These Dreams

I have very vivid dreams. Often, they are weird, rambling, and random. One strange sequence segues into the next, seemingly without connection or context. Bizarre combinations of characters appear in detailed plot lines. Sometimes I am one of the characters, sometimes not. Sometimes “I” appear, but not as Kim. That was the case last night. I was a young woman with brown hair, married to one of three brothers. We all lived in a huge, scary old house together, along with their widowed father, another sister-in-law, the youngest brother’s inappropriate girlfriend, two children, a baby, and hundreds of gross little animals.

See what I mean?

Really random.

Some mornings, I wake up exhausted from all the nocturnal adventure.

Who knows what brain activity ignites these strange images behind the curtain of our minds? What does it mean? Sometimes I wish I could call someone like Joseph or Daniel and ask for an interpretation.

Both scientifically and theologically speaking, it appears that many dreams, perhaps most, have no real spiritual significance. (Although the psychological implications, of course, are a whole different matter.) According to the New Bible Dictionary, the Israelites during Old Testament times were far less occupied with the dream phenomenon than were the majority of their contemporaries, such as the Egyptians or Babylonians. It goes on to state, “dreams are said to derive from the activities in which the dreamer has been immersed during the day. (Ec.,v.3) However, the OT recognizes that, whatever the origin of a dream, it may become a means by which God communicates with men…”

According to my calculations based upon Strong’s Concordance, a form of the word “dream” appears in the Bible 122 times. Although I certainly don’t believe that every dream is a coded message sent straight from the Almighty, throughout the Bible there are telling examples of dreams used as vehicles of divine communication:

“The angel of God said to me in the dream, 'Jacob.' I answered, 'Here I am.' “ (Gen. 31:11

“But God came to Abimelech in a dream one night and said to him…” (Gen. 20:3)

"But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” (Matt. 1:20)

Hmmmmm…if not for a dream, Jesus might have been considered illegitimate?

I would say that’s fairly significant.

***************

Yesterday, I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. She told me that she and her family are praying for Katherine. Then she said, “It’s really weird, but I just had a dream about Katherine a few days ago. In the dream, she was completely well. She was speaking to a large group of people. And there was a little baby with her.”

I cannot tell you how many stories like this we have heard since Katherine’s injury. Different people have shared eerily similar details. In many of the dreams, Katherine is making a speech. In more than one, she is with a baby. Several people have seen her in a purple dress…which is funny, because she doesn’t even like purple. I heard a fascinating story about someone who had never seen Katherine or a picture of her. Never heard of her. This person received a request to pray for Katherine. She asked, “Is she a tall, pretty, blonde girl?” When the affirmative was given, she said, “I had a dream about her last night. She’s going to be fine.”

I don’t presume to understand.

Is God communicating words of hope through these dreams? Could they be prophetic? Or are the good wishes of those who know of Katherine’s situation causing them to have her image planted in their subconscious minds in such a way that it manifests in these dreams?

It is a mystery.

Only God knows.

But I am pondering these words:

“…whatever the origin of a dream, it may become a means by which God communicates with men…”

I am listening.

***************

I have a very special request:

Some of the dream stories were shared with us in the early days of ICU, when it was difficult to breathe, much less think or remember. As time went on, I hoped to make a record of these dreams for Katherine. Sadly, loss of memory is just one of the many unfortunate symptoms of menopause. I’m sorry that I've let so many stories slip away, so many details blur together. So I'd like to invite anyone who has ever had a dream about Katherine to send me your story. It doesn’t need to be long…4 or 5 sentences might cover it. Whatever you’re willing to share.

I would love to have you post your story on “comments” below. Recently, I’ve been told that some people have had trouble with it. This is what you do:

1. Hit "comments" at the bottom of this post.

2. Under "Choose an identity," enter your google account (gmail, etc.) if you have one. If you do not have a google account, hit "sign up here."

3. Type in your existing email and a password. (2x)

4. Under "Display name" put whatever you’re comfortable with. (First name is fine; initials, nom de plume, alias, etc.)

5. Decipher the squiggly letters under "Word Verification" and type them in the box.

6. Check "Terms of Service."

7. Hit "continue."

You should be able to post your comments then. Please let me know if it still doesn’t work.

Thank you so much!

Kim

***************

“…and then, in dreaming,

The clouds methought would open and show riches

Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,

I cried to dream again.”

William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Bliss

There is great beauty in symmetry.

You don’t always get it in life. Many times, things are left open-ended, without conclusion or closure. One random thing progresses after another, without any discernible pattern.

Symmetry makes me feel safe, like there is order in the universe after all. A bookend on either end of an experience seems to give it more definition. I can understand it better in reflection. Reinforcement is a valuable learning tool.

As we prepare for huge changes in the next few weeks, it was comforting to receive that second bookend as a little gift.

***************

Exactly one month after Katherine’s AVM rupture, I'd posted the following on her Caringbridge site:

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Yesterday, I left the hospital to walk to a spa named "Bliss." Some of Katherine's incredible friends who know about my spine/fibro/artho pain arranged for me have a massage there. On the way, I started grumbling at God. I told Him there were too many babies who weren't wanted in the first place. I reminded Him of all the abusive or just-average mothers in the world. I brought back to His attention the fact that Katherine is the most head-over-heels in-love mother I've ever seen. I questioned His judgment in depriving James of such a mother at such a critical bonding time.

Just then, I crossed the street into a church parking lot where I saw the sign above. Obviously, God was sending a subtle reminder that, a.) I shouldn't question providence and, b.) Katherine's brain cells are His property. Then, I noticed a line of large river stones strewn through the parking lot and out into the street directly across from "Bliss." (Is any interpretation needed there?)

This morning I found out that the ventrix had been removed from Katherine's brain.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow....even to grumblers like me.

Love, Kim

In trying to refresh my mind about that now-misty time, I went back to May, 2008, in the archives. I discovered that I had introduced the concept of ‘memorial stones’ in a blog just the day before the events described above.

God’s timing gives me chills.

***************

“Bliss” spa is in the ultra-elegant “W” Hotel. The “W” exemplifies extreme LA cool. The décor is slick and modern, but with a twist. Mind-boggling flowers and multiple chic furniture groupings grace the generous spaces. Dramatic low lighting and fragrant candles infuse the atmosphere with an exotic Eastern fusion vibe. Entering the lobby feels like entering another dimension. A little bit like paradise.

But the “W” just happens to be less than half a block from the old hospital, our original hotel, and the current apartment in Westwood.

Our introduction to the “W” came as the result of a gift of love. Just prior to her brain injury, Katherine had become involved in a group called “Mothers and Others” at Bel Air Presbyterian. They are an unusually amazing group of young women. (I have mentioned them before. It was they who trailed the halls of the abandoned old UCLA hospital looking for the sole survivors in the Neuro-Rehab unit in order to bring us lunch every day, tiny children thrown in strollers for the lengthy ride.) As if the constant, costly meals weren’t enough, they took up a collection to send me to “Bliss” for a massage. It is not the most economical place in LA for this service. It represented sacrificial love.

Katherine was still in ICU at the time, facing many critical challenges. Leaving the hospital that day for my appointment at “Bliss,” I felt drained and discouraged. The “miracle euphoria” was wearing off. Although we were still surrounded by teams of encouragers, the reality of what lay ahead was extremely sobering. It was starting to sink in…denial was dissipating.

I walked across the street into a church parking lot to take a shortcut to the “W.” I couldn’t shake the questioning going on in my head. In a way, I guess I was asking God if He really knew what He was doing.

At the moment I was thinking those things, I looked up to see the sign right in front of my face. I couldn’t believe it. I just love it when He’s that overt. Sometimes I’m kind of slow with modern parable symbols. But then, when I looked down and saw the big stone at my feet, I was overwhelmed. There was a line of them going through the parking lot, across the next street, right up to the steps leading to Bliss. It reminded me of the trail of crumbs Hansel and Gretl left on the forest floor to find their way back home. I got it that time.

Months later, Katherine was treated to the same experience at Bliss. As my mother and I sat in the pleasant waiting area, the manager came up and started a conversation. She was moved by Katherine’s situation, and very generously gave us gift certicates to come back for a spa pedicure as her guests.

It never worked out for us to go back while Mother was out here. But Katherine, the ultimate Frugalista, never forgot about those gift certificates.

Friday was Katherine and Jay’s 5^th anniversary. They came into LA and we had a little celebration before Jay took Katherine out for a fabulous dinner. The next morning, we went back to Bliss to cash in the gift certificates. She wanted to make sure they were used before we leave Westwood.

We had a lovely time together, chilling in the ‘relaxing room’ afterwards…scarfing down free food and tea. As we were (very reluctantly) leaving, I noticed that the same kind of river stones I’d seen in the church parking lot a year and a half ago had been used as filler in the flowerbeds at the “W.” Evidently, the truck originally holding them must have taken that same shortcut through the parking lot. I reached down and picked up the most tangible memorial stone I’ve collected yet: (Thanks, W!)

...A fitting second bookend to this time in Westwood. A reminder of how far we’ve come since the first time I visited “Bliss.”

The concept of collecting stones of remembrance is scattered throughout the Old Testament. In each case, they are to be symbolic reminders that God has intervened in the world in some definitive way…whether it’s altering the natural order of things, such as parting raging waters; giving supernatural help in achieving victory over enemies; or by manifesting an appearance of some kind, such as in the making of a covenant. In each case, His message is: Remember this. Carry it with you in your heart. Don’t forget it the next time adversity comes, and you can’t see me or hear my voice. I am with you even then. Remember how I have rescued you in the past. Remember how I have touched you. Remember how I have made a way, when none existed. Hold fast to these memories, for I am the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I will never, never, never leave you or forsake you. Even when the great darkness obscures my face, I am with you still. I will come to you again. And I will act. I will fight against those who fight against you. The victory is already mine.

In this journey of life, we will fight one battle after the next, face one hardship after another. We will be afraid, we will stumble, we will want to turn back. Sometimes we may want to give up, maybe even lie down under a tree and pray for death, as the prophet Elijah did. But God has said that He will help us, rescue us, defend us, and comfort us every time we earnestly turn to him in our fear and despair. We are to carry reminders of how He has in the past.

Carrying those stones uphill will make us stronger.

And the long, hard road leads straight to Bliss.

That is home.

**************

bliss

 

–noun

1.	supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment: wedded bliss.

2.	Theology. the joy of heaven.

3.	heaven; paradise: the road to eternal bliss.

4.	Archaic. a cause of great joy or happiness.

…the more understanding and knowledge we have by the gracious leading of the Holy Spirit, the more we shall see and know our failings. And always, the more that we see them, the more naturally we shall long to be completely filled with love and bliss. For we are made for endless joy and bliss, and our natural substance is now blissful in God, has been so since it was made, and shall be so without end.” (14^th showing)

“In the same manner we know that when man fell so deeply and so wretchedly by sin, there was no other help to restore man but through Him who made man. He Who made man for love wills, by the same love, to restore him to his former bliss, and give him even more.” (2nd showing)

For it is God’s will that we hold ourselves in His Comfort with all our might, for bliss is everlasting, while pain is passing and shall be reduced to nothingness for those who shall be saved. Therefore it is not God’s will that we follow the feelings of pain, sorrowing, and mourning on their own account, but that we immediately pass beyond them and hold ourselves in the endless delight that is God. (8^th showing)

(From The Revelation of Divine Love by Dame Julian of Norwich (14th cent.), translated by M.L. del Mastro)

**************

(Wedded Bliss.)

Restoration Time

October 16 was James’ 2nd birthday. Following an Arnold family tradition, he had a “family only” party this year. (He'd been blessed with a huge one for his first.) Because Katherine and Amie’s birthdays were less than two weeks apart, we'd instituted an “every-other-year” party schedule during their childhoods. The Mom couldn’t handle two cake-smearing scream-fests in such close proximity.

Katherine decided that this was a good model to follow.

Unfortunately, the day didn’t turn out exactly as planned, because Katherine had an unexpected doctor’s appointment at the time when she wanted to have the party. Instead, we just had cupcakes and presents after a nice dinner that James’ daddy prepared at the apartment in LA. James’ aunties Amie and Grace were the only guests. James was delighted with the Elmo arrangement I’d assembled on the table, but wasn’t sure about the rest of the deal. He burst into tears when we all got in his face to sing “Happy Birthday.”

Following that, he immediately began acting his chronological age.

After supper, Katherine tried to get him to sit on the sofa with her to watch his new birthday movie. He clung to me like his life depended on it. When she pulled him closer to her, he struck out at her. That’s when I noticed the scratch on her neck. "He's very angry at me," Katherine said when I asked her about it.

Although it broke my heart to hear those words coming out of her mouth, in some ways it was a relief to finally get it all out on the table…acknowledge the elephant in the room. “He just doesn’t understand,” I told her.

***************

The next morning, I checked my email. A timely devotional from Joni* had arrived:

My Birthday Tree

Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it. (Gen. 28:18)

What a beautiful month this is! I remember the trees back on our family farm in Maryland rustling their colorful skirts, ablaze in wild reds and crazy yellows. Of all the oaks, maples, and pines on our farm, one particular tree was my favorite. It was an old, spreading maple growing by the spring house. In October its leaves were resplendent in red, tinged with purple edges. And I know that on my birthday, October 15, this maple would reach its peak of color as it did every year. For this reason, I called it my birthday tree.

Each year my tree marked how far I'd come or what I had or hadn't done. It was my "stone of remembrance." Jacob had a stone of remembrance. He heaped together a pillar of stones to mark the spot where God had pledged in a dream to watch over Jacob and to bless his descendants. The pillar of stones was a visible, concrete reminder that God had touched his life.

That's what birthdays are, too--our private marks in time, our stones of remembrance. I want my birthday, like that maple tree, to be a mark of change in my life. Something to show progress and growth…

God’s timing.

October 15 is the day of my father’s death. October 16 is the day of James’ birth. Brooks and I just returned from his dad's 85th birthday party in Palm Beach...one of the two living greatgrandfathers (named James) for whom our own little James Thompson Wolf is named. It’s strange how many of my closest friends have October birthdays.

Milestones.

The night we celebrated James’ birthday, Katherine happened to introduce that topic into our conversation. James' birthday was somewhat sobering for her. A reminder of all she’s missed.

On the morning of April 21, 2008, James was a well-loved, 6-month-old, breastfed baby. His mommy was a beautiful, vivacious, active, hands-on parent. She had a lovely voice that constantly crooned comforting words to her little one.

A sweet moment is crystallized in my mind: We are sitting on the sofa in the Malibu apartment. Katherine picks her baby up and holds him high over her head. She smiles into his face and sing-songs, “Jamesie Boy, my little love nugget!” He bursts into giggles and drools down into her face. She laughs, too.

Katherine couldn’t stand to be away from that baby. I’ve never seen a mother so dizzily besotted. James was enveloped in a cozy cocoon of warm, happy love.

But then she went away.

***************

James has had many “mothers” since then. A village, in fact. Katherine’s close friends Anna and Andy took him into their home and treated him as their own in the early weeks of ICU. Anna was pregnant with their first child at the time. Jay’s sister Sarah came back from Africa to care for him for several months after that. James’ two grandmothers have been the primary care-takers since then, greatly assisted by Jay’s aunt Judy, Katherine’s cousins Michelle and Elizabeth, Jay’s sister Mary Austin and cousin Natalie, and many wonderful friends like Miss Liz, Miss Cindy, and Miss Lacey. James is a lucky little boy to have so much love. His grandmothers are blessed to be able to have such uniquely close bonds with a grandchild. He adores Honey and Mimi, and, of course, we absolutely adore him back.

But.

Neither of us is his mommy.

He just doesn’t really realize that right now.

Frequently, I feel guilty about my relationship with James. It seems as if I’m stealing something from my own child, taking candy away from my own baby. It’s her sugar I’m getting. Her affection I’m borrowing, her kisses I’m stealing.

In LA, I'm sometimes mistaken for James’ mother. Celebs have set an example for late-life child-raising, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. But as flattering as the mistake may be, I make sure that I work the distinction into the conversation as soon as possible. “No, I’m his grandmother,” I emphasize.

As a child, I was in love with both of my grandmothers. Sometimes they were more fun than my poor mother, who had the thankless job of being my primary disciplinarian. But, still, my mama was my mama. It was she to whom I turned first with a boo-boo or a broken heart.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I started singing a little song to James:

"Honey is your GRANDmama, And Mimi is your GRANDmama, But Mommy is your REAL mama!"

I have no idea if he has a clue what any of that means.

It makes me feel sad and angry.

Katherine has been outrageously robbed. Pestilential locusts have come in like the Mongolian Horde and raped, pillaged, and destroyed much that is beautiful and sacred. They have invaded the sweet sanctuary of a mother’s intimacy with her first-born child and knocked over the altar, spilled the wine, and broken the stained glass windows. They have eaten away precious moments that can never be regained, gorged themselves on memories never made.

I think that James’ second birthday had the unfortunate side effect of materializing Katherine’s realization of these thefts and losses. In some ways, it served as a milestone reminding her of missed opportunities, adventures, and intimacies. I can imagine her subconscious screaming, “Where has the time gone? Where have I been? How much did I sleep through? Can we please replay that part with the 9-month-old little boy? The 1-year-old?? Can I watch him learn to crawl…to drink from a cup…say his first word? How is it possible that I missed all that? I didn’t get to do the things I wanted to do for him!”

But.

"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten-the great locust and the young locust,the other locusts and the locust swarm…You will have plenty to eat, until you are full,and you will praise the name of the LORD your God,who has worked wonders for you…” (Joel 2:25-26)

God’s got to repay Katherine, Jay, and James for a lot of locust damage.

It’s a good thing they have the assurance policy.

***************

James is very confused right now. He does seem angry with his mother. I wonder what’s going on in his subconscious as well. Does he think his mother abandoned him? Does he fully understand that The Before and The After are even the same person? Is he mad at her for changing? For not turning out to be who he thought she was?

It’s normal for kids to hate their parents, occasionally. We may give them good reason. Sometimes we’re not capable of giving them what they need at the time they need it. It might be because they don’t understand our motives…can’t see our hearts. Don’t realize that we’re just flawed human beings doing the best we can. Or perhaps it may be misdirected anger…self-hatred or frustration that can’t be realized. Or simple thwarted self-will. A child may interpret discipline as cruelty.

We have to love our children enough to let them hate us on occasion. We may have to allow them to think we’ve abandoned them when we haven’t.

Sometimes we may feel as if our heavenly Daddy has abandoned us, as well.

But He hasn’t. It’s just that we can’t always see His heart.

We have to try to focus on the Big Picture. In the end, all will be well. Everything will be resolved. We will understand fully, even as we're fully understood. Until then, we struggle through this mortal existence with partial clarity, doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt. We fall, and rise back up; we’re broken, and then mended.

And, hopefully, we give each other grace. Much, much grace.

I believe there will be healing, restoration, and forgiveness. Where there is dismantling, there will be rebuilding; where there is unraveling, there will be reknitting; where there is separation, there will be rebonding.

Because I believe this, I have to trust that all will be well with my daughter and her son one day. I go back to the memorial stone I received on the airplane ride mentioned in “Hope against Hope.” (Archives, 12-14-08) I remember what 'God’s messenger’ told me then. His sister, the mother of a young child, had a very severe stroke, resulting in a coma. The doctors were completely without hope. But there was a miracle. Although the young mother missed much critical time with that child, he grew to be closer to her than any of her others. And the most well-adjusted.

***************

A couple of days after his birthday, James decided that he’d really test out this "Terrible Two" thing. He morphed into Sid Vicious. He was awful to Katherine, hitting her, scratching at her, and pushing her away. "James, please don’t be so mean to Mama. It hurts my feelings.” Katherine said to him. When I came over to the sofa to intervene, he ran off. “I’m sorry, BooBoo,” I tried to comfort her. “He’s just acting out. It’ll get better.”

“I know it will, Mom. I can wait,” she assured me.

("But how long’s it gonna take?” I wondered.)

***************

Sunday morning, James came up to me and sweetly begged, “Hode ju, Mimi, hode ju!” Although I was putting makeup on at the time, I picked him up and hugged him tight. We looked at ourselves hugging in the mirror. His arms clenched around my neck, he sang, “Mimi is my GRANDmama.”

When I took James in to see his mother, he didn’t fight me or try to run away. I handed him to her in bed. Putting his arms around her neck, he said, “Good munnin', Mama.”

“Do you love me, James?” Katherine asked.

“I wuz you, Mama,” James answered.

Then he smeared a little wet nose matter on her face.

One day, everything’s gonna be alright.

***************

“This is what the Lord says: At just the right time, I will respond to you. On the day of salvation I will help you…

Sing for joy, O heavens!
 Rejoice, O earth!
 Burst into song, O mountains!
For the Lord has comforted his people
and will have compassion on them in their suffering…

Can a mother forget her nursing child?
Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! 
See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands…

Soon your descendants will come back, and all who are trying to destroy you will go away. Look around you and see,
for all your children will come back to you. “As surely as I live,” says the Lord “they will be like jewels or bridal ornaments for you to display…

This is what the Sovereign Lord says: “See, I will give a signal to the godless nations. They will carry your little sons back to you in their arms;
they will bring your daughters on their shoulders…”

(Promises of Restoration, excerpted from Isaiah 49)

*Joni Eareckson Tada, www.communications@joniandfriends.org

Hi, Friends,

Just a note to say that I'm able to write again, and hope to post some thoughts by Monday.

In addition to rose-smelling time with James, I forgot my laptop when we went to stay in Pomona last week. (I always forget something!)

I did have some good intercessory prayer time. Having seen it's great efficacy in our own situation, I am trying to be more faithful and consistent in interceding for others. I would particularly like to ask you to join me in praying for the situation mentioned in the first comment on the previous blog. A little 3 1/2 year old boy has been diagnosed with leukemia. How my heart goes out to this family! And my prayers go up for them.

Life is so very fragile. Attending therapy with Katherine at Casa Colina this week, my heart broke for some of the new patients there. I pray that they will be given the gift of HOPE in spite of their seemingly hopeless circumstances. Our own problems seem "light and temporary" in comparison to those.

We are all in the same lifeboat in a stormy sea, as Chesterton says, so let us love one another truly, from the heart.

Find some joy this weekend.

And share it.

Love, Kim

The Cast

In checking out the little counter thing at the bottom, I noticed that there have been more "first-time visitors" than usual. I wonder why that is?

Anyway, it dawned on me that, for someone just stopping by to check things out, it's like starting a novel in the middle of the 20th chapter.

Personally, I hate it when people pepper their conversation with unfamiliar names, assuming that the listener is clairvoyant. "I was talking to Henry the other day, and he said......" (Henry Who? What does Henry have to do with me or this conversation???) I realize that I was guilty of that offense in the "Split Second" post.

Because it is a little pet peeve of mine, I thought it might be a good idea to list the major cast members for any interested new-comers. Literally thousands of people have played a part in this story. Doctors, nurses, pastors, friends, relatives, strangers, and prayer warriors have all had vital roles.

But these are some of the primary players I might (rudely) reference without identification:

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

(Not necessarily in order of appearance)

Katherine Arnold Wolf--the heroine

Jay(aka Jason)--her husband

James--their adorable son

Brooks (“BigB”)--Katherine’s father

Kim (“Mimi”)--Katherine’s mother

Amie--the “Middle Sister”

Grace--the youngest Arnold sister

Dr. Jay (aka “Big J” and “Poppy”)--Jay III’s dad

Mary Ruth (“Honey”)--Jay III’s mother

Sarah--the oldest Wolf daughter

Jeremiah--her husband

Mary Austin--middle Wolf daughter

Alex--youngest Wolf daughter

Johnny--Jay’s 1^st cousin who lives in LA

I do welcome those new to our family's story, and invite you to skim through some of the early posts from 2008 to learn more about how it all started, and how very far we've come since then. It has been an agonizing, but miraculous, journey so far.

And it is very far from over.

***************

"Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far has the Lord helped us." (I Samuel 7:12)

Smelling Roses

I have the enfant terrible all by myself in LA for a few days. (Having turned '2' last week, he now officially qualifies as terrible.) Our most precious, adorable little monster refuses to let me spend more than a few minutes on the Mac without getting jealous for my attention.

We are very busy making multiple messes and cleaning them up.

There is little time for anything else. So I've decided not to try.

We're just gonna stop and smell the roses. Walk around Westwood and look for signs of fall.

Just be for a few days. No expectations.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the flowers. I thought it was a good fall mix. (Trader Joe's, of course!)

Love,

Kim

p.s. Oh yes...I will be praying for all of you who have shared needs with me. So many people are going through such pain, trials, and hardships. Sometimes prayer is absolutely the most active thing you can do.

I'll be busy.

A Split Second

Sunday* was a good day.

Our nuclear family was reunited. We attended a wonderful service at BelAir Presbyterian. The sermon was on the parable of the prodigal son, which is my all-time favorite. The music was spectacular. We floated out on a happiness high.

Afterwards, we tried a new (for us) place in Brentwood for brunch. It was bright, chic, and elegant. The food was fabulous. We were joined by good friends Melissa and Hayley, and by Jay’s cousin, Johnny, who was just back from shooting a movie in Canada. It was a sweet time, full of convivial conversation and loud laughter. We had much to celebrate…Katherine’s recent progress…Grace and Hayley’s pledging of their favorite sorority at Pepperdine that week…Johnny’s upcoming movies and new contracts.

James entertained himself (and us) by putting bread, goldfish, Thomas the Train, and his juice box into glasses of water and on the floor. The wait staff was amused, not irritated. We lingered as long as we could, reluctant to go our separate ways.

We lingered even longer in the parking lot. Johnny made James laugh maniacally by turning him upside down and whooshing him around. Amie was cracking one-liners. Plans were being discussed, goodbyes and phone numbers being exchanged.

Everyone and no one was in charge of James.

I looked up to see him running across the parking lot to Jay’s car, where Brooks was helping him get Katherine settled in. At the same moment, I saw the rear lights of a van go on, in preparation for backing out.

A sharp panic rose up in my chest and burst out into a loud, hoarse scream. “Wait!” I yelled, to the car, to James, to God, to the moment. “WAAAAAIIIIITTTT!!!!” Then I started screaming my husband’s name.

As I screamed, I started running. In my little church dress and shoes, I burst forward like a horse out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. Later, my family told me that they didn’t know it was physically possible for me to run that fast. I don’t really remember it. It was one of those slo-mo 15 seconds.

All I saw was a little boy toddling toward danger. The light of our lives oblivious to the risk to his.

And all I know is that I was going to get behind that van before he did, whether I had to fly or crawl.

I can barely write about it without feeling as if I’m going to throw up.

I guess the people in the van either saw or heard the lunatic charging up behind them. After scooping James up into my arms, I ran to Katherine and Jay's car like it was our team's goalpost with 3 seconds left in the game. I cried a little as they buckled him into his car seat. I couldn't breathe.

For the rest of the day, I was so shaken that I felt sick. I took some Advil and lay down with a pillow on my face when we got back to the apartment. When the 'happiness high' bubble burst, it left behind a dispersion of gray fog.

I think it was because I know something now, more than I've ever known it before:

It just as easily could have happened as not.

I think of the horror of what the Steven Curtis Chapman family has endured.* I’m sure that day probably started out as an ordinary day.

Those kinds of days usually do.

And then, in a split second, everything changes forever.

Cherish every little average moment...before it splits.

********************************************************

p.s. To ease Katherine's anxiety on the way home from the parking lot scene, Jay sang an old favorite from their childhoods: Amy Grant's "Angels Watching Over Me." It serves as a good reminder for all of us.

They do.

*9-27-09

*www.christianitytoday.com/music/news/2008/sccfamily.html

Flexibility

This summer, I “celebrated” a fairly major birthday. I received a card from a local department store inviting me to enjoy my Senior discount. The checkout guy at Earthfare gave me one without my even asking for it.

Gee, thanks, for that insulting 10% savings on the tofu.

In some ways, it seems like a big joke. The surface may have changed, but there’s still a 17-year-old girl inside, on her way to a Led Zeppelin concert in a GTO. A skinny child-bride playing house. A young mother with Eighties Big Hair and a string of darling little daughters in matching outfits trailing behind her.

In other ways, I feel about 105.

Strange how life creeps and flies at the same time.

***************

My husband surprised me with the gift of sessions with a personal trainer in LA. I’m supposed to be continuing with a physical therapy/exercise program on my own, but, unfortunately, I face significant challenges in the self-discipline department. He thought I could use a little push in the right direction.

My trainer is a beautiful young woman from the Ukraine named Anastasia. I’ve always loved the name. It means “Resurrection” in Russian. She is trying to help me resurrect this tired, achy old body of mine. Sometimes I call her “Anastasia Grozhnaya,” “Anastasia the Terrible,” because she forces me out of my comfort zone. (i.e. “no pain or sweating.”)

It seems not so very long ago that I could plop myself down on the floor, throw my legs out at 180 degree angles, and press my chest to the floor. As long as I did that every once in a blue moon, it remained easy to do. Now it feels like being torn apart on The Rack.

No matter how often I stretch, it seems as if I have to start all over from Ground Zero the next time. I’m stiffer than I’ve ever been. Anastasia has to help me. When we finish the workout, she ‘stretches me out.’ Sometimes she’ll put her knee into my back and pull my arms backwards until I think they’re coming out of the sockets. Or hold my hip up at an uncomfortable angle until it trembles. I tease her that it’s KGB torture.

But it helps me. When we’re finished, my pain level is diminished. I feel energized and flexible. Less brittle and fragile.

More alive.

I realize that if I am not stretched out, these old myalgic muscles will become increasingly rigid.

(I’m on the downhill slope toward rigor mortis now.)

***************

In the years just prior to the cataclysm of April, 2008, I had become increasingly set in my ways...inflexible, unable to accept change or go with the flow. As health problems mounted, I clung to established coping mechanisms. My world was becoming increasingly smaller and smaller; more and more limited.

I absorbed negative predictions into my psyche and spirit and acted out of them. For instance, I was told by three different health–care professionals that I would probably never have another pain-free day, but that “we would learn to cope with it.”

My “I can’t…” list grew longer and longer. I grieved over the many things I thought I’d never be able to do again.

I’m doing most of those things now.

I’m also doing many things I’ve never done before. (Not to mention many things I hoped never to have to do.)

Everything about life is a stretch right now. An impossibly big stretch.

***************

At a time of life when many of my contemporaries are entering into the blissful part of empty-nesting (developing new hobbies, traveling, socializing, taking care of themselves more), I have entered into quite a different world.

I don’t get to do what I think I want to do as often as I’m used to doing so.

I spend much more time doing things I’m not good at, and don’t particularly enjoy doing. Things such as cooking, cleaning, laundry…..even (gasp) ironing on occasion. Pushing, pulling, bending, reaching, running after a toddler…..sometimes, almost literally back-breaking work for me. Relativity again…it might be bare exertion for you.

But it’s a big deal for me. Sorry to sound like a spoiled brat, but it is what it is. I grew up in a home with household help. The first thing I did with my very first paycheck was to hire help. I (sacrificially) went without a single new item of clothing for well over a year, but at least we had clean toilets. I considered this to be good stewardship. I hired someone to help me do the things I don’t do well, so that I could invest more time doing those few things that I can do well.

For more than 20 years, our family has been blessed by a 6^th member named Diane. She is the only one who knows whose socks go in which drawer. She is the brains of the household. Diane knows how to do things I don’t know how to do. She knows all of our dirty laundry, inside and out. She is an angel.

She is also my friend. But Diane doesn’t come to California with me.

It’s a stretch.

A few years ago, I developed significant sIeep/breathing issues. Because of that, I had to go through elaborate sleep rituals every night. Conditions had to be perfect in order to achieve Phase 4. Now I feel kind of like that ‘free-spirit’ college friend who always carried a toothbrush in her purse because she never knew where she might wake up. Like her, I’m all over the place these days. Occasionally, I wake up in our rickety old canopy bed in Athens, surrounded by pillows that need replacing and impossibly soft, but threadbare, sheets. Sometimes I wake up way too early in my apartment in LA, roused by the hellish howling of my neighbors’ dogs. Other mornings, I might awaken to discover a little boy draped over my head, soggy diaper in my face. There are some days when I wake up to an apartment (that looks like a frat house the morning after a party) full of people, and tiptoe around trying to make coffee without waking up whoever’s on the couch. I might be sleeping on a college dorm-style mattress in Pomona with a cute college-aged roommate, trying not to scare her with my nightly apnea gasps...or I could be in the spare bed in James’ room, trying to lie still as a mouse. Sometimes I even wake up on the couch. Occasionally, it feels a bit like being at camp or on a mission trip.

It’s a stretch.

Life is unpredictable now. Katherine has always been a big planner. We get the calendars out and try to make schedules, in an effort to force some order out of chaos. But our plans are constantly changing. Often, we are the mercy of other people’s plans and schedules. The unexpected is the norm. Frequently, I think of things I’d like to do, but half the time it doesn’t happen. Interruptions and ‘surprises’ intervene. I don’t get my own way.

An only child for the first 6 years of my life, I have always been someone who frequently needs ‘alone time’ to stay within the bounds of sanity. Now, there are times when that is an impossibility. Frequently, both space and peace remain elusive.

Everything seems a little crazy, upside-down, discombobulated. I’m getting mail from the AARP while trying to remember how to swing on the jungle gym…watching “Thomas the Train” instead of the evening news.

The constant traveling adds to a sense of disorder and confusion. It has gotten no easier with experience. Things are continually getting lost in transit. The time changes are wearing. By the time I get used to a new zone, it’s time to switch back. I’m getting tired. I’m not as young as I used to be.

It’s a stretch.

But I’ve learned a lot about stretching lately:

The less you do it, the harder it becomes.

As we ‘mature’ in the physical sense, it’s easy to develop rigidity in other areas as well. Our minds and hearts can become as rigid as our stiffening muscles and as unbending as our stiffening spines. When this happens, we become used to doing things a certain way…MY way. We resist change of any kind. We close our minds to new ideas, harden our hearts to fresh loves. Habits become idols. We become inflexible and unyielding.

Rigidity of thought, attitude, and action may lead to becoming what the Old Testament refers to as “stiff-necked people.”

“They have been quick to turn away from what I commanded them and have made themselves an idol cast in the shape of a calf. They have bowed down to it and sacrificed to it and have said, 'These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of Egypt.' "I have seen these people," the LORD said to Moses, "and they are a stiff-necked people. (Exodus 32:8-9)

Centuries later, the apostle Peter used the term again: "You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your fathers: You always resist the Holy Spirit!” (Acts 7:51)

God forbid that my neck become any stiffer than it already is!

I think the key to the prevention of that is in the verse from Acts. I have to stop resisting. I need to learn to stop fighting against the inevitable or cursing the unpreventable.

Although things often lose their meaning when they become rote, sometimes it’s good to take a look at the old Serenity Prayer with a fresh eye. The ability “…to accept the things I cannot change…” is a great gift.

I hope and pray that, with old age, will come wisdom. I want to be a wise old woman (who still likes to dance.) I want to become more mature in my faith as I “mature” in every other way.

I’ve come up with a new definition of what that means:

MATURITY: “Being okay with not getting your own way.”

Lord, please save me from 50-something-year-olds who haven’t learned this yet. (Including myself.)

Part of the maturation process involves laying down my rights and my own selfish desires. Many of the eastern religions define happiness as “the absence of desire.” There is truth in that. We are unhappy because of thwarted “wants,” whether they be things, relationships, or occurrences. I have been happiest in life at those times when I’ve felt that there was absolutely nothing more to want…such as after the birth of my first child. That feeling of complete fullness is rare on earth. The Christian translation of the eastern philosophy might be, “Let my desires become the same as Yours.”

If I want to mature, I have to allow God to stretch me spiritually, just as I allow Anastasia to stretch me physically. Both processes are sometimes painful. But the alternatives are worse. I made up a little litany to remind myself whenever I start to resist: “Stretch or ache; bend or break.” I know the stretching process will involve doing things I just really don’t want to do…but it is necessary if I truly want to become more pliant and supple, more open and free.

Recently, I took a yoga class in LA. As we were doing the last deep relaxation exercises, the instructor softly spoke these words:

"Men are born soft and supple; dead, they are stiff and hard. Plants are born tender and pliant; dead, they are brittle and dry. Thus whoever is stiff and inflexible is a disciple of death. Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life. The hard ...and stiff will be broken. The soft and supple will prevail." ~ (Lao-tzu)

I am a disciple of life….of Life Himself.

The next time He asks me to stretch, I’m going to try to remember some things I’ve learned through the occasional yoga class. I know the most important thing is to breathe.

I will remind myself to breathe much more slowly and deeply.

This will be my mantra:

Breathe out fear, breathe in faith; breathe out anxiety, breathe in peace; breathe out sadness, breathe in joy; breathe out exhaustion, breathe in vitality; breathe out sin, breathe in forgiveness; breathe out self, breathe in God.

Breathe in LIFE.

I wish I’d known these things when I was younger.

***************

p.s. Thank you to those who prayed for my 'flexibility' with the Mac. In some ways, it’s been a stretch. But I think we’re learning to like each other. (I was kidding when I said "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." That's what it's all about. God can even make an old leopard spotless!)

Comic Relief

The other day, I was standing in the bathroom in a state of what the French call “deshabillement.”* (I was drying off after a shower.)

My grandson ran into the room and checked out the view. Then he started speaking what sounded like a combination of…..oh, I don’t know. Maybe Russian and Afrikaans.

“Zhaykin debootie, Mimi!” he cried earnestly. “Zhaykin debootie!”

I can understand almost everything he says now, but this one had me stumped.

“What, honey?” I asked, puzzled.

With more emphasis: “ZHAYKIN DEBOOTIE!!! Zhaykin debootie, Mimi! Zhaykin debootie!!!”

He was getting more and more frustrated at my inability to comprehend.

I moved closer to him and said, “I’m sorry, James. I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Becoming frantic, he screamed, “ZHAY-KIN-DE-BOOTIE! ZHAY-KIN-DE-BOOTIE, MIMI!!!”

For emphasis, he reached up and gave me a little spank.

Suddenly, like a spontaneous revelation, the interpretation of the strange tongue was received.

I laughed so hard that it scared James.

To make up for it, I had to oblige him.

But he’s right.

Sometimes, no matter what,

you just need to

...Shake, shake, shake…shake, shake, shake

SHAKE YOUR BOOTY! SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!!!

(But I’m going to kill whoever taught him to say that.)

***************

(* “naked,” or, as we say in Georgia, “nekkid.”)

"God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me." (Genesis:21:6)

“He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.” (Job 8:21)

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” (Proverbs 17:22 kjv)

***************

THE END.

Relativity

Once upon a time…

…if you’d told me I’d have a child in a wheelchair one day, I’d have fallen to the floor.

(I was just worried about her posture.)

If you’d told me that her face would be almost unrecognizably altered, I would have screamed in horror.

(I got upset about a zit.)

If you’d told me that I wouldn’t know her voice, I would have wept inconsolably.

(I nagged her to speak more softly and slowly.)

If you’d told me that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself, I would have stared at you in disbelief.

(I fussed at her about doing too much for other people.)

Now…

I’m elated if she can stand for a minute.

I’m thrilled if the corners of her mouth aren’t chapped and torn.

I’m ecstatic when I don’t have to ask her to repeat herself on the phone.

I’m overjoyed if she can pull her son into her lap with one arm.

Everything’s relative.

(Well, not absolutely everything. The most important things are not.)

But you know what I mean.

The Glad Game

Okay, I admit it.

I’m the one that first labeled my eldest daughter a “Pollyanna.”

Katherine’s disposition was always relentlessly optimistic, sometimes to the point of unreality. (Referring to things as “wonderful” or “amazing” that just really weren’t, for example.) Occasionally, it got annoying.

Still, the appellation was not a derogatory one.

I adored the movie when I was a little girl…as I did anything with Hayley Mills in it. (Ahhh…the beautiful simplicity of the early ‘60’s…)

We were all pretty much Pollyannas back then. It was pretty much a Pollyanna World, at least on the slick surface of things. (But a cauldron boiled beneath, which would overflow into the anger, violence, and rebellion of the late 60’s, forever changing our Cheerleader Barbie and Ken world. For better and for worse.)

Strangely enough, Pollyanna was one of the first things I thought of back in our days in the ICU. During one brief hospital break, I ran to the BestBuy across the street from UCLA and bought the DVD. Later that night, I took my laptop into Katherine’s room and snuck into bed with her. (Actually, there was nothing sneaky about it. The nurses indulged me.) It was a Houdini-esque operation, positioning myself in such a way as to avoid interference with any life-supporting equipment.

Finally, I got things set up with the laptop on Katherine’s feeding tray, her head at the right angle for viewing, and myself ensconced on about three inches of hospital bed. Kat gave me the thumbs up when I told her we were going to watch Pollyanna. But after about 15 minutes, she started giving me a thumbs down. I asked her if she was too tired and wanted to stop. Slight nod. Of course I understood. Fighting for life can really take it out of you. But she surprised me when I told her we could watch some more later. With a sad little look on her face, she shook her head in an almost imperceptible “no.”

I guess some things are too much even for Pollyanna.

Of course, she remembers absolutely none of this.

In time, her indomitable Pollyanna spirit resurrected itself from the ashes of destruction. That spirit is a vital part of Katherine’s recovery process.

I thank God all the time now that my girl’s a “Pollyanna!”

***************

For those unfamiliar with the story, “Pollyanna” is an orphan, the child of missionaries, who comes to live with her rich, rigid, uptight, controlling Aunt Polly after the death of her parents. In spite of her own sad circumstances, Pollyanna brings a fresh breath of life and joy to all the old sourpusses she meets in her new town.

Pollyanna has a remarkable knack for seeing the bright side in every dark situation. She calls it playing “The Glad Game.” However badly something stinks, Pollyanna has a creative knack for discovering the silver lining. She knows that whatever happens, it could always be worse. And she’s so glad that it’s not!

I wish I were more like Pollyanna.

I am not by nature an extremely optimistic person. A traumatic event at an early age convinced me that the world is not a safe place. Bad things can…and frequently do…happen to “good” people.

Although often my initial response is to expect the worst, I know that I must fight against my inner fear and negativity. “Murphy’s Law” is a lie. I have to choose to receive the faith to believe that God is for me, not against me. That all things…even very, very bad things…do indeed work together for good, by the miraculous grace of His providence.

I’ve discovered that even an old curmudgeon like me can play The Glad Game.

Here goes…

1. I am glad that Katherine lived.

2. I am glad that all of my children are alive.

3. I am glad that I’ve been married to my best friend for 33 years.

4. I am glad that I have such a wonderful, patient son-in-law.

5. I am glad that our circumstances have caused me to have a much closer relationship with my grandson than would normally be the case.

6. I am glad that our extended families have gathered around to support us.

7. I am glad that I get to live in beautiful, sunny California for much of the time.

8. I am glad that I get to be a part of two wonderful churches.

9. I am glad that I have such faithful, dear, unconditionally loving friends.

10. I am glad that I have been forced to grow…emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

11. I am glad that I have hard work to do.

12. I am glad that the incredible out-pouring of love we’ve received has restored my faith in mankind.

13. I’m glad I’ve gotten to become friends with my children’s friends.

14. I am glad that adversity has enabled me to know God in a much deeper way.

15. I am glad that I haven’t been killed (yet) driving on the 405.

16. I am glad that I’ve been introduced to Red Mango.

17. I am glad that I am writing.

18. I am glad that I don’t take things for granted any more.

19. I am glad that I believe in miracles.

20. I am glad that God has never, ever given up on me.

Wow…and I’m just getting started!

I guess my husband’s been right about the Power of Positive Thinking all these years. Could have saved some money at the shrink’s office. I feel like Little Miss Optimistic now!

I’d like to challenge you to play The Glad Game yourself.

Really.

Write it down.

You may be surprised at how radically it changes things

….or you.

***************

“…to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve— a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” (Isaiah 61:2-3)

”But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you.” (Psalm 5:11)

”Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it...” (Psalm 96:11)

”…and the ransomed of the LORD will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.” (Isaiah 35:10)

Hmmmm.....

I'm trying to keep an open mind, but I'm not in love yet.

Several things were lost in translation.

(Such as all of my Itunes playlists and all of my contacts. But those 2846 undeleted messages in my Inbox made it over just fine!)

SOOOOO.......

I'm going to go out on a limb and ask that friends and family please email me at kta2754@gmail.com. (Just say "hi.") Then I can add you back. If you've ever written me, you were on the lost list.

As completely unreliable as I am in returning calls or emails, I do love hearing from you. I just have one tiny request:

Although I wish I could read all of the funny (etc.) forwards, current circumstances simply don't permit the time. But there is something neurotic in me that hates to delete something someone has bothered to send me. This is partial explanation for why there are almost 3,000 items in my Inbox...I scan through for personal messages, and think I'll get 'a round tuit' to come back and read the generic forwards later. But later never comes.

So, I respectfully ask that my friends not automatically put me on large group email lists at this time. If it's something that you feel would specifically speak to me, please just forward it to me individually.

We have to keep things very, very simple right now.

And I have to fight for computer time. (James is paging me as I type!)

Hope to publish some thoughts soon, though. I'm learning my way around this new territory... igniting some fresh brain cells.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience, understanding, and faithfulness.

Much love,

Kim

Hi, Friends!

Another of life's many ironies:

I had actually made appointments with myself this week to do some writing. Written it on the calendar. Scheduled some alone time.

The first day of my mini-retreat, my beleaguered little laptop died.

DIED. No CPR...couldn't be revived. Warranty expired.

(Why do they make things that can't be fixed???)

Two of the topics I was working on: "broken things" and "flexibility." I guess someone thought I needed some more personal experience.

As I grieve the loss of my old HP friend, please pray for flexibility in learning a whole new system on a Mac.

It is hard to teach an old dog new tricks.

And, in general, machines hate me.

(It is so mutual.)

But, Patience is a virtue.

Thanks for hanging with me!

Love, Kim

summertime

As, little by little, the freshness of fall starts to peak it's head through summer's muggy blanket, I feel a stirring of fresh hope that it heralds a new season in our lives.

A season of healing.

New beginnings. Fresh starts.

But also a season of completions, conclusions, consummations.


"He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion."*


***************


In marking the conclusion of summer, I've assembled another ubiquitous family photo album. It helps me to remind myself that tragedy does not preclude joy. That laughter can penetrate a heavy weight of sadness. That the glass is MUCH MORE than half full.

And, by golly, we still know how to have fun.

If you happen to be one who enjoys looking at other people's boring pictures...or one for whom a picture is an excellent intercessory prayer aid...you're invited to click on the link below:






OH wow, I just imprinted a slide show by mistake. How cool is that??

Grandma learned a new trick!

I'll go back and try the link thing again in case it doesn't end up working:


http://picasaweb.google.com/kta2754/Summer


I don't think that's right, either. I'll keep playing with it.

Maybe click on this?

In the meantime, enjoy the slide show before I mess that up.

May blessings fall upon your head!

Love, Kim

(*Phil. 1:6)

Out of the Mouths of Babes?

This is a true story.

Yesterday Katherine went back for another follow-up appointment following her eye surgery. I drove her (and Jay) to UCLA, then returned to the apartment to face the dreaded Monday morning clean-up. I felt exhausted and very drained.

When Jay and Katherine returned with complicated news, I had to sit down.

James was eating his lunch at the little folding bamboo table that serves as a dining table in our apartment/camp. I joined him at the table as Jay and Katherine continued explaining the next options, each accompanied by both advantages and disadvantages. Katherine and Jay both looked so tired. I felt overwhelmed and sad that they were being forced to make more serious decisions. Katherine asked me what I thought. I thought, "Well, we could just go eeny-meeny-mieny-moe. Or we could pray."

I said, "Sit down. Let's pray."

James looked at us curiously as we held hands and bowed our heads. Katherine prayed first. At one point, James let out his little grunt/yell thing that means,"Hey, look at me. I'm not pleased." But Katherine kept praying...actually, she was mostly praising. Jay followed her, and then it was my turn. As soon as I opened my mouth, I lost it. I reminded God of how much Katherine has already been through. Tears were plopping down in my lap like a leaky showerhead.

I was not aware of anything other than the words I pleaded. Then Katherine kind of nudged us. I peaked one eye open. Covered in peanut butter, James sat across from me with head bowed, eyes scrunched closed, and a very sad look on his face.

When I finally finished, we looked up at James. He still sat there with his eyes closed, apparently praying.

For the next few magical minutes, we watched his precious little face. He looked like someone "entering into the agony of intercession." He shook his head every now and then, letting out a few little whimpers and an occasional cry. Jay and I fumbled around for cameras. I finally found my phone and captured this image. Jay grabbed Grace's computer, turned the web cam around, and recorded the unique sight. It was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen.

Was he asleep and dreaming?

Was he in a trance?

Was he receiving a "word of knowledge?"

Or was he praying for his mommy in "groans too deep for words???"

Maybe we'll find out one day.