I never need it, I am surrounded by my sisters in arms, who might need me to be there to gently guide them through in case their training just didn't quite kick in.  That applies in reverse too, which is why I am so invested in training Army spouses (God forbid in all this, but I am being real here.)
So there you have it.  We live with it.  We don't ignore it, we cannot.  It won't let us.  But if we let it consume us, we will drown. What we can do is treasure here, now, and today.  We allow ourselves our moments to delve deeply into the subject, like Memorial Day, when we remember all who have given thier life before us.  We let ourselves shed a tear.  We must do that- to honor them, to remember them.  Then we must let the others take on that task the rest of the time so we can do our job- which is not just to protect and serve, but to live.
Last night a friends husband shared that his mom always tells him"Carpe Diem". I wish that I could, I certainly try.  The thing is, we cannot ignore, we cannot dwell, and some days, we just cannot seize the freaking day.  All we can do is pull up those big girl panties.... suck it up.... and drive on.   That my friends is the answer to how we do it.

facebook gave me roots

We hear it all the time, "facebook ruined my marriage, my friendship, got me fired...".

Well apart from the fact that a computer program cannot do those things, I am here to say that facebook has done something really good, really true, of value, of moment, in my life.

I am a Brat.  yup... proud to say it.  Military, Army to be specific, Brat.  It is what I know.  It is what I do now, I am a BratBride.  I traded one ID card for another.  I had a civilian life once, many years ago, before my parents remarried and I was given a prefix to my sponsors ID#.

To be fair, that first life was when I was young, by the time I was 12 I was a Brat.  But the moving started much earlier.  I love my parents, let me just say that.  I am not trying to be unfair or mean, but the fact is, in general, every time my parents split up or got back together we moved.  So we could argue my training for Army life began early. Add to that, my father is a GOOD solid German Norwegian.  In good Scandinavian style, "we" don't speak about family, it might be gossip.  But that rule also stopped me from learning about my heritage. I lost an invaluable treasure trove of stories about who I am and who I come from.  I know what I learned from my mom's side and can only IMAGINE what I would feel if I had been able to connect to my fathers family in the same way.  I didn't even know what I had lost until I lived in Wisconsin.  There the women of my church and quilting group taught me old family recipes.  They shared thier stories of thier families in that odd womanly way that doesn't qualify as gossip somehow.

Let me back up though.  I have always felt like I had no roots, no home.  Once told that there is no way anyone doesn't have a place they truly call home, they said emphasized by asking where I want to be buried.  In all honesty, with a straight face, I answered, " Dig a hole beside my body and role me in."  I was and still am serious.  I have no place I call home.  None.  In face, I have few places I can go where anyone would recognize me if I showed up today.  My life is that ephemeral. Thus, I have no roots.
That is, I didn't.  Until facebook appeared.

Somehow, the roots to my high school- that no longer exists (due to BRAC, Base Realignment and Closure started in the 80's) were found through this neverland of the world wide web.  There have been reunions, there are groups, there are close friends reconnecting and recalling the fun.  Even the icky stuff too- but all of that is required to have roots.  You know, it takes poop to make good plants grow deep roots too.

 I have found many a dear friend on here.  Some, we find, we read up on each other and we then settle into a non-interactive connection again.  Others, who may not have been my closest confidants, are now quickly becoming the ones to whom I go for support, connection, encouragement and truth.  I know the rules.  I don't do that with the guys.  I have a loving hubby and I am not willing to risk that.  But that doesn't mean I won't add a guy to my friends list.  They are a root too.  Maybe one of those tiny ones, but they count.  They are a part of my past, a part of my now and will be a part of my future, even without facebook.

I have connected with cousins.  I have been shown pictures I did not know existed of me as a young girl.  I have found distant relatives through my grandfathers cousins!  I am finally, creating my own "web" of roots- and facebook is to credit, not to blame.  It has been a blessing in my life.  It has connected me with my college pals in Kansas and Minnesota.  It allows me to participate in Bible study groups.  It has let me learn who my husband is and has given me a key to that treasure trove of stories in my father's family, so that now I may share this with my children. I finally feel almost confidant enough to reach out to family in Minnesota to ask if I may come visit, to see family history in person, to see faces that look like mine, hair of flax that looks like my children's.
Yup... for once, facebook has done as good as an inanimate object may.  This Brat has finally found some roots, in spite of my lifestyle.  Thank goodness for this marriage wrecking, job losing, friend turned enemy making site.

breathe.....

For Jeannie, and all who live a day of life missing a loved one who has gone on before us.


You took that breath last night in awe and wonder at amber moon light.
Missing those loved ones now a memory, wondering if connection yet exists.

You breathed them back into you- and sighed them out to the universe.

When we breathe we share infinite atoms that all life has breathed in before us.
That breath during birth shares the last of another and wraps us together eternally.

When you wonder if they will live on, will they be there in Three hundred years,
you can know deep inside, to the very atomic makeup that is Jeannie,
they are still here- and not just with you, but with me.

When I breath in this Christmas, with joy at the smiles of my children,
I will share that love of your loved ones.

It is said when we breathe we are speaking Gods name
and  when we consider breath the most silent and ultimate of gift
it all makes sense in that great cosmic way.

When we say goodbye to this earth, we do leave our love behind,
and it is given and remembered when we sob in grief, when we shout in ecstasy, and when we sigh in exhaustion.
They are in every moment of our lives yet.

Do not wonder my friend... know. And breathe.

Make a Memory

Originally written 28 May 2010.

Last night Bon Jovi sang this song... and I listened to the words as always, and felt sad as always. It was that sad joy that comes with saying goodbye but also devouring every moment left.

It reminds me of so many moments in my past when I wanted one more moment with someone- to hold onto and cherish forever if I couldn't have them.

I held onto those memories of my love through two icky relationships- never dreaming I would have him again in my arms.

Most people have that one "what if" person in their past... the 'what if we had tried, or tried harder' person. The person that makes them forget for a moment that they are happily married.
I have to say I almost cried when I realized I don't. I have him here, in my arms, kissing me sweetly goodnight as he wraps me into his arms. He wakes me with the same words, for over 17 years now- "Good Morning, I love you."

Those who know me well have heard me say Titanic was a beautiful movie that I will never watch again. It is because it saddens me. I have found that love and I do not want to lose it- and the fact is, life happens and we do. I know that time will come soon enough. Hopefully in another 50+ years, but it will come nonetheless and I will still not be prepared for the loss.

In the meantime, I am sadly happy for my life, for what I have that so many do not. Sometimes I want to feel guilty, sometimes I minimize my blessings to others. The fact is though, that I am blessed beyond measure to have the man of my dreams, a really good man, by my side and that there is no other "what if" person in the past anymore now that he is by my side.


(You want to) Make a Memory (by Jon Bon Jovi)

Hello again
It's you and me
Kinda always like it used to be
Sipping wine, killing time
Trying to solve lifes mysteries
How's your life.
It's been awhile
God it's good to see you smile
I see you reaching for your keys
Looking for a reason not to leave

If you don't know, if you should stay
If you don't say, whats on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's nowhere else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory

I dug up this old photograph
Look at all that hair we had
It's bittersweet to hear your laugh
Your phone was ringing I don't wanna ask

If you go now, I'll understand
If you stay, hey, I got a plan
You want to make a memory
You want to steal a piece of time
You can sing the melody to me
And I can write a couple lines
You want to make a memory

If you don't know, if you should stay
And you don't say, whats on your mind
Baby just breathe
There's nowhere else tonight we should be
You want to make a memory
You want to steal a piece of time
You can sing the melody to me
And I can write a couple lines
You want to make a memory
You want to make a memory

my grandma

For my Grandma T;

Upon this last breath I give her up and trust her to the Lord's embrace. She will feel no more of these worldly things that cause us hurt.

Her pearly white locks will be full of color and youth, her eyes sparkling with joy and excitement as she wanders her grandfathers shop of second hand goods on the end of eternity street. Her soft wrinkled skin will be firm with the color of springtime blossoms reflected in the perfection.

She will know the names of all those who passed before her- the ones she has poured over for years- and now she will have a face to go with. She can ask the questions of them that sit open in those books of history with no answer we know now. And we will envy this knowledge with a smile.

She will sit at a table with her mother and daddy; engaging in loving banter, laughter and joy. She will prepare a place for her lover, her child, her progeny, and wait patiently for us to join her- enjoining us to wait for our time and not come too soon.

She will no longer roll beside us in her scooter, will not guide us over the phone, will not chide us lovingly for a poor choice. She will not holler "Worth" with that disapproving voice when he tells an all too colorful family story... nor will she call out, "Worth" when she seeks his guidance, his voice, his wisdom to balance with hers.

She will not dance with her granddaughters for now. She will no longer crochet an afghan to wrap around us on cold nights when we cry our tears over her passing and her personalized patches sewn with love on each one will become a legacy to future generations.

She is tiny again, a wraith of beauty that no one needs peach colored glasses to see clearly- they will all see her as her beloved did for over 58 years. She now lives in our memories as all too human and frail- not the woman of strength and character we knew- but one whose strength we only now begin to grasp.

Her loving arms will not hold another generation and her missing birthday cards will be the most painful moment of each of our birthdays for years to come. There will be no more PTA baths- instead her lithe heavenly form, slipping gently into sweetly scented pools of crystal clear water that slide over her skin like silk and she breathes deeply and swims with no effort as far as the eye can see.

We will catch our breath as we feel the tears run down our cheeks, struggling to swallow, grasping for solace in words that right now are so lacking in solace... and yet.... we are filled with joy for her- with love that words cannot express our respect, honor, awe, tribute and adoration.

Instead of locked to a chair, taking each breathe from a tube, she will run, ski on one ski, rebuild an engine, climb to a roof, and never, ever need to worry that she cannot breathe.

Now she will dance with cousins long gone, fish with her daddy, walk with our Jesus and know a peace we could not give her here. She will be free, glancing back with a loving expression as if to say- "you will be okay, I taught you well. It is time for you and me both to fly."

And then she will.