Katherine's Mom's Blog

2010-05-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

You are cordially invited to

Meet Margery

Today, Tomorrow, Whenever...

margeryraveson.com

R.S.V.P.

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

2010-05-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

Please come visit us at "In the Meantime...":

http://www.kimarnoldblog.blogspot.com

youtubes

2010-04-15T07:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sure most of you visiting this site have seen these before, but in case anyone hasn't, I'm posting them all together. Seeing the before and after in close juxtaposition does seem to illustrate the impact of Katherine's AVM rupture more vividly.

*Katherine and Jay's Wedding: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEYed9Foins&feature=related

*Clips from "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJ9c_K4Dkm4&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwWPxzOEAS8&feature=related

* First Baptist, Pomona, CA: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k00BFb-yPK8&feature=related

*Testimony at First Baptist, Florence, MS: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59YMj7fFxfQ

*Testimony at First Baptist, Montgomery: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SC7e4kKxz-4

2010-02-18T09:49:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry if this is confusing, but I'm back on In the Meantime...

I published a new post there this morning called "Permission."

http://www.kimarnoldblog.blogspot.com

To anyone new: The above address is my primary blog now, and is where I will post most entries.

Thanks for being with us!

And a special thanks to Katie for teaching me how to do links.

Maybe I'll learn how to spruce up the archives next. You never know.

Love, kim

2010-02-17T08:23:00.000-08:00

I just need to say THANK YOU to the amazing ladies who commented on the last post.

Thank you for sharing your stories, your hearts, your hurts, your wisdom, your compassion, your encouragement, your prayers, your beautiful words.

Thank you for being my sisters.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity and privilege of praying for you. I've already started. I can't get you out of my mind.

Thank you for your courage and your witness. Thank you for your perseverance. Thank you for not giving up.

Thank you for taking the time to bless everyone who comes here.

THIS is what I long for this blog to be! Not just a monologue, but a conversation.

Oh no, I'm crying again.

James wants to know why.

I told him it's because my heart is full of love.

He's looking at me funny.

(Unfortunately, he'll get it one day. Love hurts.)

But it's worth the pain.

I love you!

Kim

(p.s. I urge you to go to:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/12/14/frontotemporal.dementia/index.html?iref=allsearch

for Cheryl's story.

Missing Katherine

2010-02-15T08:23:00.000-08:00

I miss Katherine.

There.

I’ve said it.

I miss her laugh.

I miss her eyes.

I miss her smile.

I miss her voice.

I miss the way she talked 100 miles an hour when she was excited about something.

I miss the way she moved.

I miss the way she helped me.

In Target the other day, I thought I saw her.

My peripheral vision glimpsed a tall girl with long blonde hair striding toward me. “Oh, here comes Katherine,” my inner reflexes registered for a milli-second.

It made my heart race.

Vertigo.

Then a swift sadness.

I miss that girl.

This is not an entirely new phenomenon.

When Katherine was a toddler, I missed Baby Katherine.

I missed her baby smell.

I missed her funny Mohawk hair.

I missed her tininess.

I missed nursing her.

I missed sleeping with her.

When Katherine was 7 or 8, I missed Toddler Katherine.

I missed her voice.

I missed the funny things she said.

I missed her little dimpled hands holding mine.

I missed seeing her see things for the first time.

I missed the conversations we had at bedtime. (Age 2 1/2: “Mommy, why is there meanness in the world?”)

I missed snuggle time.

I still do.

When Katherine was 17, I missed Awkward Preteen Katherine.

I missed her dorkiness.

I missed the way she thought I was The Coolest Mom.

I missed the way she could still play.

I missed the way she told me everything.

I still do.

I miss all my little girls.

I miss the way they fought and kissed and made up.

I miss the way they sang silly made-up songs.

I miss the way they covered me in kisses..

I miss the way they got into bed together and giggled. (Wait…they still do that.)

I can still smell the sunshine in Amie’s hair.

I can feel Baby Grace’s long legs wrapped around my middle.

I can see the look in Katherine’s blue eyes, as big as her face, as she asked me endless questions.

I feel a sense of loss that those little girls are gone.

…As I feel a sense of loss for the Katherine who left us one sunny day in April in the year 2008.

I miss her.

There is an innate tristesse in the harsh reality that kittens become cats

and toddlers morph into teenagers

and teenagers turn into old ladies like me.

Impermanence is sad.

I think it’s okay to be sad sometimes.

For a time.

Old ladies turn into angels one day.

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

“Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is…” (I John 3:2)

“I'm gonna miss you

I'm gonna miss you

When you're gone 

She says, I love you 

I'm gonna miss you  

And your songs 

And I said, please

Don't talk about the end 

Don't talk about how  

Every living thing goes away…”

Jon Foreman, from Learning How to Die

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

*I hope you understand my heart in this. It was not meant to be maudlin or whiny. Just an admission that there has been loss; that change and loss are inevitable parts of life; and that it is sometimes good to acknowledge this fact in order to appreciate our times of joy more fully. Although there are things I miss about the pre-AVM Katherine, the After-Katherine has qualities and depths that would not have been possible before. God is not finished with her yet. The gifts she is receiving through her losses are greater than gold. I believe that the heart of God is such than when He takes something away, He replaces it with something even better. But the "taking away" part is still hard. Very, very, very hard.

2010-01-21T09:18:00.001-08:00

Dear Ones,

Okay, here’s the deal:

We’re beginning the process of a complicated move, so there’s zero time to work on my new ideas.

But I don’t want to lose touch. So, in the meantime, just click on the link below and bookmark it. This is not the new blog…just kind of an intermediate holding ground.

I’m sure there’ll be fresh stories to tell…I’m always learning something new. (Better late than never, I guess.)

In the meantime... http://www.kimarnoldblog.blogspot.com

Let me know if you have any trouble with it.

Love,

Kim

2010-01-19T07:23:00.000-08:00

Thus Far...

2010-01-16T05:12:00.000-08:00

The teeming lobby was silent.

The halls were deserted.

The elevators were barricaded.

The guts of UCLA Medical Center had been transplanted to the new Ronald Reagan Hospital down the block.

Echoes of loud voices ricocheted through my mind as I walked through the long, lonely halls to the one wing still occupied: The Neuro-Rehab unit on the main floor.

Those of us with loved ones there felt hollow and abandoned, like the obsolete shell of a building through which we wandered.

Hope seemed as faded as the drab, scuffed paint on the walls.

But one man refused to let go of the vision.

He refused to let us forget.

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

Intent on his mission, he snuck back in like a thief. Ignoring the warning signs, he took the elevator as far as it would go; then he took the fire escape stairs up to the 7^th floor.

Back to the dead and darkened ICU.

Back to the place where life and death were separated by nothing more than a flimsy curtain.

Back to where the miracles happened.

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

He reconstructed the reality:

The actor’s “Head Shot” that the patient’s mother had taped to the wall behind the bed…a reminder that this was still a person, not a thing.

The fuzzy old blanket dear friends brought to the hospital as a hug-surrogate that had remained a constant comforter in spite of sanitary concerns. Green, the color of life.

And, most importantly, tangible symbols of intangible promises: a mound of heavy stones representing memorial stones from the Old Covenant.

A stone for every miracle.

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

Alone in the silent room that once buzzed and blared the blinking signals of survival, our friend painstakingly constructed a pyramid of hope upon that bed of pain and horror.

So we would never forget what we witnessed there.

The bed now lies as empty as the tomb from which the largest stone was rolled away.

Although we have many, many miles to go before we sleep,

Thus far has the Lord brought us…

And He will bring us safely Home.

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

Our friend, Ryan Dobson, was one of the remaining handful of people with us in the waiting room the morning after Katherine's 16 hours of brain surgery. He was there when the surgeon told us that Katherine would "suffer deficits" that would likely include permanent coma or life in a persistent vegetative state. He was one of three young men who prayed with Jay and me in the aftermath of this devastating news. As we reeled in disbelief and agony, those young men prayed hope and courage into us. One had a vision of something that has proved to be prophetic: Katherine would not only survive, but thrive and use her suffering for the glory of God through a speaking ministry. In months when Katherine could communicate only with a thumb's up or down, this seemed just wishful thinking.

But her ministry has now begun.

Ryan had his photograph made into beautiful cards for us. They are much more breathtaking in reality than in these reproductions. The cards have the photograph on the front, and the scripture in beautiful calligraphy on the inside. ("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)) The copy at the top of this post is a postcard version, which doesn't do the card justice. The one at the bottom is a cropped version.

Although Ryan did these as a personal gift to us, not a fund-raising effort, others have asked about the cards. Ryan has most graciously suggested that he can make them available for a donation of $50 (plus S&H) to the Katherine Wolf Fund, which will be used for continuing medical expenses. The cards are 5x7 on linen paper, envelopes included, and come in a set of 25. You can email Ryan directly at allforthename@hotmail.com for more information.

The End is Where We Start From...

2010-01-12T07:24:00.001-08:00

What we call the beginning is often the end 

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

T.S. Eliot (Little Gidding)

Tears are beginning the trek down toward the keyboard before the first words appear. (I told you I usually cry at endings, didn’t I?)

When I began this, Katherine could not tell her own story.

Now she can.

It is time.

Both of us feel it.

Those who were with us in the beginning know that I really didn’t understand what a “blog” was. Words simply started spilling out onto an unfamiliar keyboard as I tried to communicate to friends what was going on, and, in the process, grope toward understanding for myself. Sharing the story made the unthinkable more concrete and bearable. The responses I got were life-preservers thrown to someone drowning in a sea of horror, despair and denial. I thank you for them from the bottom of my heart.

I’m not going to use the analogy of breaking up, but I have a little bit of the same yucky feeling in my stomach right now. This experience has brought me friends. I, who would never do the pen-pal thing as a child, or the email thing as an adult (until quite recently), now count myself blessed by hundreds of pen-friends. Several times over the holidays I had the experience of meeting a reader for the first time, or running into someone I had not known well before, who said the same thing to me: “I hope you don’t think this is weird, but I feel like I really know you. I feel like you’re my best friend.”

No, I don’t think it’s weird at all. I am very deeply moved and honored by such comments. That’s the sweetest thing anyone could say to me. Psychologists concur that the desire to be truly known (and understood) is one of the most fundamental of human needs. The knowledge that, through my writing, I’ve made friends who get me and understand…who are truly kindred spirits…is mind-boggling. It is one of the greatest gifts that I’ve received from Katherine’s Mom’s Blog. There have been many.

When I first began writing, my feelings were just a wee bit hurt whenever someone would say how “cathartic” the blog must be for me. I guess the connotation in my mind was of someone vomiting her unfiltered emotions all over the internet for the express purpose of “feeling better.” Because blogging became something I felt called to do in the theological sense of the word, my pride was a little wounded by the thought that people might perceive it as nothing more than a personal emotional release. If that were the case, I thought, why not just write it in my journal?

But now I realize that it certainly has been cathartic.

Catharsis (Ancient Greek: Κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning "purification", "purging", "cleansing" or "clarification." It is derived from the infinitive verb of Ancient Greek: καθαίρειν transliterated as kathairein "to purify, purge," and adjective Ancient Greek: καθαρός katharos "pure or clean."

This is all terribly meaningful to me. Obviously, Katherine’s name comes from this stem. (She has been a pure soul from birth.)

I thank you who have wept and laughed and pondered life with me. It has, indeed, been both a purging and a cleansing. You have helped me to clarify and purify my thoughts and attitudes during this painful pilgrimage. I have felt a sense of accountability to you who have read my words and shared this time with my family and me. That has been an extremely positive force in my life. You have ministered to me with your words and prayers.

I have shared a lot…sometimes more than my family is entirely comfortable with. (Okay, English teachers: “more than that with which my family is entirely comfortable.” Just to show you I can do it if I have to. And, for the record, I’ve been aware of my fragments and run-ons all along.J)

It’s always a risk when you put yourself out there, with all of your warts and moles and booboos and bad breath and hairy legs and all. The fear of rejection often inhibits honesty: “What will people think of me? Will they judge me harshly? Will they be offended?”

But instead of judgment, I have received nothing but support, encouragement, and affirmation. Understanding. Compassion. Love.

“Transparency” is a word that has cropped up often in the affirming comments. If I do possess that trait, I must attribute it more to heredity than altruism. The impulsive nature that accompanies ADHD is the culprit in many a premature revelation or TMI (Too-Much-Information) diatribe.

But I long to be truly transparent.

Hopefully, I will become more and more so during this drawn-out procedure known as “sanctification.” As God continues cleaning me up from the inside out, there will be less and less to hide.

There are many peripheral stories that never made it onto KMB, caringbridge, or the other sites. I always meant to share this one:

When I left California for the first time after Katherine’s brain rupture in order to attend my youngest daughter’s high school graduation, my sister and her family flew out to take my place. While in Malibu picking up mail for Jay and Katherine, they decided to go up on the mountaintop to Serra Retreat, which is a very beautiful monastery overlooking the ocean. The park beside the monastery has steep winding paths with sea views that remind me of some of my favorite places in Italy or Greece. Along one of one of these paths, my sister Kelly ran into Mel Gibson. He was in an intense discussion with a young woman, evidently a newcomer to the AA meetings that are held at Serra. His eyes met Kelly’s. Although she didn’t want to interrupt the counseling session, she was led to speak to him and to identify herself as a fellow believer. In the aftermath of his reputation-destroying arrest, which he later described as the “stupid ramblings of a drunkard,” she felt the need to offer encouragement. Stumbling over her words, she said to him, “I just want you to know that I appreciate your honesty in admitting your failings.” He looked at her with those piercing baby blues and gave her a wry, slightly sad, smile. “Well, I’m not always totally honest,” he told her.

Few are.

I appreciate his honesty in admitting that.

We human beings are all complicated labyrinths of consistency and contradiction, honesty and subterfuge, authenticity and fraud, transparency and obscurity. I believe that the sharing of our personal struggles in achieving fusion and wholeness can help to set others free. Over the years, God has brought some amazing people into my life who have modeled this for me. I’ve been blessed with friends whose honesty was startling…if not shocking…to me at first. But their transparency encouraged me to give myself permission to admit my own many fallings and failings. As I've said before, I believe that bringing our imperfections out into the light…bringing them to The Light…is ultimately healing and restoring. The process is simple: “Confess your sins to one another and pray for each other so that you might be healed.” (James 5:16) It is impossible to grow up and grow old on planet Earth without needing healing of some sort.

Katherine chose this quote for her wedding program:

“The love of God, unutterable and perfect, flows into a pure soul the way that light rushes into a transparent object. The more love that it finds, the more it gives itself, so that, as we grow clear and open, the more complete the joy of loving is. And the more souls who resonate together, the greater the intensity of their love, for, mirror-like, each soul reflects the others." (Dante, The Divine Comedy)

I believe that living out our lives as authentically and transparently as possible expedites this process of ‘soul purification,’ thus enabling us to experience the love of God in a much deeper way, and then to share that love with others. “She who hath been forgiven much loveth much.”

I am not a perfect person; we are not a perfect family. We were not so before Katherine’s brain rupture; we are not now. It’s been a little awkward receiving accolades. Over the holidays, I heard myself repeating this over and over again: “No, I’m not…but He is.” If anyone has gotten anything at all from this public sharing, then I hope this much is understood: I am NOT… “faithful” or “strong” or “amazing” or any other adjective that people have used in trying to encourage me (or maybe just to be polite.) I am most assuredly none of those things. Quite the contrary, as Miss Elizabeth Barrett said.

I really am just an average sinner. Maybe even above average.

But that is the whole point.

It’s all Him.

Corrie Ten Boom was a Dutch Christian who, along with her entire family, was sent to a concentration camp by the Nazis for hiding Jews. She was the only one of her family to survive. In her wonderful book, The Hiding Place, she relates a conversation she had with her father as a child. She had expressed to him a fear of dying. (In particular, dying as a martyr for Christ.)

“Tell me,” said Father, “When you take a train trip to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?” “No, Daddy, you give me the ticket just before we get on the train.” “That is right,” my father said, “and so it is with God’s strength. Our Father in Heaven knows when you will need the strength... He will supply all you need — just in time...”

Not before.

He handed me the ticket just as I got on the plane to fly to California on the night of April 21, 2008. And then He handed His own to the flight attendant and got on with me. He’s been with me for the whole trip. He’s the one who is faithful and strong and amazing. I don’t have to be.

I just have to lean on Him when I can’t stand any longer.

Actually, He’s carried me through most of it. I don’t know why I should be surprised by this.

He promised me He would the very first day I began writing.

He will carry you, too.

I promise.

God bless you now and always.

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

P.S. Older readers (i.e., those who've stuck around a while) will know that this is just the first of many more p.s.’s to come over the next days, if not weeks to come. I can never finish a conversation. Takes me forever to get off the phone.

Long ago, a sweet lady wrote to encourage me to continue writing. Actually, she said that she would be willing to read just about anything I wrote, even if it were about “picking my toes.” I’m taking her at her word. As I said, KMB has given me many gifts. Not least among them is that I have finally, at this very late stage of the game, discovered “my voice.” George Eliot said “It is never too late to become what you might have been.” It seems that I have become a writer in spite of myself.

It was important for me to post this today in order to have some closure, and to force myself into a new direction. The process of getting there may take weeks as I attempt to set up a new blog…while going through a move and caring for James.

Please hang with me. Although I will no longer be sharing Katherine’s current story, there are a few 'p.s.’s' pertaining to what’s already been written here that I would like to post before I close up shop.

Also, I want to thank the many people who have asked about a book. Here’s the deal: I am a technophobe who has little time in which to improve my skills. I attempted to compile some of the entries into book form on “Blurb,” but the affordable version proved to be over my head. (Re-formatting and all that…lots of abbreviations I have no clue about.)

I am not giving up the idea, however. I am praying that if God wants it to happen, He will bring the right people to help me.

So, if anyone feels led to pray for me, I could use a book person and a blog designer.

Thank you, dear friends, for.....….....everything.

I would love to hear from you!

Love, Kim

P.S.S. Since this turned out to be so long, I will tell the story of the picture on the previous posting another day. Please do keep checking in.

Traditions

2009-12-30T06:20:00.000-08:00

Traditions are a huge deal in the Deep South. I’m not exactly sure why that is, other than the fact that Southerners tend to squat in the same place for such long periods of time. My uncle recently reminded me that my mother’s side of the family came to Georgia shortly after fighting in the Revolution. From the 1780’s to 2010 is a long time in the same general vicinity. It tends to make traditions stick.

I’ve always been the type that tries to cling to happy experiences. I have taken too many pictures, bought too many souvenirs. The End of anything used to make me sad. I cried at pre-school graduations.

Holidays turned into idols of Norman Rockwell/Martha Stewart perfection. We had to have the same decorations, the same special dishes, the same parties, the same activities, the same gift-exchanges, the same routine, year after year. It turned from joy into burden.

As meaningful as traditions can be, I think there are times when God calls us to let them go with the winds of change. Nothing lasts forever down here. This world and everything in it are passing away.

Letting go of traditions means letting go of how I think things are supposed to be and opening myself up to receiving new gifts and joys. While remembering the happy times of the past with gratitude, I want to be able to embrace the new and unpredictable.

Living in a New Normal has expedited that process.

There have been greater changes in the life of our family than I ever could have imagined two Christmases ago. Life has been turned completely upside down. But even while grieving over what’s been lost, there has been much joy and laughter. And great hope.

We let go of many traditions this Christmas. It was much easier than I thought it could be. As much as possible, I tried to live by the adage, “If it brings you joy, do it. If not, don’t!” There were many things I didn’t do this year. But instead of feeling guilty, I felt free.

We actually allowed ourselves the freedom to fly: we flew away to New York for Christmas weekend. It was the Wolf’s turn to have Katherine, Jay, and James, so rather than sitting around missing them on Christmas morning, we decided to do something completely new for us. I even took a little Christmas tree in my suitcase!

As the Blind Boys of Alabama sing at the House of Blues in LA, “I didn’t come here looking for Jesus…I brought him with me!”

But He was already there.

Man-made traditions are not holy; He is.

And he will meet us wherever we are, wherever we go.

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

“Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:7-10)

“Behold, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

May this year be one of newness for us all.

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

Family and friends, I've posted a holiday album on Picasa:

Feel free to take a peek if you're bored.

(Click bottom right corner above.)

Booboos

2009-12-22T10:17:00.000-08:00

(Me, circa 1960. Note booboo on right knee.)

James has re-christened Katherine.

Her new name is “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo.” It sounds kind of like a Native American moniker from “Dancing With Wolves.”

The new name is always accompanied by a long “Mmmmm” and a sad face: bottom lip out, brows drawn together.

James probably says this 50 times a day.

He can be playing with Thomas and friends, happily chatting away about the Isle of Sodor and Sir Topham Hat, when he suddenly looks up at me and says “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo. Mmmmm…” like it’s a news flash. He might be watching Sesame Street or Curious George, staring at the TV screen in an addictive trance, when he jumps up to give me the news in an urgent voice. We’ll walk past an old picture, and James will grab it and start identifying the subjects: “Mimi, BigB, Amie, Gracie, Mommy-ha’-a-Booboo.” He picks up a phone and tells his imaginary friend, “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo!” Whenever anyone says the name, “Katherine,” his immediate response is “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo! Mmmmmm…" (Sad face.) We can be laughing on the swingset, racing to the treetops, and he will tell me as we pass each other on the way.

All. Day. Long.

This is how it came about: As I’ve mentioned, James is somewhat confused about the state of his universe. He’s trying to figure out to whom he owes his primary loyalty. Who is his #1 lady? This is a natural outcome for a 2-year-old who’s had so many caretakers. I think that he senses something is a little “off.” His confusion has caused him to occasionally display anger towards his mother, which, of course, adds insufferable insult to injury. On one of these occasions, I sat him down and gave him a serious talking-to. I said, “Listen. Mommy got hurt. She has a bad booboo. It makes me sad when you’re not nice to her.” He struggled out of my arms and ran off to play. But a few days later, he came up and told me, “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo. Mmmm.” (Sad face.)

As the weeks wore on, the phrase began coming out more and more frequently. Being in Athens, it has reached a crescendo.

I think a lightbulb has come on in that baby boy’s brain. He’s a smart little guy. He’s already taught himself the whole alphabet. I think he’s beginning to understand what’s going on. With all of the old pictures around the house, he can see the “before” and “after.” At first, I was a little surprised that he could correctly identify Katherine. In the “before” pictures, Mommy is usually standing up and smiling a great big smile. In the beginning, he hesitated. It was almost a process of elimination… “Okay, we know the big one is BigB. The short one is Mimi. The blondest hair is Gracie; Amie is the one laughing…so the other one must be Mommy! But it’s a different version of the Mommy I have now. Hmmmm…” The first time this happened, he looked up at me, and I promise, I could read his mind. He gazed into my eyes very intently, let out a little breath, laid his head on my shoulder, and told me, sadly, “Mommy-ha’-a-booboo.” “That’s right, James,” I told him. “Mommy has a big booboo. A bad, bad booboo.”

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

Ironically, “Booboo” is Katherine’s family nickname. The AVM rupture was not her first life-threatening medical crisis. When she was 6 months old (James’ age when her rupture occurred), Katherine became very sick. Further irony: It ended up being a serious urological problem requiring surgery. My father was a urological surgeon. He wouldn’t touch his own grandbaby with a ten-foot pole, so we headed to Egleston, Emory’s children’s hospital. It was a scary place then…still unrenovated. Tons of babies with cancer and other hideous malaises I didn’t even know existed. We had to share a room with another mother and her toddler who was severely retarded. The mothers slept on plastic reclining chairs on either side of the room. When the toddler couldn’t be comforted, the other mother would put her in one of those old rolling walkers we used in the 80’s, and she would play bumper cars with the walls. Dante’s Inferno.

Like James, Katherine was an exclusively breast-fed baby when this happened. I was too lazy to pump, so she’d never had a bottle. They had to tie her down after the surgery (“double ureteral re-implant,” with Brooks’ college roommate, a urological resident, assisting the primary surgeon!) to prevent any movement that might disturb the delicate procedure. I cried and cried, my tears plopping down on her little heaving chest as she screamed. I’ll never forget the look in those big eyes, staring into mine with questions: “Why are you letting them do this to me??? Don’t you love me anymore?” (There have been times when I’ve asked my heavenly parent questions like those.)

Both the staff and my family realized that if I didn’t get a hospital break, I might break. When Katherine was more stabilized, a cousin came to babysit while my husband took me out to dinner. My cousin told me later that Katherine began screaming as soon as I left. Missy walked her back and forth, back and forth the length of the little room, unable to comfort her. As they made the trek for the umpteenth time, Katherine snatched the sleeve of my bathrobe off the closet door and buried her face in it. Eau de Mommy instantly quieted her for the rest of the evening.

(A side note: This story came to mind when I was caring for James in the early days of Katherine’s residence in UCLA’s Intensive Care Unit. He’d never taken a bottle, either, so we were having some rough times adjusting. As he was screaming inconsolably, I thought I’d give the same method a try. I found Katherine’s “Hooter Hider,” a cloth cover used for discreet public nursing, and put it in his face. Like an instant opiate, it calmed him down. He immediately stopped crying. It’s interesting. Sometimes just a whiff of my Father can calm me down, too.)

Somehow, we survived our stay at Egleston, and took a lasting memento home with us when we left. Our favorite nurse adored Katherine, and snuck in to play with her whenever she could. She began calling her “BooBoo.” It stuck. We made up all kinds of silly BooBoo songs, which followed Katherine through childhood. She was accident-prone, which we now understand to have been a result of the location of the hidden AVM, so the nickname was appropriate. To this day, I call her “Booboo,” or just “Boo,” more frequently than I do her Christian name.

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

It’s impossible for any of us to go through life without accumulating some pretty nasty booboos.

Some booboos are external and obvious, like those that plague our own sweet Booboo. Some are more hidden. Spiritual cancers, deep, gaping, core wounds…the booboos of heart and soul. Writing those words, the refrain from a Vigilantes of Love (Athens band) song comes back to me:

“yeah, the thing we cannot speak of,

the secret we all know…

this blister soul

oh this blister soul…”

The harshness of life, the cruelty of other injured people, and our own destructive choices can rub some really nasty blisters onto our soft and tender spots. There are times when it is best to keep those suppurating blisters and booboos covered with medication and bandages. But after a time of stillness and healing, it is good to take the bandages off and allow the light and air to complete the healing. Sometimes we need to ‘speak of the secret we all know.’ Everyone suffers from blister soul at one time or another. It helps us and others when we are willing to share our deepest pains and wounds…allow ourselves to be vulnerable. Bringing things out into the Light always heals. Then we are enabled become what theologian Henri Nouwen calls “Wounded Healers.”

That is what Jesus is.

When James uses his new hyphenated-name-for-his-mother, I counter it with, “Yes, Mommy has a booboo, but she’s getting better. God is helping her get better every day.”

The Wounded One himself is washing her wounds, pouring his healing Spirit into her battered body. I felt this very powerfully the other day when a few friends gathered to pray for her. The Scarred One is bathing her scars with his tears, comforting her heart with his incomprehensible, unearthly comfort. He is equipping her to be a Wounded Healer, one who can “comfort those in any trouble with the comfort she herself has received from Christ.” (II Cor. 1:4) No one else can empathize with another’s suffering as passionately and lovingly as someone who’s been injured in the same way. It’s impossible.

I still have many scars from childhood booboos. A prissy tomboy, I was constantly falling out of trees and scraping huge chunks of skin off my bony little knees. My husband still teases me about these lasting reminders of how wild I was as a child. I have a 52-year-old star-shaped scar a few millimeters away from my eye…a memento of a dog bite at age 3. A thin line just above my eyebrow passes as a wrinkle, but is actually a souvenir of the time I busted my head open in a bathtub, requiring 20 stitches. Strings of old picked bug-bite scab scars still decorate my legs. My body is a booboo scrapbook.

So is my soul.

But I am not ashamed of my booboos and bruises, my scrapes and scars. In rereading the story of doubting Thomas, I realize that it is our wounds…and our openness in sharing them…that make us real. Our booboos are tools that God uses for healing in the lives of his other beloved children. We pour healing and comfort into others who’ve been hurt as we’ve been hurt, who’ve bled as we have bled, been broken as we’ve been broken.

It is an honor to be used by God as a Wounded Healer.

Jesus was a Wounded Healer.

That is why he came.

May we keep his wounds in our hearts as we celebrate his birth.

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

“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities;  the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed.” (1 Peter 2: 24)

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.” (II Cor. 1:3-5)

“Eight days later the disciples were together again, and this time Thomas was with them. The doors were locked; but suddenly, as before, Jesus was standing among them. “Peace be with you,” he said. Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and look at my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side. Don’t be faithless any longer. Believe!”

“My Lord and my God!” Thomas exclaimed.” (John 20:26-28)

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

God rest ye merry, gentlefolk/   Let nothing you dismay/  Remember, Christ, our Saviour/  Was born on Christmas day/  To save us all from Satan's power/  When we were gone astray/  O tidings of comfort and joy,/  Comfort and joy/  O tidings of comfort and joy…

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

Addendum, 1/8/10: I have just discovered an amazing woman called "Punk Rock Mommy." Here is the link to her blog: http://www.punkrockmommy.org/. On the entry dated April 21, 2008, the day of Katherine's AVM rupture, she talks about the same thing, only her testimony is more valid than mine. How strange is that??? Check it out. http://punkrockmommy.org/blog/?p=499

Falling

2009-12-15T05:52:00.000-08:00

We’ve had a couple of scary falls recently.

The second one occurred at my mother’s house. Katherine has been thrilled to develop more independence. She is doing a great job of getting around on her own, albeit slowly, using a three-footed cane. But sometimes a foot turned a millimeter in the wrong direction can cause the world to turn upside down. As she started going down, Katherine grabbed the back of the couch. Thanks to the intense physical therapy she received at Casa Colina, and continues to receive here from her fabulous personal trainer (her husband), she has developed amazing strength. The heavy couch started to topple over on top of her. Luckily, she let go on the way down, and it righted itself. She said, “Mom, I thought I was going to die!”

We’ve come a long way since the days in Acute Rehab when Katherine tried to run away to Cabo…before she could even stand ("RollercoasterRide," http://katherineawolf.blogspot.com/2008/06/roller-coaster-ride.html) But it seems likely that falls will be an inevitable part of her journey for years to come. Over half of her cerebellum, the part of the brain responsible for balance, has been surgically removed.

We recently had a chance to talk to a wonderful lady who has experienced the most unimaginable kind of loss there is. But she turned the focus to Katherine. She shared that her mother had had an AVM rupture. Katherine asked her about residual deficits. Our new friend said, “There really weren’t any, other than some balance issues. If you were walking next to her, she would always gradually drift into you.” Paths would cross.

There are worse things.

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

I’m getting just a wee bit tired of Tiger Woods. Why is everyone so shocked? Our culture thrives on elevating people into Idols, and then rejoicing when they fall off the pedestals we’ve erected for them. It seems an inescapable truism that all idols will fall. Humans cannot tolerate the burden of worship indefinitely. We were not built for it. It will inevitably corrupt and destroy those for whom it was not originally intended.

Celebrities are not the only ones who fall. I’ve heard a lot of gossip lately about the ‘falls’ of people I know, or know of. Human nature being what it is, I think we feel a little better about ourselves when we hear of the failures of others. Maybe we’re not so bad after all, in comparison. But it doesn’t work that way.

I’m a slow learner. It has taken me decades to discover this spiritual principle, but you can take it to the bank: However you judge others, you will be tested in that exact area. The absolute dumbest thing you can ever say, or feel in your heart, is “I would never…” Or even dumber, “My child would never…”

We are all capable of absolutely anything under the right (wrong) circumstances.

I’ve had more than my share of missteps and stumbles, scraped knees and soul bruises. Sometimes I feel that the part of my brain responsible for mental and spiritual balance has gone missing. I’ve teetered and tottered and toppled into a heap on the floor. But that is the best place to ask for help. Down your knees is a good place to start learning to stand.

We all fall down. “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.”(I John I:8)

But, as I’ve said before, a fall is not the end of the world.

It has many negative connotations…

Fallen women and fallen arches…

The Fall of Man, The Fall of Rome…

Fallen heroes, fallen idols…falling from grace…

But also…

Falling snowflakes…

Falling into an inheritance…

Falling in love…into someone’s path…

Falling into someone’s arms…

There are arms that are strong, but tender.

Those arms will always pick us up again, and welcome us back home.

“Now unto Him who is able to keep you from falling, and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy…” (Jude 1:24)

...falling in love over and over again...

Remembering the Reason...

2009-12-11T08:27:00.000-08:00

I was sad that the little "created by" tag obscured part of what was, to me, the most precious picture...so I'm posting it by itself. Pretend it's our family's 2009 Christmas card, mailed straight to you!

"The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, "Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29)

"The wolf will live with the lamb...and a little child will lead them." (Isaiah 11:6)

2009-12-11T05:47:00.000-08:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.

Today I'm choosing to be joyful!

These are some pix from our trip last week to Palm Beach to introduce James to his Arnold great-grandparents.

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Love, Kim

Changing God's Mind (or changing my heart?)

2009-12-09T06:19:00.000-08:00

Part 2

These are some of the reasons I think prayer is vital:

1.) We are told to pray.

It is an act of obedience. (Matt. 6:9) Jesus even told us how to pray. The Lord’s Prayer was given as a model…a blueprint…for all prayer. It just dawned on me that it begins and ends with praise. The words of praise form parentheses around the words of petition. In other words, our requests for forgiveness, protection, and daily needs are made within the context of an acknowledgement of God’s attributes and character. We are not praying to capricious idols like Zeus or Aphrodite, who meddle in human affairs for their own amusement. We address the Holy King of Kings who possesses all glory and all power… “forever and ever.” We are actually told to “pray without ceasing” (a topic for another day) because “The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and wonderful results.” (James 5:16)

2.) Prayer changes circumstances or us.

a.) There are instances thoughout the Bible where prayer is said “to change God’s mind,”* although we could spend endless hours debating what that actually means. If He is omniscient, then He knew from before time that the prayers would be prayed. In His great ‘courtesy,’ as the Medievals called it, He deigned that these prayers would be a vehicle through which His ultimate purposes would be accomplished. He has graciously allowed humankind to participate in the pattern of history. Weymayer states: “…some may wonder how it is that Scripture can teach both that God providentially brings all things to pass in conformity with His eternal purpose and that the prayers of men can have a significant affect in the unfolding of world history. The seeming contradiction between these two truths vanishes, however, when one realizes that “the same God who has decreed the end has also decreed that His end shall be reached through His appointed means, and one of these is prayer” (The Sovereignty of God, 167).”

Because God loves us, and desires to be in relationship with us above all else, He has (mysteriously) deemed that we have a part to play in the plot of history. We are not puppets. God is all-powerful, yet He longs to incorporate His children (and heirs) into His business.

This is an extremely weak example, but the best I can come up with in a time crunch:

Say I want to take James to the park. He is busy playing with Thomas the Train, and won’t come when I call him. He thinks he doesn’t want to do what Mimi wants him to do, even though Mimi’s plan is for his good. He stalls, he runs away, he hides…as I often do when I sense that God is calling me to do something new. I don’t want to drag James kicking and screaming to the park. I want him to be on the same page I’m on…I want his will to be the same as mine. I want him to be excited about it. I want him to trust me that it’s going to be fun. I know what he likes. I know he loves the park. I am taking him there for his benefit. I want him not only to agree with me about the park, I want him to ask me to take him there. And I’d like a little gratitude, too. Eventually, James is persuaded by my description of all the fun things we could do at the park. In the end, he even says “Pease Mimi! Wet’s go to de park!” and gets in his stroller. Then we go. I am delighted. I was waiting for him to be in accord with my will, and to ask me to fulfill it. His hesitation delayed his joy. (So does mine sometimes.)

(* For example, Ex. 32:14)

b.) Prayer changes me. Spending time with God softens me, humbles me, and makes me able to listen. The “still, small voice” becomes louder and clearer the more I learn to listen well. All it takes is time. I find that I don’t insist on my own way as often when I spend quality time alone with God. This is not something I have to force myself to do. It is a delight. So even if the circumstances I’m praying about don’t change, my attitude does.

3.) Jesus prayed.

If we are to be “imitators of Christ,” then we must follow the example he set. Jesus was always sneaking away to be alone with his Father. He prayed both publicly and privately, but it seems apparent that he valued the one-on-one time above all else. It was like oxygen to him.

But here’s the shocker: Even Jesus, “being of the same substance as the Father, very God of very God,” got a “NO.”

Luke 22:44 says he sweated blood when he beseeched the Father to “let this cup pass from me.” His humanity cried out against suffering. But, immediately, he acquiesced to God’s authority, “...not my will, but yours.”

“Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; he rises to show you compassion… Blessed are all who wait for him... How gracious he will be when you cry for help! As soon as he hears, he will answer you.”

But what if the answer is “No”? There is one “No” that is particularly hard to understand and bear. If God is gracious and compassionate, as the Psalmist says, then why does He allow the ultimate suffering of separation by death?

Kelly Edens wrote, “God knows the human heart because He created it. He knows how fragile it is, how quickly it can harden and above all, how it needs to be loved. But real love does not mean a perpetual "yes". When it comes to prayer, there are three answers: yes, no and wait…The hardest "no" to understand is in the death of a loved one. You want them to remain on earth with you, to have one more day to love them, but God takes them anyway. No amount of bribery, promises, or deals can keep your loved one tied to earth. But does this answer mean you will never see them again? Only if you don't intend to follow them to heaven. If you really think about it, maybe God is saying "no" to your loved one's suffering, pain and illness instead of your request for them to linger.”

Nothing on earth hurts like the loss of one you love. Thankfully, at this point I have not experienced the loss of a child. Although I cannot imagine exactly what that must be like, I assume that it’s the worst hurt there is. Unbearably painful. Devastating.

In grappling with all of these questions about the purpose of prayer, I turned to a cadre of close friends (that I look upon as “spiritual mothers”) for their insight. One shared this story with me:

“Bottom line, when I believe in Christ, God Himself is our very great reward. What could be greater than that! He gives me Himself as the answer for all my prayers.

This picture comes to mind: 1980...I'm expecting our 3rd child. I'm in an intense Bible study on the Book of Revelation. I'm walking and talking with the Lord intimately. I'm praying for the well-being of my unborn baby. I'm in the arms of God with Him hugging me tightly when our little daughter is born with such a birth defect that she dies that day. I turn and bury my face into the chest of the Lord as He is right there hugging me. I trust Him, as I know our baby girl is with Him. I grieve and I think of what could have been, but all the while He's hugging me and telling me, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

I think that's the way my prayers were answered. He gave me Himself.”

Since Katherine’s AVM rupture, I’ve been receiving Joni Eareckson Tada’s daily devotionals. If anyone knows about suffering, it is Joni. For those unfamiliar with her, she is the writer and artist who was left a quadriplegic by a teenage diving accident. She reached out to Katherine in the early days, and has been an amazing encourager and example of grace under fire. Many days, her short devotion “just happens” to speak directly to my immediate circumstances. The other day, her words pierced my heart: “If we do not cling to God through the worst life offers, we will misread him entirely and grow to mistrust and even despise him.”

That is what my friend Lynn did. She clung to God when her heart was breaking. He held her in His loving arms, when she could not hold her baby girl in hers.

I remember the first time Lynn told me her story. Though tears were shining in her eyes, she emanated peace, and even joy. She and her husband had two boys, and they’d prayed for a little girl. She told me, “God gave me the desire of my heart…a little girl. But she gets to grow up in heaven.”

I have thought about that over the years. Lynn's daughter has never known heartbreak. She has never faced rejection or fear or sickness or depression. She has never been the victim of violence or gossip. She didn’t have to deal with Mean Girls in the 7^th grade. She has never experienced peer pressure or temptation. She has never suffered loss. She has never sinned. She has never known anything but exquisite joy. And her family will spend eternity with her.

Because her parents know the character of God to be All Loving, they accepted His “no” as somehow coming out of that love. They trust Him. They believe that “all things work together for good for those who love Him.” (And they do love Him.)

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

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know why God said “yes” to the prayers for Katherine’s life, while He says “no” to others. There are things that cannot be known. There are mysteries that will not be solved until Heaven.

But we can come to know God himself.

That is what prayer is to me.

Prayer is…

Connection…conversation…relation…intercourse…union…love-longing satisfied…

…delight…joy…intimacy…sweetness…completeness…peace.

Prayer is a caress.

It is most beautiful when it is beyond words. It is communion. It is consummation. It is a ravishing.

It is the purest form of love. It is transcendent. It is sparkling light and floods of thrilling, roaring, living water pouring out of the heart of God into mine. Liquid delight…cool fire and fiery ice.

Prayer is losing myself in Him in order to find my best, true self. It is a joining of hearts, minds, and wills.

If you haven’t yet experienced prayer in this way, know that “if you seek (and keep on seeking), you will find.”

We are told to seek the greater gifts. (I Cor. 12:31)

For “if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.” (Matt. 7:11)

The one request that we will always receive is more of Him.

That is a prayer that is always answered “Yes!”

He is enough.

Changing God's Mind (or changing my heart?)

2009-12-08T05:43:00.000-08:00

The anxious family huddles together in the cold hospital waiting room.

Waiting.

Praying. Murmuring quietly with each other. Sipping stale, cold, acidic coffee.

Waiting. Praying.

Stomachs growl. Icy hands clasp and unclasp. Backs ache from painful chairs.

Praying. Waiting.

An exhausted, grey-faced doctor strides into the room.

“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”

Where was God?

Was He not listening to the fervent prayers? Was He too busy in the Middle East? Did He not care?

Why even bother praying if He’s too preoccupied or callous to answer, to act, to intervene?

…if His mind’s already made up?

…if He’s just going to say, “NO”?

“The whole world groans as if in the pains of childbirth up til now…”

Most of us are quite content to live in our bubbles until the needle pricks of life abruptly burst them for us. No one goes out searching for pain and heartbreak. They come, nevertheless.

They come as inevitably as death itself.

Maybe it’s just because I’m in an ‘aging spurt,’ but trial and trouble appear more widespread than ever before. There seems to be an acceleration of evil and the tragedy that results from it. Almost every day, I hear fresh heartbreaking news.

Children with life-threatening illnesses. Cancer. Devastating accidents. Life-destroying injuries. Debilitating addictions. Financial meltdowns. Divorce. Mental illness. Plain old meanness. Families estranged. Maiming. Violent death. Death, death, and more death.

The naivety of youth always asserts that tragedy happens to someone else. Those other people. Not our kind of people.

But eventually, we all learn that no one escapes life unscathed.

This comes as quite a shock to some.

My father always said that ‘there are no atheists in foxholes.’ He spent quite a bit of time huddling in them all over Germany, so I assume his statement was authoritative. He also told me that there are few in hospital delivery rooms. He said he’d never heard the name of the Lord spoken so loudly, frequently, or creatively until he did an OB rotation at Grady Hospital in Atlanta in the early ‘50’s. I’ll spare you his imitation of some of the young mothers who came in too late for anesthesia. (You can thank me later.)

There are moments in life that bring us to our knees…to the end of our ropes…to the end of ourselves and our silly self-sufficiency. There are times when we just can’t fix it.

I think even agnostics must pray then…just in case.

But we don’t always get what we want.

Sometimes I wonder why God intervened in the natural order of things in Katherine’s case. More and more medical professionals have emphasized to us the complete improbability of anyone surviving what happened to Katherine. It cannot be explained in merely human terms.

Was God persuaded by the thousands of prayers bombarding Him to get up off the couch and do something about it? Did we talk Him into performing a miracle?

If so, why are there so many cases where it appears that He did not get up off the couch? Were there not enough prayers? Were they not fervent enough?

Were we just lucky He was in a good mood that day?

Obviously, I’ve been thinking a lot about the purpose and efficacy of prayer these days. My ‘mullings’ were inspired in part by an email Katherine received from a precious young mother who, tragically, lost twin baby girls. She wrote:

One topic i would love for you to talk about would be: what the purpose of prayer is and if you think prayer can change God's mind about something. i just know so many people who have lost children- both during pregnancy and after- and so many of them prayed for their children to make it...and God said no. Do you think God changes His mind as a result of prayer, or do you think prayer is our way of accepting God's will for our lives? Or do you think prayer has a completely different purpose- like to rally people together during times of trouble and lifting them up?

Wow. What great, but challenging, questions. I haven’t been able to get them off my mind. Although the questions were addressed to Katherine, I felt led to address them for myself, if no one else.

I guess the pivotal issue is this: If God is sovereign…if His plans and purposes have been ordained since before time…then what part do our prayers play in the grand scheme of things?

My questioning send me rushing out to research the sovereignty of God. It is easy to get bogged down in endless, unresolvable theological debates on the topic. Predestination? Free will? Calvinism vs. Arminianism?

I need to keep it simple.

One California pastor summed up the basic question:

“It is very easy to drift into thinking that prayer is a nice sentiment, but in the end, a waste of time because it doesn’t really make any difference anyway. For some people, this kind of dismissal arises from unbelief and doubt that God really can answer prayer. For others, however, the question that paralyzes their prayer life is this: If God is sovereign, why pray? In other words, if God will simply do what He wants to anyway, why offer prayers of petition and intercession? Why bother requesting that God do such and such when everything has been ordained by Him beforehand? If prayer consists of pleading with God to change His eternal purposes, isn’t such an undertaking feeble at best and arrogant at worst?” (Matt Waymeyer)

In thinking about it, I realize that I do pray fairly often. I pray inconsistently, but frequently. I pray formally and informally. I pray when I’m calm and peaceful, but I pray even more when I’m not. Prayer is an intrinsic part of my existence, my being. I think I have pretty much always prayed, even in the early 70’s when I doubted God’s existence. They were foxhole prayers, but I believe God heard them, nevertheless. He did not, however, always say “Yes.” (Thank God.)

So why do I pray?

(to be continued…)

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

(We made it back alive! Thanks to those who prayed...it was an ordeal. Working on a photo album, but I'm slow. Please bear with me!)

2009-12-07T04:21:00.000-08:00

We're on the last day of a quick trip to Palm Beach to introduce James to his Arnold great-grandparents. They have both struggled with health issues in the past several years (cancer), so it was a real blessing for them to finally meet him. He's been sweet and adorable, thank God!

We're staying in a funky little bed-and-breakfast that we assumed was internet-free...but I just discovered that we have it. After catching up on emails, I checked out a few sites I visit every now and then for encouragement. One of them is "nienie's," a young mother (Stephanie Nielsen) who miraculously survived a deadly plane crash, but now deals with the unbelievable pain involved in healing from burns over 80% of her body. Her "attitude of gratitude" in spite of her suffering is inspirational.

I was pleasantly shocked to find that "nienie" mentions Katherine in her most recent blog, and has posted a link to Katherine's "Undivided Heart" site. I wish I could return the favor, but don't have time for the tutorial on "links." If you want to check out her site, just Google "nienie." She's all over the place...just returned from being on the Today Show with Matt Lauer.

Please pray for "traveling mercies" for us today... we make quite an entourage what with wheelchair, walker, stroller, and stuff!

More later...

2009-11-29T05:45:00.000-08:00

Did I forget to mention how intensely grateful I am for the incredible support we receive from those of you who have entered into our story and are helping us to bear our burdens? I am so thankful for your compassionate hearts.

A very special thanks to those of you who have shared your dreams, visions, and 'angelic encounters.'

I invite everyone to read the comments under the "Dreams" post. People continue to send in wonderful accounts. (Chills.) Please keep sending them in!

We had about 80 people for our Thanksgiving lunch/dinner. (At my sweet uncle's wonderful house, not here! Thank you, Aunt Harriet!) It was a historic gathering. People were there from as far away as England, Alaska, California, and Connecticut. Thankfully, we were able to spring my mother out of the hospital late Wednesday afternoon, so she was able to be there with all five of her siblings and their extended families. (We never get through the holidays without some drama.) All fourteen of my first cousins were there, 20 second cousins, James representing the next generation, and multiple in-laws, out-laws, significant others, and various other well-loved ones. We made a very diverse and lively (i.e. wild and crazy) group. There was guitar, mandolin, and piano playing. There were babies dancing...fireplaces roaring...children running, fighting, and sneaking goodies. Football in the den. (A 200-year-old log cabin attached to the house.) Lots and lots of hugging and laughing.

When the last group of relatives arrived, we gathered in the beautiful, spacious two-story great room for the blessing. After many whoops and whistles, everyone finally quieted down to pray. We formed a gigantic circle of love. Very unexpectedly, my uncle asked for us to lay hands on Katherine and pray for her healing. I could feel all of that concentrated love-energy pulsing into Katherine. The final guest arrived.

His presence filled the room and our very grateful hearts.

Grateful

2009-11-25T17:22:00.000-08:00

After my grandmother was no longer able to host the Mega-Family-Thanksgiving meal, we (otherwise fortunate) offspring were forced to create new traditions of our own. One of mine was the “Blessings Box.” It was a humble creation fashioned from a shoe box, wrapping paper, scissors, and tape.

I blackmailed my family and guests into submitting a “blessing card” before they could receive the feast. It forced us all to stop for a minute and write it down. It made the whole thing less generic, more personal.

What am I truly thankful for?

Am I truly thankful at all?

After seeing the things I’ve seen…and being the places I’ve been…over the past year and a half, my list is a little different from before.

This year,

I am thankful I can breathe.

I am thankful I can swallow.

I am thankful I can move.

I am thankful I can see.

I am thankful I can hear.

I am thankful I can talk.

I am thankful I can go to the bathroom by myself.

(I know people who cannot.)

I am thankful I can walk.

I am thankful I can dance.

I am thankful I can think.

I am thankful I can write.

(I’ve seen people who cannot.)

I am thankful I have a family.

I am thankful I have not outlived my children.

I am thankful that my children speak to me.

I am thankful that my children are not in jail.

(I know people who cannot say these things.)

I am thankful for true friends…and for finding out who they are.

I am thankful for my extended family.

I am thankful for unconditional love.

I am thankful for the compassion of strangers.

(I have encountered people who have no one at all.)

I am not proud that I have been given these great gifts, when others I know have not. I am in no way more worthy than they.

So…

I am especially thankful for forgiveness.

I am thankful for mercy.

I am thankful for grace.

I am thankful that this isn’t all there is.

I am thankful that this is not home.

I am thankful that it’s never too late.

I am thankful that God is in control, and I am not.

I am thankful that I know I am not the master of my own fate.

I am thankful that life has stripped me, broken me, humbled me…

and made me so very, very, very

grateful.

2009-11-23T05:50:00.000-08:00

Thank you all so much for sharing your beautiful Katherine dreams through the comments and emails. At some point, I hope to assemble a compilation of them.

The common denominator seems to be that, in all of them, Katherine is completely restored.

I pray that these lovely dreams of yours may prove to be prophetic in many ways.

“When a prophet of the LORD is among you, I reveal myself to him in visions, I speak to him in dreams…” (Numbers 12:6)

These Dreams

2009-11-17T10:25:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-09T17:44:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T13:24:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-20T13:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-12T11:00:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T17:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-24T16:56:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-09-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-03T08:46:00.001-07:00

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?

2009-08-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

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.

katherine's eyes

2009-08-22T08:24:00.001-07:00

“But it is her eyes that make me want to wail like those women whose “weeping was heard in Ramah.” Those big beautiful aqua eyes, clear as a pristine sea, are out of Katherine’s control. Eyes that could pierce straight through you, eyes that focused in on you as if you’re the only one that matters, now roll around the sockets like big blue-green glass marbles. The right one is infected, red, and suppurating. The pupil hides in the inner corner for the most part, like it’s afraid of what it will see if it comes out. The left is constantly jumping around, but I know she can see out of it. A tear rolled down her cheek when I showed her a picture of James. (But, tough chick that she is, she let me know she wanted to see more.) Most of the time a black patch covers one eye (alternating sides), so she looks like a battered little pirate.” (“A Bruised Reed,” April 29, 2008)

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I snuck out to the living room for some early-morning quiet time. We have a full house in the aftermath of Katherine’s most recent surgery, so time alone is a gift.

With a click and a scroll, I time-traveled back to where we were 16 months ago.

Perspective is everything, we keep telling ourselves. I needed some perspective after yesterday.

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Several months back, my mother said something like, “Well, I’m just glad I didn’t know how my family was going to turn out. We used to be so happy!” Of course, I took it the wrong way at the time. But now I understand what she meant.

I am so very, very grateful that the future is hidden from us. People that consult mediums and psychics must be masochists. (Among other things.)

I am filled with gratitude that I couldn’t comprehend how severe and utterly life-changing Katherine’s brain rupture was at the time. The revelation came slowly, an onion unpeeling layer by layer. The mind possesses an amazing resiliency in protecting itself. I simply could not have wrapped mine around the devastating reality all at once. Each day’s trouble WAS enough. Dear Lord, please let Katherine live through the night. Dear Lord, please heal the pneumonia. Dear Lord, please don’t let the brain swell anymore... bleed anymore... Please help her to stop shaking... hurting... freezing... burning. Please let her move... speak... walk... eat...

see.

As I said in April, 2008, it was her eyes that got to me the most.

Katherine’s eyes were the very first thing I noticed about her. She gave me a good, long stare just as soon as she popped out, as my mother says I did to her the first time we saw each other. (Babies aren’t supposed to be able to see at that point, but we don’t believe it.)

Katherine’s eyes took up half her face.

They were always her defining feature.

Katherine’s eyes were the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.

Katherine’s eyes...

...sparkled with the joy of life

...flashed with anger at injustice

...narrowed at hypocrisy

...moistened with compassion

...crinkled with laughter

...widened with wonder

...saw deep beneath the surface into the very heart.

We blithely escorted Katherine to surgery on Thursday, naively expecting a presto-chango quick-fix restoration of her eyes. I was more excited than nervous about the surgery. I imagined that the surgeon would remove her bandages the next day, and her eyes would be miraculously back to normal, both aesthetically and functionally.

But that was not the case.

"What fresh hell is this?” Dorothy Parker once wondered sardonically.

Katherine’s ‘fresh hell’ is that, for now, the double vision is worse, not better.

Her world is grayer, not rosier.

It is hard for all of us to bear.

But I know that many times, things have to get worse before they get better.

And most times, prayers are answered in stages, so that faith has an opportunity to stretch and grow.

I thought of this story:

“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man's eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, "Do you see anything?"

He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around."
Once more Jesus put his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly." (Mark 8:22-25)

I’m praying for some Celestial Spit.

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“I will not drive them (enemies) out from before you in one year, lest the land become desolate and the wild beasts multiply against you. Little by little I will drive them out from before you, until you have increased and possess the land.” (Exodus 23:29-30)

“It is here promised that they should be guided and kept in their way through the wilderness to the land of promise... How rich are the particulars of this promise! The comfort of their food, the continuance of their health, the increase of their wealth, the prolonging their lives to old age. Thus hath godliness the promise of the life that now is. It is promised that they should subdue their enemies....Enemies are subdued by little and little; thus we are kept on our guard, and in continual dependence on God. Corruptions are driven out of the hearts of God's people, not all at once, but by little and little. (from Matthew Henry’s Commentary)

“I love the LORD, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live.” (Psalm 116:1-2)

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*This was written early Saturday morning, after a rough day on Friday. This morning (Monday) Katherine goes back to see her wonderful surgeon, where the next step will be discussed. This is just the beginning. We have great hope that “little by little” the healing will continue. Jay will post the details on caringbridge when time permits. Thank you for continuing to pray!