Happy 15th to my Mom!

Today, I want to devote my blog post to my Mom. She turns 15 years old.

It’s her birthday, and it’s Leap Year… so I’ll let you do the math. I can truly say, though, that she is still 15 at heart. And she looks very young to match her age!

We also say “Happy Birthday” to my nephew (her grandson!) on this very special day, and her great-niece. The statistics of so many family members sharing a Leap Year birthday are astounding. My dad can explain the math behind it, but I just think it’s cool!

Anyway, the reason I wanted to write about my Mom is because she has been a very instrumental part of our business, from the very beginning.

I can remember sitting on my sister’s floor at her house several years ago, with my head in my hands and tears streaming down my face. I was totally directionless and unsure of what my future would hold, but it was my mom who instilled the confidence and courage in me that I needed. She believed in me, she believed in my talent, and she knew I could do it.

My mom and I are very similar, but we are very different. In the ways that we are different, she is very similar to Kristi. So to have her as a “guidance counselor” in the beginning stages of our business was helpful. She could speak to different facets of both of our personalities, and she always had good ideas.

And she had a way of calming us both down when the world was coming to a crashing end. :)

It is her passion, creativity, and confidence in our business that I really appreciate. She has been involved with us at several points along the way, whether it was providing her basement for us to house our business in the beginning, or filling our first storefront location with trinkets and treasures to draw people in.

Kristi and I always say that both of our moms have been a huge inspiration and help to both of us in our "business" life... both bring such amazing (and different!) talents that have contributed in huge ways. We wouldn't be where we are without them!

I love my Mom lots, and owe my creative spirit and imagination to her! And I don’t usually like to speak for other people, but I do know that my Mom has always said Kristi is like a fourth daughter to her.

Happy 15th Birthday, Mom. We love you!

Losing Belle

On Valentine's Day, when I arrived at work, there was a little gift bag on my keyboard.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I don't know," Kristi said in her-sing-songy-just-open-it voice.

Inside the bag and beneath the tissue paper was an antique-looking plate with beveled edges and the picture of a cat on it.

I love it, because I love cats.

Just 3 days later, I had no clue that one of the cats I love the most would be leaving this life.

Her name is Belle, and my mom received her for a Christmas gift in December of 1998. Just a tiny little calico kitten then, she lived indoors until she was old enough to brave the outdoors. She ran around our house and got lots of attention. She slept in the laundry room, and my mom would often find her fast asleep in the sleeves of our dirty clothes. She would do a "kitty check" before tossing the laundry into the washing machine, just to make sure.

She lived inside for quite awhile. We didn't get her spayed the first year, and consequently, she went "into heat" the next Christmas. For anyone who has been through this, cats in heat are not the most pleasant to be around, especially when you're trying to celebrate Christmas together as a family. So we put her outside and said "Good Riddance."

This resulted in 4 beautiful baby kittens just 2 months later on March 1, 2000. Belle gave birth to 2 black kitties, 1 black & white, and 1 orange. We found homes for 3 of them and kept the orange male, calling him Pumpkin.

Belle and Pumpkin were mother and son, and did just find living outdoors together. But to anyone around, it was clear that Belle was the favorite. As a classic female cat, she walked around high and mighty and with attitude. You earned her respect and love. She LOVED to be vocal about everything. She "talked" to us all the time. My favorite activity was to imitate her meow exactly, and then she would meow back. We would continue this until she would end up tilting her head up with a series of low, satisfied meows, her eyes slightly closed with contentment.

I called Belle "Bellsie" or sometimes just "Sa." Don't ask me how I came up with that latter nickname. I loved Belle-- as a little girl, when Belle still lived indoors, I made a makeshift "leash" out of one of my purse straps and hooked it onto her collar so we could take walks outside.

Belle was also a nice buffer to have around for when my first childhood cat and best friend-- Whiskers-- died. Whiskers was a big gray cat that I had known my entire childhood. I used to have picnics with him and dress him up in clothes. I would bring him inside when I was a little girl and take naps with him or let him lay on my lap in bed while I read books. Even though I always got in trouble for bringing him inside, I did it anyway, because I loved him so much.

I made up a middle named for Whiskers, and I assigned him his favorite colors. I drew pictures on the garage floor by his bed with chalk, and wrote stories about him all the time.

When he turned 18 years old, we found out he had a cancerous tumor on his eye. Before long, it was clear that Whiskers' quality of life was deteriorating, and he was in pain. Against my wishes, my parents made the appointment for him to be euthanized.

But even though I didn't want to see him go, even as a little girl, I understood it was better for him to be put down. It made me sick with sadness to think about it, so I would go outside into the garage and talk to Whiskers. It was winter, so the heat lamp was on overhead, and he would always be curled up and sleeping on a bright blue blanket.

They say that animals help lower your blood pressure, and I believe it to be true. I can remember talking to him when I was sad, and telling him my many woes. Even though he could not talk back to me, I knew he understood my little girl stories, and all I really needed was a listening ear. I can remember crying to him, telling him I loved him and I didn't want him to die.

But I knew he had to die. And letting him die was the nicest thing I could do. So on March 14, 1999, we took him to the vet. I can remember going outside and sitting on a car bumper with my sister Tasha, and staring at the green fence behind the vet's office. I can remember thinking: This is one of Whiskers' favorite colors. Green. Also, the color of his eyes.

I can remember the vet telling us, "He went right to sleep." And the card that came in the mail a week later from the vet's office, offering their condolences. It was signed from everyone at the vet's office.

I can remember mourning him for weeks... months. I was 12 years old, and this was one of the biggest losses I had experienced. Whiskers had been a part of my entire life.

However, as I said, Belle softened the blow. She was around, and although she did not come close to replacing Whiskers, she was a new treasure to be enjoyed.

Eventually, Belle was just what her name means... a beauty. A beautiful creature that helped mend all of our hearts and help us move on.

Within the past year, it suddenly hit me how old Belle was becoming.

"She's 13 years old," I told my parents. "She could die within the next few years."

My mom scolded me for being so morbid, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I loved Belle, and what if her time to die was soon?

It came sooner than anyone of us expected.

No one is exactly sure how it happened.

We had been gone on vacation, so no one was around the house to observe her for almost 2 weeks. Upon return, my parents didn't notice anything out of the ordinary; in fact, the day before she was found sick, my mom said she saw her laying in the front yard by the pine tree, and she stooped down to pet her.

Very early the next morning, my dad heard her meowing outside of his basement bathroom window. It sounded stranger than normal, so he went outside to investigate. Belle was curled up in the corner of the house, trying to keep warm. Seeing that she was cold and weak, and thinking she just needed to warm up, my dad carried her into the garage, placed her in the heated dog house that the cats share, and covered her up.

At lunch time that day, my parents checked on her again. Her condition had not improved. She was still very cold, and could hardly lift her head. This is about the time I was called.

"Taryn," my mom said. "I think Belle is dying."

We made an appointment to see the vet, and I came home to see her.

When I arrived, both of my parents were sitting on the basement room floor with her. She was laid out on a giant pillow and covered with a towel. She couldn't lift her head or do anything. She was still purring, though, and every once in awhile, she would lift her head just a little bit and meow. It was weak, but it was Belle's meow-- her "Hi, I'm here," meow.

Seeing her like this, my eyes filled up with tears. I think my heart knew what was coming before I could mentally process it. When my parents explained to me that if there was nothing we could do...

I knew what would have to be done before they could speak it.

I buried my head in her fur and sobbed.

We took her to the vet. My dad carried her on the giant pillow to keep her comfortable. The vet came in and checked her. He tried to take her temperature, but it would not even register on the thermometer.

"That's not good," he told us. A normal pet's internal temperature is normally over 100 degrees. Belle's wasn't even discernable.

Her paws were cold to the touch, and she was so weak.

"It could be a number of things," the vet surmised, "But I'm afraid that if we treated her, it would kill her."

My mom nodded with understanding, and then spoke the inevitable.

"That is a good option," he told us. "Do you want a moment alone with her?"

Much to my surprise, I nodded my head no.

Almost as soon as I made the decision, I regretted it. I regretted it because what I really wanted to do was to take Belle home with me, to put her under a heat lamp inside and cover her up with blankets and let her get better. I wanted her to recover and live another 3 or 4 years, be able to lay around on our porch in the sun, sit in our grass, welcome me home when I come to visit, let me brush her and talk to her. I wanted all of this but knew I couldn't have it.

So I stood close while they searched for a good vein. She was so dehydrated that they couldn't find one.

"She doesn't want to die," I said, sobbing.

And just like that... she was gone. She didn't look like it, but she was. I pet her fur, and I could still almost feel her purring, feel the soft rise and fall of her belly.

We took her home and buried her in our backyard, right next to Whiskers.

It was a beautiful day outside-- my favorite kind-- with the bright blue sky and sunshine. Even on the saddest days, God has a way of smiling on me.

Immediately, I went inside and dug out our old photo albums. I flipped back to 1998 and collected an assortment of pictures with Belle.

I was astounded at all of the other lives and events that Belle had overlapped... my Grandpa and Grandma Schupbach. My first day of Jr. High. The end of Whiskers' life, and the beginning of Kitty's. She was alive for every single birth of my nieces and nephews.

The rest of the day was hard. That evening, I picked up the phone and called my mom.

"What if we let her go to soon?" I asked, beside myself. "What if we should have waited. Brought her home, to see if she got better? Maybe she just needed to warm up. Maybe..."

"Taryn." My mom told me all the things I knew to be true but couldn't yet accept.

That she was old. She was in pain, and she was very sick. There was no "coming back" from a temperature that couldn't register, and that we did what any pet owner who loves their pet does.

I hung up the phone and I cried. I cried for Belle, for the life she had, for how much I will miss her and already do. I cried for all the memories that she helped me create. All of the people and events she was connected to in my life.

Then I felt foolish. Why cry as if this was a death in the family? It's a cat, not a human. But despite her feline makeup, it felt like she had the impact of a family member.

It's true-- she didn't hold my hand on my first day of school, but she was there to send me off. She didn't attend my High School graduation, but she was at the party. And she may not have bought me Christmas presents every year... but she was there to help me open them. She can't grill a hamburger, but she was more than happy to eat the crumbs that fell off the table at our family events, and put up with all of the grandkids who "pet" her on hot summer days As much as we try to say "Well, it's just an animal," it truly is more than that. At the end of their life, we mourn not only who they were as an animal, but all of the moments they were there in our lives. The good ones, and the bad ones. The important ones, and the ones that weren't so monumental. The days that the sun shone, and the days that the rain poured.

I used to think that "All Dogs go to Heaven" was a silly phrase that someone made up to comfort small children. As I get older and learn more about the real Heaven, I realized that God has made it a perfect place for everyone. It is an amazing, happy, loving place, a place where He places the finest of gifts and the pleasures we enjoyed on Earth will be there in their most perfect form in Heaven. In my heart, I think this includes cats.

I know that animals do not have a soul, and that my experience in eternity does not hinge on whether I get to be reacquainted with my pet cats. What I DO know, though, is that God is a big and mighty and loving Lord, and that He allows us to go through times of loss to refine us. He gives us blessings, and at times, He takes them away.

Luke 12:6 says "Are not give sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God."

I love it that we have such a personal God. If a sparrow is not overlooked, then neither was Whiskers, or Belle. God knows each of those felines and who they were in my life... and that's all that matters.

Love you all!

T

White and Bright

My last blog post received unexpected popular support and tears. This encourages me to continue writing, and perhaps lighten the mood a bit.

Today is our first real snowfall of the winter. I'm a fan of the late-winter appearance. While a White Christmas warms the heart with Holiday cheer, if the alternative means a dozen blue-sky 50 degree days instead, I'm game. I'm a sucker for the sunshine and the warmth. By now, I am usually sinking into a mild Seasonal Affect Disorder depression and dreaming about beaches and pineapple and sun tan lotion at night.

To the contrary, I just checked the calendar and was pleasantly surprised to see that my Florida trip is coming up sooner than I thought. Additionally, Kristi and I just booked a desert wedding in ARIZONA for THIS MARCH! We are over the moon. We purchased the airfare today. Not only does Phoenix offer a magnificent backdrop for this event, I also have an amazing family to stay with and visit. Plus, AZ is beautiful this time of year... bursts of pink flowers paired with sunny day smiles. The explosion of color is a sure contrast to our grayish Marches in the Midwest...

...and might I mention that by the end of March, my Florida tan will likely be starting to fade, so why not fuel up on sun again?

I'm done bragging. Onto the next topic... Cousin's Coffee. I started attending last Thursday morning. It's delightful. A bunch of us "loosely-related-Domnick-cousins" get together for coffee and chatter at a local coffee shop in Morton. We sit around a big table, sip lattes and tea, and tell stories. I love it. There are many ages present... I love the variety.

Anyway. While I would love to stay and write on, I should wrap it up. 5:01 on a Thursday evening... I need to slosh through the slush and drive home, eat a leftover chicken enchilda for dinner, and meet a friend at 7.

Love you all!

T

On My Own

I have been wanting to write for awhile. Phrases and topics have been running wild through my imagination daily… and at those exact moments, I wish I could transfer them from my mind to paper. But it doesn’t always work that way, because my best ideas come to me while standing in line at Starbucks, or while running a wedding meeting with a customer, or while deciding between Ranch or Italian dressing in the aisle at the grocery store.

Alas, I come tonight, ready to spill my thoughts. First up is Kitty.

She’s a real joy to have around… keeps me from growing too lonely. In fact, sometimes I lock her in my office so she doesn’t bother me. She insists upon being by my side at all times, whether that entails watching me eat my dinner, stalking my legs and feet as I walk by, or curling up on top of me at night in bed. She has fallen into the toilet multiple times already. She loves to drink out of my bathroom sink (not sure why) and my glasses of ice water. Each time, I carry her to her water bowl and place her in front of it, but it’s just not as cool. She stands on the bath tub ledge between the shower curtain and shower liner while I take showers, and has taken a nap on every piece of furniture in my house.

In a lot of ways, she is still like a little kid. She does exactly what I don’t want her to do, and she knows she’s doing it. Thus, the introduction of a spray bottle filled with water labeled “Kitty.” When she’s naughty, she gets sprayed. She is very outgoing, nosey, and independent. She doesn’t want to do anything by force. It has to be her idea. Fortunately, it is often her idea to curl up next to me on the couch or sit by my side while I’m working on a project, so I never feel too alone.

Transition to my new home has been easier than I expected. The first couple of times that I went back to my parent’s house, it was hard. It seemed weird that I didn’t live there anymore, and the thought of “leaving” to go “home” was a foreign concept. However, it didn’t take long for my new little house to feel like home. It helped that I got to take my bed with me J and some other familiar pieces of furniture.

I do miss my parents, and the constant companionship of having other human beings around. I had a sad moment with each. The night we moved me into my house, my mom, sisters, Kristi and I gathered around my kitchen table for a take-out meal after a long day’s work. Tonya said a meal prayer for us, and after the prayer, I looked over to find my mom in tears. It was a touching moment for me, because up until that point, I was trying to stay strong and not let it be sad. Seeing my mom’s tears, though, and knowing that she would miss my presence at home and the feeling was mutual, brought tears of my own. We shared a special moment then.

My other sad moment was the next evening, when I went to pick up Kitty from my parents’ house. She stayed there an extra night due to me having a busy weekend and not being home much to get her used to her new house.

I gathered all of Kitty’s things and packed her away into my car. I ran back inside for one last thing, and as I did, I saw my dad.

“Hi Taryn,” he greeted. “What brings you here?”

“I’m just here to get Kitty,” I said, then I smiled. “Why Dad, did you want to say good-bye to her?”

My Dad grew from “tolerating” Kitty to actually liking her in the couple of months she had spent at my parent’s house.

“No, no, that’s OK,” he said.

I said good-bye and went outside to get into my car. As I pulled away with Kitty in my lap, I saw my dad watch me leave from the window of the back door. He watched as I pulled away and drove down the street to my new home. Just like that, I burst into tears.

It was like a scene from those songs or movies you watch where the kid drives off to college and the parent watches sadly as they go… and I couldn’t help but get sad one last time. There was no “coming back.” I was truly moving on, venturing into a new chapter in my life. In a sense, I was “growing up,” even more, and taking from their house the last thing I had to claim (Kitty.) It was a realization that gripped me and had me sobbing all the way to my new house.

But upon arrival, I wiped the tears off my face and dropped Kitty in the back door. She sniffed around and was quickly acquainted with her new digs. It was fun seeing her get used to the new place and explore the rooms.

Ever since, I have been happily living alone. As I grow older, I have noticed that I have become more independent. If you had told me 10 years ago that I would be living by myself in a little house, I would have laughed. But at this point in my life, it just seems like the perfect fit. On my first night at my house, I remember thinking it was strange that being here alone didn’t feel more “weird.” But it truly didn’t. It just felt “right,” and I had a contentment in my heart about the entire situation. Even after everyone left and there was nothing left but the finishing touches they had all helped me make on my house… I felt at peace in my new little home.

A wonderful feeling!

I will be back soon to share more life stories. Until then…

Love you all.

T

Home Sweet Home

Today, I became a homeowner.

It all started about 3 months ago. The thing is, I have always loved living at home. Always.

I enjoy the special time I have with my parents-- they are pretty cool!-- and all of the perks associated with having a nice, big warm home to live in. The benefits of staying always outweighed the benefits of moving out, in my mind. Considering I am quite an independent person and like to have my own "space" and "time," I have stuck around for awhile. I could never wrap my mind around leaving, and it always saddened my heart to think I would one day make that move.

However, at the beginning of this Fall, the small little thought of "moving out" crept into my mind. With it came a peace that it would soon be time to do it.

I don't think I told anyone this, but one night I did a search online to see what was available for rent or sale in this area. Nothing really popped up, but I was just curious.

Furthermore, I knew when I did move out, I wanted it to be a smart play financially and emotionally. I wanted it to be a situation that would help me to settle in somewhere and not move around (i.e. renting with room mates, etc.) It was also important to me to have a place I could call my own and MAKE my own, because we all know my taste tends to be a bit eccentric... at times, in a way that only I enjoy :)

Anyway, shortly after this way of thinking entered my mind and my little search took place, I found out that one of our family friends was looking for a job out-of-state. She had applied for a teaching position in Indiana at our church-run Gateway Woods.

I found out she was accepted for the position and was THRILLED for her! Sad she would be moving away, but excited for her opportunity.

My very next thought was: What will happen to her house? Her house would be PERFECT for me.

It is a very small, 2-bedroom, 1 bath house situated on one of the main drags in Morton. I have always thought it was a cute little place. In fact, I grew up going over to her house for "Girl's Nights," in which my cousin and I would stay up ALL night and watch movies (and we would occasionally get scolded for being so loud!)

Anyway, the house itself had a special place in my heart, and I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to buy it.

The next morning, I shared these thoughts with my mom. Unbeknownst to me, my mom had been with our friend the night before and she had told my mom, "I want Taryn to have my house." This likely occurred at the same time I had the same thought!

Later, I found out that she had also had a tremendous peace about me getting her home. She told me, "You will never really know how dead certain I was that one morning back in early Sept. (after I knew I was taking this job) that the Lord just spoke to me (clear as a bell!) and said this house needs to be Taryn Kaiser's!"

It was such confirmation to hear that! It definitely affirmed the peace I had in my heart and mind to make this purchase.

Anyway, the moment the idea starting coming to fruition in my mind, I did not waste another moment. I found out who I needed to contact and what I needed to do to get the ball rolling, and I started the process of buying my very first home.

All along the way, the Lord has taught me many lessons! It has been a Faith-building experience for me, as I tackled something I have never done before in my whole life. However, it is awesome to see how God blessed this decision and I am SO excited to move in very soon!

I will share more later about my house, my plans, and post pictures when it is ready. For now, I just wanted to share my EXCITING news. I am officially a home-owner!!!

Praise Jesus!

Love you all,

Taryn

The Happiest Visit

It was a day that we had baptisms of two twin boys at church. I was standing in the lunch room, catching up with my mom.

"Hi Gwandma," I heard a little voice say. A little voice that at 6 years old, still struggled with the "R" sound.

I didn't realize who this dark-haired girl in the red polka dot dress was until she had her arms wrapped around my middle in an embrace. I looked down to find my niece, and all at once became overjoyed, greeting her with, "Hi Sweetie!"

It had been 7 months since I had seen her sweet face in our church.

As if her sudden presence turned on a faucet, my eyes started to brim with tears. I looked over at my mom to see that her eyes matched my own.

"I can't do this," she told me, shaking her head. Losing control, she fled to the nearest bathroom.

I almost followed her, and then thought better of it, knowing in my heart that if I joined her, we both would return with puffy, red faces.

So instead, I stood by myself in the lunch room. For a moment, everything continued to buzz on around me while I composed myself. Breathing deeply and willing my tears to go away, I wiped at my eyes and told myself to be strong.

A couple of minutes later, I found my 2 oldest nephews, the brothers of my niece. I was glad to see they had accompanied their dad, as well, in attending the baptismal service on this special day. The twin boys getting baptized had him as a Sunday School teacher a year before, and had invited him to come.

I sat down while my oldest nephew ate his lunch and chatted with him awhile. We talked about his school, his teacher, his friends. When it was time to head upstairs, I stood up front with my nieces and nephews and sang. During the song service, my oldest nephew looked at me and asked, "Should I sit with Grandma?"

"Yes," I answered immediately. "She would love that."

He needed no further prompting. During that afternoon's service, our bench was filled with 6 of my mom's grandkids + myself from 2 different families... more than it has seated in quite some time. It was almost like things had returned to the way they were before.

I sat closely to my two oldest nephews and helped them with puzzle books, and watched two older boys be baptized.

Sometimes I think it's rather silly that I allow myself to become so upset over something that seems so small. But these special moments with my nieces and nephews... seeing them run upstairs from Sunday School every Sunday, eat a chocolate donut, sing upstairs, sit with them during the service... all those little moments add up. Suddenly, those small things equate to something really big.

So it's not that I mourn for where they are now... which is still a lovely church environment with a wonderful Christian teaching. Rather, I mourn what has seemingly been taken from me, which are all those little moments in the future that I will never have back.

Yet in all things, God has a plan. I am learning to see the good in all situations, regardless of what my own desires are.

CA Highway Patrol

Me?

I'm just sitting at the kitchen table, sipping cold coffee and working on a PowerPoint presentation for the Child Sponsorship Program.

In some ways, I feel like I'm back in college... putting together picture, video, music, etc. late at night like this. The football game is on in the other room, with casualties on the couch, proof of a busy weekend.

The Pumpkin Festival was spectacular this week. Just perfect weather, and numbers estimating in the 60,000 range attended on one of the days. And the best part was, there was no rain on our parade.

I enjoyed my usual pleasures: an elephant ear, an apple cider slush, pumpkin ice cream, and of course my favorite dinner of pork chop, nachos and cheese, and pumpkin pie every single night.

Every year, our church makes a home-cooked dinner for the carnival workers and serves them on Tuesday night (before the festival kicks off), and I was able to attend and take some pictures. I really enjoyed it!

Meanwhile, I currently feel like a train hit me. Not exaggerating. I tackled the 2-mile "fun run" yesterday (all by myself-- my nephews ditched me). My dad ran the 10K and since we all start at the same line, I jogged with him for about 2 minutes before we parted ways onto our separate routes. There were many others I knew who ran.

I ran last year, too. This year seemed to go by really well and I actually prefer running by myself. I can set my own pace and not feel pressured by whoever is beside me.

Anyway, I felt great after the run but not so great when I woke up this morning. I could barely walk and my neck and upper back feels like someone threw bricks at it last night while I was asleep. Nonetheless, I pulled off my 2 miles yesterday and received a "how to run properly" lesson today from my dad: Just remember, "California Highway Patrol," which equates to "Chest up, Hips out, and Push off with your toes..."

My mom told me that if my abs/ribs area hurts, it means I ran right. So there is a positive to all this pain.

Needless to say, next year I may just train a few weeks in advance. You know, maybe run a mile a couple weeks beforehand or something. :) Who knows, perhaps one year I will try the 10K?

My aunt and uncle are in town from Arizona. So tomorrow, I was invited to go with them and my parents to the Lincoln Museum in Springfield. I am a little excited, because I quite enjoy museums and it will be a fun way to spend my Monday. Of course, it had to occur on my busiest day in terms of meetings, so Kristi is being kind enough to take on of my order sessions while I'm gone. The rest of the week looks pretty busy with quite a few shoots and a continued effort to keep up with all of our editing before we kick off our next several weddings.

Well... I need to keep working on this volunteer project. Then it's the couch for me tonight. We also have other relatives in town so none of the bedrooms are available... and this is my weekend off of work, so I get the basement :) but I must say, the couch we have down there is pretty comfortable. I can't complain.

If I make it to the couch before midnight tonight, it will be a miracle...

Love you all!

T

Going to Jail

Today I went to jail.

I frequent there... about once a month. Fortunately, after being there for about an hour, I get to walk right back out and go on with my life.

But each time I go, I learn something new. My perspective changes just a little. My mind is renewed. I am more thankful, and my picture of life is more clear.

To offer just a small amount of background, about 2 years ago, my heart was moved to become involved with the jail ministry in our church. I have always had a desire to touch those who are in broken circumstances, and the Lord showed me a way to do it. I knew up front that this would be a stretching experience. And it is. But each time I am stretched, I learn more about God, about His character, about trusting, and about His love.

When I am scheduled, I prepare a lesson and go early on Sunday mornings, ready to meet whoever wants to attend church. There can be anywhere from 1 group of 2 ladies to 2 groups of 6 ladies. We pray together, we read the Bible together, we discuss, and we share prayer requests. An older lady in our church usually accompanies me, and I love her support and wisdom.

I have heard so many stories. I have seen women moved to tears, at their most broken state of addiction. I have seen mothers locked away for months without their children, and daughters spending weeks away from their families. I have seen the emptiness of alcoholism and drug abuse. I have seen ladies who reach out with desperate trust in God as their court dates approach, unaware of the outcome and its consequences.

Today, for the very first time, I visited a girl in solitary confinement. It was shocking. She was locked away in a small room with a bed and a toilet. When we arrived, she was just waking up, and her eyes were foggy with sleep. Her face was covered in acne, and her hair a tousled mess. Depression was in the air.

The door separated us from her. We could only see her through a tiny panel of window, and we spoke through a small open slit. We talked to her for a few minutes and then we said a prayer with her.

She had been there for 3 months for a minor infraction.

My heart ached for her.

"Anytime you get low this week," my cohort said, "Just remember that we are praying for you."

The power of prayer has never been so meaningful to me. I know I will not forget to pray for her.

Then we left.

As we walked out, out into daylight, out into freedom, I said, "It makes me thankful..."

She nodded, agreeing, "Thankful for my upbringing," I finished.

"Thankful for parents and a family and a church that taught you the Truth," she added.

"Exactly. Because if I didn't have that, who's to say I wouldn't be where they are?"

I thought more about it on the way home.

I thought about why God chose for some of us to grow up in a loving, Christian environment, and why some of us grew up in a dysfunctional family with widespread sin. Having been handed such a wonderful example, I am, of course, responsible for a lot more.

But what of those who do only what they know... and what they know is drinking, drugs, and sex?

The more I visit jail, the more I see it as a haven of rest-- a second chance. God's way of taking these women and stopping them in their tracks and turning them toward the Light.

And their brokenness, their lessons learned, their ability to look at life with a renewed hope does more for me than they will ever know.

My conclusion was that while I may have had the better upbringing... without them and their steps of faith up out of the pit... we wouldn't have the chance to see God's glory at its best.

The more life I live, the more I understand God's purpose behind broken events-- a sudden death, a terminal illness, an orphan child, a jailed victim... the things of life we, as humans, have such a hard time "understanding." Whether one is put into such a circumstance in innocence or due to consequences, it is in and through those situations that God is most glorified and people are touched. And what is life, if God is not glorified?

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Love you all!

T