A season of Sanctuary

2 a.m.

Eyes wide open. 

Trying not to blink too long. 

When my eyes close too long I see his little body slowly losing its warmth in that hospital room. 

In my heart I cry out, "God please take this!" 

In my mind I scream, "Sanctuary! God please sanctuary!" 

I think of Mamas in my group who had to identify their little ones

and my heart breaks under the strain.

God give them sanctuary somewhere inside.

I have always loved the idea of a sanctuary. People crowding into a holy place crying, "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" And being relieved of the terror of physical violence. But if there is one thing death has taught me it is that there is no physically safe place. Each of us is more fragile than we know. Physically. Spiritually.
Refugees cross oceans, blacks and whites change neighborhoods and schools, cops change jobs, military personnel seek treatment. People die in churches, malls, schools...Truly there is no safe place. My body can't find sanctuary.

Yesterday well before my two a.m. episode I heard/watched a song that for some reason brought to mind seeking a spiritual sanctuary. I have come so close to spiritually breaking and at times have held on only with Simon Peter's question "Lord unto whom would I go?" He is the only one with the words of life. And so I stay and I hold on and now understanding how spiritually fragile we all are I pray to be led to a place where we'll be (spiritually) safe.

May you find the only sanctuary that there is in this world.

I hope you take your family there and your neighbors.

This season is truly a safe place for my soul.

God give us faith so we'll be safe.

Here's the link and some of the lyrics:
The Prayer with David Archuleta and Nathan Pacheco

I pray you'll be our eyes
and watch us where we go
and help us to be wise
In times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer
when we lose our way
Lead us to a place
guide us with your Grace
to a place where we'll be safe

I pray we'll find your light
and hold it in our hearts
When stars go out each night
Let this be our prayer
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
guide us with your Grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe

Stay Autumn Stay

Stay Autumn stay

Days full of chemo,

Nights full of linen changes.

We won't put up a twinkling tree

or cook a huge feast.

We won't let the leaves

stop falling.

Ever.

Spring is too new,

Winter too old.

The bluest sky is teaching us of beauty profound,

When life begins to fade

and yet is at its brightest.

Spring we take for granted

So much life,

too much for us to understand

too great to grasp.

Winter burns until we are broken.

Summer leaps like a child that has known only good.

But when Fall comes no one has to remind us to give thanks.

Fall is life finally understood.

So stay Autumn stay

God teach me how to pray

Days full of grief

Nights full of prayers

Give me back yards full of leaves

and arms full of him

and I will never ask for sleigh bells

or daffodils

I will wait for nothing

I will want for nothing

Stay Autumn stay

School days, school nights

Week three and I want to quit. 3 out of 5 mornings this week. What am I gaining? Should I send him to school this morning knowing he has been up since 2 again? I've taken him everyday this week but my resolve is faltering. I lay on the floor watching the minutes tick by listening to his anxious breathing and advising him to visualize good times and fun places. I glance over at my 3 year old in his toddler bed, the bed Ben painted with pink sparkly nail polish approximately 4 days after leaving the hospital on hospice. He is sleeping peacefully with the same blanket he had  the night I came in at around 2 a.m from the hospital and picked up his 2 year old self and sat down on the floor and cried. And rocked. And cried some more. Same curls, same beautiful brown skin, now though he sleeps with Ben's doggie that he has claimed as his own. He's grown a couple of inches in height since then and a couple of feet  in attitude. He is beautiful. He is scarred but not broken. I think of mental hospitals. I think of the neuro-whatchamacallit that we have an appointment with soon, but not soon enough. I anticipate my alarm going off in the next room. I try to cry quietly just in case there is any chance of my oldest falling into sleep. Scenes from the movie Beautiful Mind and Shine scare me and I wish I had never seen them. I glance at my 7 year old tossing and struggling not to obsess about his breathing. He is beautiful and he is broken and trying to hold his little 7 year old pieces together with all his 7 year old might. How long, oh Lord, how long?

Memoirs of a Boat Rocker

Let's pretend you and your best friend have been hired at the same place...I know way to go HR you just lowered your company's productivity by 95% but just go with it for a minute. You are not actually in the same area but at least, squee!, there is lunch to look forward to! You work all morning and then finally both hit the lunchroom at the SAME time! I know. I know. You start gabbing away about your morning, your kids, something you pinned recently, etc. then out of the blue someone approaches you and tells you your time to talk is over. Now you may have been pretty quiet all morning but then you had some pretty challenging, stimulating work to do. It doesn't take much effort or many brain cells to chew your sandwich. So you sit. In silence. Next to your best friend.

Does this sound familiar? Probably not unless you are one of the millions of American school kids who are required to spend all or a portion of their lunch time in silence. I currently work in a cafeteria (for the second time) in a public school in the good old U.S. and while the cafeteria I work in is one of the best I have seen it still has room for improvement! Below are three suggestions I have for lunchrooms across America. With just a little thought and planning I believe that we (parents, administrators, and aides) can turn lunch time into one of the best parts of the day for the kids and for the adults!

1) Why do the kids need to be quiet? Is lunchtime a break or not? These are the first questions administrators and aides need to ask themselves. What I come up with is a) So they can hear instructions b) so that others can get their lunches in a timely and efficient manner. This means that talk can be permitted at a low rumble 80%-95% of the time. Be sure to come up with your own reasons and address them appropriately without over doing it. Try to figure out how you can make it a break for them and still accomplish what you need to. Write out a schedule of times when they would need to be quiet and times they can talk and then clearly communicate it to the kids.

2) Set a time limit on Quiet time. One of the most aggravating things is when kids start out quiet and then slowly the talking builds to a roar. Adults are screaming,"It is still QUIET TIME!!!" "She just told you to be quiet! Why is your mouth open?" etc. Adults are frustrated, kids are nervous or out of control (depending on their personality type), there are literally so many kids talking it is impossible to discipline them all. I have found a good gauge of whether or not what you are asking is attainable is whether or not the obeyers can accomplish it. If even the "good" kids are talking you are asking too much. While you might have a definite time in mind for silence the kids have no idea how long they will be expected to be quiet which makes it really difficult for them to restrain themselves.
Here's an example of one way that setting a time limit can help.
Adult: Okay 1st graders, here come the kindergartners! That is our signal to be quiet for 5 minutes (while they get their food so that the lunch line staff can hear them). You may want to use a timer or tell them where the hands on the clock will be when quiet time is over.

3) Last but not least try silent signals.
-When I was the childrens' music director for our congregation someone had come up with something called the Primary 5. When the kids were getting too boisterous all I had to do was raise my hand. They would respond by raising their hands and closing their mouths. It often rippled across the room as first the attentive children and then the less attentive children and finally the rabble rousers :) noticed. If they didn't hear or see me asking for quiet they quickly saw their friends asking for it. We often practiced how quickly we could get the room completely silent. They loved trying to get faster and faster. I would put my hand at my side like it was in a holster and they would pretend to talk and then I would raise my hand as fast as I could.
-Another silent signal is laminated circles in red or green. As you walk around during your (SHORT) quiet time you drop a green on tables that are doing great at being quiet and a red on tables that aren't. The table needs to try to get there light to green by the end of the quiet time or there are consequences (just for those who are talking not for the whole table. One effective consequence is getting dismissed first if your table was the quietest or most obedient. Let tables go to recess starting with the quietest and see how quiet that room gets!)
-Google Cafeteria management or Lunchroom Management- Lots of schools have shared their great ideas and solutions to the problems you are having!


One last thing, if your staff does not like children or does not have the nerves to handle them talking you have two options- ask them to seek other employment or spend some time educating them on developmentally appropriate expectations for the age group they are working with. This education should extend to security guards, lunch line staff, lunch aides, basically anyone who comes in contact with the kids. Our expectations needed to be tempered with understanding or we are just kicking against the pricks and raising our blood pressures (and making kids miserable) for no reason!

Please share this post, print it and give to your principal or lunch staff, email it to other parents and friends! Together we can better U.S. schools as long as we are all willing to do our parts instead of just hating it but not doing anything about it. Thanks for the read!!

No safe place

My should have started kindergarten yesterday-er and my second grader.

The last two days, which have been the first two days of 2nd grade for my oldest have been Hell plain and simple. He has always struggled with anxiety. He has always wanted to be perfect.
Over and over again people tell me about their little worrier trying to reassure me that all kids go through this. The doctor thinks a therapist and maybe medicine will help. Is there pill for paradise lost? Can I have a dose, too?
I watch him writhe in his chair at lunch. 
More than anything I wish I could lift the burden that reality is that slumps his shoulders and droops the corners of his mouth. Worry is etched in his every angle and I try not to think of people, adults who have crumbled under less.
We truly take for granted the foundation that security gives us. The profound ignorance of our mortality becoming the basis of our ease. An ease my 7 year old can no longer enjoy. 
When Ben died his perfectionist characteristics obsessed over what the cause was. "Did Ben die because he wouldn't take his medicine to make him better?" "Did Ben die because he didn't wash his hands?" Round and round his mind went clinging to an idea and then rejecting it and then clinging to it again. Desperately searching for a way to keep himself and his family safe. 
That was last year. 
Now here we are. 
Our first time back at school since Ben's death and it is bringing us to our knees. 
Raised eyebrows every time I walk into the office. I know what they're thinking. I worked in school for years. I am amazed now at how judgmental I was then as I watch them smirk as I sign in and put on another visitor badge.  
He asked me to come have lunch with him again today. 
I'd give him Hope if I could. 
Instead I give him a juice box just like I used to back when that was enough. He smiles and relaxes for a second. Then he returns to his agitated stance. His eyes dart everywhere, frenzied. He talks to no one. Stands. Sits. Stands. Sits. Over and over. I sit down and strike up a conversation with the 2nd grader next to me about sharks. He slowly eats a few bites. Better than yesterday. Yesterday he ate half a cracker and stood up the whole time. Yesterday was worse. Soon the whole table is talking, "My cousin's dad wears make up!" "My brother is going to skip a grade." "I went to the beach and there were sharks!" "I saw on TV that sharks are attacking lots of people right now." My son stops darting his eyes around long enough to comment to me how the large majority of sharks are not that dangerous. Victory in my book! We are headed in the right direction! He may not have spoken to someone else but he spoke in their presence. My son is not shy, he is anxious. He is afraid to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing.
I wish I could lie to him. 
I wish life wasn't so hard at 7. 
Mine wasn't. 
He came home more upbeat than yesterday but tonight cried himself to sleep again. Isn't there some better way to fix a broken heart? If only there was a corner of the world or of our hearts that didn't remind us that we are empty. If only it wasn't such a long way home. 
He wants Heaven. 
I will bring him a juice box instead everyday until the World ends and becomes a safe place for him again. Its the least I can do since I failed so much sooner than most at keeping his world safe and his heart whole. Let the office staff think what they will. I will be his 20 minute oasis that helps him make it to the end of the day. I am his mama. And a mama is shelter when there is no safe place and even when her own heart can't take much more. And I can't take much more.

Sunrise

“You’re sleeping the day away,” my great grand mother proclaimed as she flipped the light switch on. At 4:30 a.m., possibly the darkest shade of the day, there is no natural  light to warm your face awake. I don’t know where I learned to never argue with my great grandmother as I don’t remember ever trying. When we spent the weekend at Gramony's —Gram for grandma and Ony for Wyonia, her first name-- the days started at dark thirty. Seated at the table as my Gramony pulled hot biscuits out of the oven, I watched the gray out the screen door turn the many hues of dawn that I never saw in the city. I stifled a yawn. The silence was overwhelming and yet comfortable. My Gramony did not feel the need to fill the silence with anything. No lectures, no pep talks, no chastisement, no morning noise which is just how I like my mornings especially at 4:30.

Silent.

It is 5:29 a.m. and the phone is ringing thank the Lord! It is the hospice company calling us back. My four year old son, Ben’s pain meds are not working. He is twisting and writhing in pain. He can’t even lay down. We moved his little bed into our room next to my side of the bed last night. I set an alarm and got up every eleven minutes to push the button to deliver more meds. I glove up and sterilize to push Benadryl and Zofran, one every six and one every 2-4 hours. It didn’t work. We lasted at home less than 12 hours. Part of me wishes we had just stayed at the hospital. But he so wanted to be home. “Mama!” he screams. “Mama, hold me!” he shrieks, stretching out his thin arms for me. For some reason, he still believes after 8 months of battling this disease that I can ease the pain of leukemia somehow. 

I want to tell you something about motherhood. I wrote this for that very purpose. But now I don’t know what to say because the pain is so deep and so wide and so gray that it has consumed my words. It has consumed my stars. I am not a sunrise person. Sunrise had never failed to move me yet when I look up at a cloudless night sky-- that rush of fear mingled with wonder makes me believe like nothing else can. I have sat in a glider nursing a baby through many a sunrise. Some I have seen through tears of frustration or sleep deprived delirium, each ray asking me if today I will let the sun in. Into myself, into my heart, where babies really grow.

And then my little boy died and the gray stayed. I keep waiting for the pinks, the purples, the blues and eventual whites and yellows and they don’t come. I scoff at his belief that I could ease his pain and yet I wish for Gramony’s clothes on the clothesline whipping in the breeze to ease mine. I had a great desire to share my story but each time I tried I couldn’t find the words until I started at 4:30 in the morning.  Born in 1910 in a racist world my great grandmother had grit I could only dream of. As the nurses help us wash and dress my little boy’s body we put his jammies on him and a clean pull up. They tie a tag to his toe and zip him up to his neck in a bag, as we wrap him in a blanket and my husband carries him through the halls of the hospital and to the back of the waiting hearse the silence is overwhelming. We gather our things and wander out to the hospital parking lot our hearts confused about why we are leaving our boy behind. The stars are bright and bitter and they don’t tell my soul a thing. Sunrise comes and I am awake but if it speaks I don’t hear it.

I was twenty when my Gramony died. I was away at college when my Mama called. I went out to the steps of my best friend’s house and looked up at the stars. And I sang.

I was standing

by my window

on a cold and cloudy day

when I saw that hearse come a rollin

oh to carry my mother away

will the circle

be unbroken

by and by Lord by and by

There’s a better home awaiting

in the sky Lord in the sky

And I knew that 1500 miles away my Mama was singing it too. I have learned from trying to tell my story and not being able to until I started at sunrise that motherhood doesn’t start with childbirth and doesn’t end with the death of a child. Maybe the sun doesn’t rise and set on the faith of our fathers but on the grit of our mothers. Maybe the sun will rise someday again and will soften the edges of everything cruel in life. If so I don’t want to be found sleeping the day away.

Maybe someday I will again find the strength to rock a new baby at sunrise. Not soon. As I recently told a friend who understands, I don’t trust God enough to have another baby. But somewhere deep, in the part of me that decides who I want to become I find that the sunrise entices me now. The light that brings understanding and perspective. The warmth that turns a child into a mother and then back into a child again. Somewhere deep and still hidden in me is the grit that scrubbed white womens floors and cooked their food. That  lived through two world wars, the death of her eight year old, the hatred and oppression of her country, and still put on her wig and hat and walked to church every Sunday.  A woman who saw more than 34,000 sunrises. 34,000!  And she chose to see them all. Or at least as many of them as she could. Maybe she knew something that I haven’t learned yet. I guess I’ll start at sunrise.

Listen to Your Mother video of reading: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Xg2daEvENA&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I'm still looking up

One of the hardest parts (for me) of child loss is truly understanding the mortality of my children. I understand, like no one can who has has not lost a child, that sometimes kids die. I understand that we are not owed an explanation or a warning. I understand that some things are preventable and somethings are not. I understand that everything-- Everything can change in an instant. And you know what? I don't want to understand. I don't want my kid to know that sometimes God helps people find their lost shoe or their lost keys and sometimes He lets their little brother die. But my kid knows. And I know. And that's life. We want to think that life is what you make of it but sometimes its not. Sometimes it just is. Sometimes no matter how you slice them those lemons just won't give you a single drop of lemonade. Sometimes there is no light. The reality of all this can knock me down with hopelessness and doubt and I will admit sometimes I am laying on the ground hurting too bad to do anything but suck air and cry. But I promise myself and I promise my kids I. Will. Not. Quit. There is too much at stake. It is time we taught our kids to never give up on their spirits as much as we tell them to never give up on their dreams! You want to know what is real? You get down on your knees and you make God show you! I may be broken but I will not bend. God-- I am standing here and I' staying here. I will wait. I will pray. I will search the scriptures and I will believe. I refuse to let darkness win. There will be a light. #Imstilllookingup

A project I just finished painting

There is a balm in Gilead

I went to a funeral this morning.

I know what you're thinking.

But while I was there a favorite friend said to me," She really appreciates that you came. She said to me that she knows that you know how she feels and that it means a lot that you came."

I didn't know what to say.

Here's what I felt:

Oh mama one day this will be you. And you'll know just how she feels. And you'll hate it all the same. You won't want to go. You won't want to go so bad you will stay in bed all morning because you know how she feels. You'll cook your little boy's favorite breakfast because it is his birthday even though he is not here to eat it...you won't eat it either. You'll mentally debate what to wear while knowing it doesn't matter and then give up and crawl back into bed. Your husband will come in and ask what time the funeral starts. You'll turn over and burrow down deeper trying to make your brain go back to the place where kids don't die, the place where all your friends and even your parents live. But you can't...because that is where all her friends live too. So you will get out of bed and put your hair up and put on something nice and go to someone else's baby's funeral.

Oh Mama, I know you think I'm strong but one day you will stand in my shoes and you will see how much I still didn't know what to say.

Hell is coming for you. And that is why you will hesitate. It hasn't ended yet, how can you go? But you understand and that is why you will go.

Her friends walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil. But Mama we have dwelt in that valley, we have been kept from going on our way and we have known fear.

To me the fact that any human being ever does anything good is proof that God exists. I will be that proof for you and you will be it for someone else in their time of need. No hero, just a sister. No perfect words, just a mama who can't find that beautiful place anymore and so we join together.

You won't be better.

You won't be whole.

But you will go, too.

And you'll prove to them that God is real but more importantly you'll prove it to yourself. And you're going to need proof in the months to come.

Mama on the front pew, one day you will be in the back of a crowded chapel remembering when you sat in the front. And she'll be grateful that you came.

Cooking in Real Time with Jessi Duncan

So I've had this idea for a while for a Food Network show of which I would be the star. The show would be called cooking in real time. It would air once a week and would show me attempting to prepare a meal in 30 minutes without all the prep work done and with my kids running around. Some episodes would end with a call to my husband to pick up a pizza on his way. I would list the ingredients needed on my website so that others could be ready and attempt to cook along with me. It would be the ultimate interactive cooking experience. It would also be perfect for all those people who LOVE to troll Food Network chefs sites and complain about how they tried to make the recipe (even though they only had half the ingredients and used idiotic substitutions) and it didn't work and they (the chef) should die a slow and painful death after other unsavory experiences for sharing this recipe

That is all.

Give the gift of mercy...

Imagine for a moment that someone who you do not know very well but have tried to get to know and to trust takes your child.

You have been told he will be well taken care of, better than even you yourself can take care of him. And you want to believe it. You hope that it is true. But knowledge is not there just faith.

You know where your child is and you think you know how to get there.

You have other children. You have a spouse. So what do you do?

I would like to propose that anyone in this situation would willingly leave their spouse with their other children and go to catch just a glimpse of their child in their new home. Just a peek through the window or a second watching them play through a hole in the fence.

It doesn't mean you don't love your other children or your spouse. Most of us wouldn't even leave one of our children for a weekend (it just feels better when all the kids are together at least even if you're not there) and if we did we would call and check on them ALL the time.

This is why "counting your blessings" or "having other kids" does not make child loss easier. This is one of the many reasons why many parents have thoughts of dying themselves after child loss. I am supposed to believe with every fiber of my being, in fact I need to believe or else I won't survive mentally, that my child is in a better place free from pain and sorrow. One of the most precious things I have ever possessed has moved on and I am supposed to now enjoy the rest of my life in this fallen world? It is hard to trust. It is hard to allow yourself to love or become attached or to care. Some people never do again.

If someone you know is experiencing child loss, whether it be right now or decades ago, you have been given a sacred opportunity to minister unto they that mourn. They need someone to say, "I don't understand. Teach me." As a matter of fact in the political and cultural turmoil that we find ourselves in today we all need to be approaching police officers and their families, black males, illegal immigrants, gays and lesbians, those who support traditional marriage, those of differing faith, those of differing political parties and saying, "I don't understand, teach me." If someone approached you this way would you return the favor after explaining your perspective?

My point is you don't know how it feels. And you won't unless you ask. I have a friend from the hospital whose son died 4 months before my son. So about 9 months ago. I had never experienced child loss. Even though my son was terminal at the time it was not at all like actual death. I regret some of the things I said to her. She recently posted a picture of herself at his grave with a caption saying she used to spend up to 11 hours a day there instead of with her 5 year old who was still alive. I should have just asked. You don't understand how many people are at their breaking point. How many people have just left the cemetery or the hospital or wherever. How many people need mercy. It is okay to not know what to say. It is okay not to know how to fix it. It can't be fixed in this life anyway. Let the lower light be burning. It's Christmas after all.

Matthew 5:7 Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

I'm not all about that bass

I am going to take a moment to write about something trivial cause I have been thinking about it for a while.

I am no feminist (not by a long shot) but I am gonna go out on a limb and blow your mind by saying maybe the hit song "All About That Bass" should not be the anthem of choice for women everywhere.

This song while touted for being "empowering" and "uplifting" and encouraging women everywhere to "embrace who they naturally are" is actually just saying "Don't worry about being big. Some guys dig that." So your mama told you that being fat is okay cause boys like that. Okay, my mama told me (fat or skinny) to get a job, go to college, and serve others. Life (okay here comes the mind blowing part) is not about having guys like you. Despite what every Disney channel tween show purports you have not reached Nirvana when you have a boyfriend and attend a concert (or star in a concert). I mean come on people!

This is the first verse:

Yeah, it's pretty clear, I ain't no size two
But I can shake it, shake it
Like I'm supposed to do
'Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
And all the right junk in all the right places

This is empowering for women?!

She can shake it like she's supposed to do?

Anyway you get the idea not a feminist just gotta tell my feminist friends and friends with little girls everywhere stop subjecting your girls to this trash. Heck I even have guy friends who have posted they like for their boys to listen to mold breaking songs like this. Uh, we're not here for you guys. Sorry. Women are not here to be girlfriend material. Okay rant over.

Go ahead and like the song. It's very catchy. Just don't feel like you are doing something great for humanity by downloading it, singing it, teaching it to your two year old daughter, etc. Okay my rant is really over now.

The beauty of the prosaic

Why I think you should see "Meet the Mormons"

I have seen Meet the Mormons  (http://meetthemormons.com/#/filter-all/page-1) twice now and I've got to highly recommend you see it, too. Why you ask...not because I want you to join my church...okay I do want you to join my church but this movie will not get you to join my church. I think people should see it because it is a celebration of the prosaic.

Go ahead look up the word prosaic

I'll wait

Okay isn't it a beautiful word for such an ordinary thing?

Ha now you've really gone to Google it.

Prosaic- ordinary; everyday; commonplace; routine

I saw Meet the Mormons twice not because it was so awesome the first time (honestly, the first time I was somewhere between mehm and like) because after my husband and I saw it some kids from our congregation decided to go so we took our sons with them. The second time as my 2 year old danced in the aisles to the music from Nepal I saw something I hadn't seen before. That this is our life story. The first time a saw a glazed over version of what it is to be a mormon. The second time I saw the differences that make all people beautiful. There is so much significance in what we do every single day because the prosaic actually = life.

Mormons are christians, but as in every religion we have things that set us apart from the church next door. These things aren't even unusual in the grand scheme of religious practices and rituals but some people shy away from differences. Guess what? Orthodox Jews observe Shabbat and wear tzitzit and kippah. Many catholics observe many holy days and have beautiful ritualistic services with deep symbolic meaning. Muslims wash before praying. There are differences everywhere and it is up to us whether we decide to see these differences as weird or beautiful.

Meet the Mormons touched me because in a world full of movies with shock value that no one on the planet can relate to (enjoy but not relate to) it is a movie that is moving and profound and could star me or you. Did you know your story is worth a movie?! It is and it is beautiful because it's yours! Give me these people over some rock star anyday!

The dang song at the end of the movie has been stuck in my head (and I am not a David Archuleta fan) but the truth in it touched me and as I have folded laundry and dropped off kids and worked and played and taught and prayed it has played in my mind and I feel like I am figuring out my part. Isn't that what we are all trying to do no matter what we believe?


Here's the link to the song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GytW_rgr0RM
Here's the lyrics (I'm a lyrics person which is why I love Ben Harper and generally not David Archuleta :) 

Symphony 

There are times when
You might feel aimless
You can't see the places
Where you belong
But you will find that
There is a purpose
It's been there
Within you all along
And when you're near it
You can almost hear it

It's like a symphony
Just keep listening
And pretty soon you'll start
To figure out your part
Everyone plays a piece
And there are melodies
In each one of us
Oh! It's glorious

And you will know how
To let it ring out
As you discover
Who you are
Others around you
Will start to wake up
To the sounds that are
In their hearts
It's so amazing
What we're all creating

It's like a symphony
Just keep listening
And pretty soon you'll start
To figure out your part
Everyone plays a piece
And there are melodies
In each one of us
Oh! It's glorious

Dear Little Rock,

Dear Little Rock,

Some hard things have been happening in my life and it has come out in my driving and in my shopping and in my dining and so I am writing you this letter to thank you. You see last year my perfectly healthy happy three year old did not want to go trick or treating. Yeah. We took him to the doctor. He was diagnosed with leukemia. He had never been to the hospital before. We were admitted and spent our first month there. Unfortunately, he needed a bone marrow transplant and he didn’t make it to receiving one. He died at age four this summer. For the last 10 months I have cut you off in traffic and glanced over after realizing only to see you smile and wave me in.  I have gone 50 on the freeway and you have quietly gone around me without honking or flipping me off. I have sat through green lights without a single person in a long line of cars honking at me. My 1 year old has lain on the floor at a popular restaurant and cried. You have asked if you could give him a sucker. After my son came home on hospice he wanted to go out to eat at IHOP. You over heard me explaining to the manager why we needed to sit in the closed section of the restaurant (immune- suppression from chemotherapy) and you paid for my family’s meal. You have told me you would pray for me. From social security case workers to car insurance agents to the lady whose car I hit in Hot Springs you have prayed for me and I wanted you to know that what you have done for us is irreplaceable. You see sometimes someone’s world is crumbling and they are searching for a break. Somewhere something in life has to ease up or they might not make it. So thanks for not being too hard on me during a time when the last thing I was thinking about was driving. Your kindness has propped up my broken world. And I thank you.

Sincerely,

A mom from Arkansas Children’s Hospital

Things to think about if you know someone whose child has died

Not trying to be insulting or anything here. Read on if you really want to know:

-I know it is impossible to imagine but try to imagine how your family dynamics would be thrown off without your middle child (or whichever of your kids) My oldest is SO linear and rule focused and my middle was so lackadaisical and social we often said how much number 1 needed his younger brother and how much they helped each other. Even their arguments b/c of personality differences helped them. We are all still trying to figure out how to relate to each other w/o him. I know it would be the same no matter which kid it was!

-Another difficult thing that most people don't realize (I know I didn't) is that for the first SEVERAL months it actually gets harder instead of easier. Your body and spirit are used to your child(ren) subconsciously and no matter how many times you tell yourself he/she is gone it seems to go through shock a few weeks to months later as you come out of survival mode and start to crash into reality. You are never confused thinking they are still alive it is more of a tangible ache as the part of you that has kept them alive (even when you are sick or exhausted! It's crazy your survival mode has come to include someone other than yourself) learns to let them go. You are literally letting a part of you die. It feels impossible.

-Another thing to understand is that no one controls how long they grieve. Please don't ask if someone is "feeling better" after the loss of a child. Just like you would probably never ask an amputee if they were feeling better now that their leg has been gone a couple of months. 

-The kindest and most helpful things that people have said to me have been, "I (or we) love you." and/or "I (or we) are praying for you." The kindest thing anyone has done hands down is give me pictures of my son. In the book A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis writes that one of the most difficult things about losing someone like a spouse or child is losing their "otherness." You can not create in your mind new scenes or dialogue with them because while you were so close they still were their own separate person. Sometimes they said or did what you expected and sometimes not and that is what you miss most. Their unpredictableness, their otherness. I love my pictures of Ben but I yearn to see him making a different face or hear his voice saying something new and funny and pictures I haven't seen before are almost that gift.

How we are doing...

No words to describe losing someone who is so much a part of your life. We more than miss him. He was the child who woke us up in the morning dragging in his backpack bleary eyed every morning and crawling into our bed. He was the child who we fought to stay awake each night until he fell asleep. When I dream he is there and we do everyday things and I wake up wishing I had just held and hugged him. When I dream he is just part of my group of boys. I say words can't describe but the closest I can come is the first lines of the (incredibly corny) song by John Mayer...

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
oh waking up is the hardest part.
You roll out of bed and down on your knees
and for a moment you can hardly breath.

It catches up with me every morning so mornings are the hardest for me. Don't worry if you see me in the mornings though. If I have made it up off my knees that means I am holding on for another day. Just can't wait for Heaven!

 We are sad and that is how life is sometimes, achingly, heartbreakingly, lonely and sad.

Last night while reading scriptures with my oldest (6) we read about the miraculous healing of Zeezrom (This is a story from the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon is a book that we use with The Bible. Just like The Bible it was written long ago by prophets. It was written in the Americas and testifies of Jesus Christ and is in fact titled, The Book of Mormon, Another Testamen

t of Jesus Christ [think old testament, new testament, another testament]. 1. I know I just blew your mind 2. THis is a really long run on sentence in parenthesis 3. Not surprisingly other people kept records besides the Jews. These records do not, however, contain the life and ministry of Christ which is why the The Bible is SO important!) 

This is a story similar to the Paul/Saul story in the new testament. My son and I talked about why Zeezrom was healed. We wondered aloud why my 4 year old wasn't. Abinadi* came to mind. I must admit that while I am not angry or bitter I have coveted other peoples miracles. There is a dear boy right now suffering from terrible injuries who I've known since he was a baby. His daily pain and suffering have cut me to the core and yet I have battled feelings of envy as he receives miraculous healing day by day and I've wondered if his parents are more righteous than my son's parents and so they get to keep their boy and I don't. Don't mistake my feelings. I pray for this boy. I wish he got better yesterday. I always said with my son I don't wish he'd never gotten sick because I would have trudged on in life without appreciation for so many little things that I now appreciate but now that I've learned the lessons and felt the pain can he get better now? I wish this boy could get better now, I truly do! I just wish my little boy could too. And I am starting to truly understand that Heavenly Father isn't Santa Claus. And that this is life. He loves us all. There are no big packages with bows for those who keep the commandments. Sometimes those who are cruel get miracles (again Saul/Paul) sometimes those who are good get miracles, too. And sometimes they don't. Thankful to the Lord for including the story of Abinadi in the scriptures. Thankful to the Lord for this dear boy getting his miracles. I did not get the miracle I wanted but I got His love. We all get that. And somehow that is what evens it all out.

#Butifnot 

#Blessed

*Abinadi is another prophet from the Book of Mormon. He was sent to call a wicked king to repentance. He was miraculously protected while he delivered his message, but was put to death after he completed his message. (Mosiah chapters 11-17 https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/mosiah/11?lang=eng)

Work on Who (not what) your child is becoming.

Thoughts in response to a facebook article; 
I think as parents we all need to define success and then go for it. My husband and I have discussed what successfully raising our children means to us and we hope that they will be able to create and sustain meaningful, loving eternal relationships and faithfully overcome adversity. Having goals helps us not get distracted by all the other good things and go for the best!
 Our oldest is a genius and could be in school full time with extended hours and tutors and lots of educational electronics and such. Letting him do what is easiest for him would not prepare him for the trials that are to come in his life. And they will come. So we choose to limit his screen time (he does play computer games and watch TV and is learning to write websites) so that he is forced to interact with his brothers (and us). And they fight and argue constantly but I have great hope that working through this will make him something better than a good employee or ceo. Something better than a nobel prize winner. A good husband and father who doesn't give up! 
As I have studied parenting I often ask myself what is this person's view of parental success? Most worldly parenting experts figure their kid will smoke a little weed, sleep around a bit, and then enter Ivy league schools. Raising adults who are "fulfilled" is their goal. I want to raise someone who serves, who loves, and who consecrates. I have to be an intentional parent if I want that to happen. We set limits and verbally say all the time, people are more important than things. Its crazy how many people think I'm vegan, never cut my hair, and don't drive on Sundays just b/c I limit my kids electronics! Only slightly kidding here! Our fellow parents need support as they try to reach their parenting goals, not flack for setting limits that work for their family. We're parents. Setting limits is what we do. When I taught parenting classes we started with the question, "What are some words you would like for people to use when they describe your child(ren) when they are adults? I would suggest every couple do this. How would your child's spouse describe them? Their children? Their boss? Their co-workers? Their friends? Their parents? Their in-laws? 
I happen to be married to someone who has turned out pretty near perfect and who everyone who knows him (from casual acquaintance on up) would describe in a very complimentary way. People want to be like him. I want to be like him and one of the reasons is because he has disciplined himself. He often goes against his natural inclination and chooses what helps him become who he wants to become. He is not about "being me"  He is focused on becoming someone better and doing what is right. With this kind of development in mind many things (including electronics) can be used to reach our goals. Practicing a sport can help kids develop tenacity and determination. Winning and losing can help develop humility. Art can help develop perspective and appreciation and a work ethic (think a project that takes several days or weeks and eventual turns out amazing as opposed to something just hastily done that is less satisfying). Its all in the perspective we convey--Are they becoming a football player? Or are they becoming a mature person? Kids don't have to be anything. They are learning and growing and will learn more and grow more if we don't marry them to one thing. For some reason in this country it is all about what you will be which greatly frustrates me! My son could be (one of his past goals) a garbage truck driver and as long as he is kind and good I will be happy.

In summary:
Figure out what kind of person you hope your kids become (Loyal, trustworthy, honest, full of gratitude, etc.) 
Set limits and explore with them to help them get there. You'll be surprised how God develops you along the way!

Understanding Santa

We don't do Santa.

We aren't anti-Santa. He's cute really but we haven't taught out kids to believe in him. Don't worry, around this time of year we break out our copy of the Night Before Christmas. We talk about Santa. We just haven't taught them to believe in him. After 4 1/2 years of having children and lots of stares and gasps of horror (and sad to say a few lost friends) I have decided its time to take a different approach.

We are not teaching our kids to believe in Santa.

We are teaching our kids to understand Santa.

This year I will be teaching my children that WE are Santa. Each Sunday and whenever we can when we run errands we will bring a small wrapped gift (nail polish, an ornament, a candy cane, a dollar, a small toy). They will carry it around with them and pretend that they are Santa until they see someone who is sad or alone or in need and then give it away and say, Merry Christmas.

Saint Nicholas was a kind man who gave what little he had to those who had little hope or faith at Christmastime. We will do the same.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

For those interested, here is why we personally aren't believing in Santa (We don't think others shouldn't, that's not our business.)  :


How can we teach our children to focus on a tiny baby born in poverty across the ocean two thousand years ago who will bring them inner peace and quiet joy? (I think this is a hard enough to believe story itself without throwing in eight flying reindeer and a man who slides down chimneys!) How can we help them be selfless as Christ was? How can we help them know that God sees us when we are sleeping and knows when we are awake? He knows when our heart hurts and when our soul needs relief.
Probably not by having them make a list of what they want other people to give them.
Probably not by telling them if they are not good they won't get what they asked for. And then rewarding them regardless of their behavior. We have decided to tell our children that they get gifts at Christmas because we love them and that is why they give us gifts in return because they love us. The gift of the Christ child was to the World not to those who earned it. God so loved the World... (see John 3:16-17 esp. 17)


P.S. Fyi We have talked to our kids about the fact that many people believe in Santa. We told them that it is rude and unkind to tell someone that what they believe in is not true. They have also learned this about people of other faiths. They won't be breaking it to your kids. So don't worry I'm sure it was some jaded kid at school not them : )

LRCA Committee Meeting

Wrote this to the guy working on our story minus the P.S. : )
Knowing what I know now if I had the chance (believe me this experience has totally changed me, I had no idea the power of ignorance) I would ask the state of Arkansas, What do you know about Mormons? Go ahead think of it. Make a list in your mind. Now, How do you know these things? We were told we are so incompatible that we could not even exist on the same campus. When we asked which of our teachings. We were told the "vast" differences between the Bible and the Book of Mormon were a major problem. We asked for a list of the differences. Bottom line. No one in that room had read even one line of the Book of Mormon let alone the whole book. They were going on the word of others who had also probably never read it. Now we don't expect others to read the Book of Mormon, but if you want to know about a movie do you ask someone who has seen it or someone who hasn't? They either need to read the book or take the word of those who have over those who haven't. What do I have to gain by miss representing my religion to them? If a Jehovah's Witness or a orthodox Jew or a Bible churcher tells us what their church believes and represents we just accept it and assume that what they are telling us is accurate. When a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day  Saints tells someone about the church people generally are suspicious. They think that can't be true that isn't weird enough. We invited them to read the Book of Mormon or visit one of the five LDS congregations in the area or visit mormon.org the churches official site to form their policies so that their policies aren't based on here say.

As I told you I feel like we were sent to meet with a group that would let us feel like we had been heard but not do much else. Since they also were very closed to the idea of others attended the meeting even just to view the proceedings we were obviously to be heard in a very controlled way. Their anger at us involving the media was voiced and we said in as kind a fashion as we could that their desire to keep this a private issue was one that we could only see benefiting their position not ours. They expressed again that if they were to have a dozen or so of their parents come out in support of Mormonism that it would not be important. They suggested that we should quietly find someplace else for Sam. I pointed out (as mentioned in a previous email to you) that because of the condition of the LRSD and the available programs and financial aid this was the only program. Tangent: Feels kind of like separate but equal. I know this is a private institution, but when they suggest that while only the best is good enough for their children (believe me these are people who would swim the Nile to avoid public schooling) and suggest that you can find other more appropriate schooling in an area where almost 100% of the schools are failing the NCLB initiative it is telling. At the time if Brown vs. the Board of Education white schools had excellent materials and trained teachers, black schools had second hand books that were falling apart and teachers who had little training. Do you see the parallel? Obviously I don't expect you to include it, just saying.
Anyway...
In closing, I fully understand why we are excluded. These churches fought to the point of massacres, excommunications, and church sanctioned executions 1500 years ago. Its what made the Nicene council necessary (which was not peaceful or pretty) , its what prompted the Pilgrims, its what created the 95 theses of Martin Luther. This is just another page in the history of Christianity. The church was established in April 1830. Hopefully it won't take another thousand years before people actually look at the doctrine and accept it not as true but as just another branch of Christianity. After this experience however I won't be holding my breath!

Jessi Duncan

P.S. After a forty five minute meeting we were told that they were hearing what we were saying and they could understand what we were saying but their job wasn't to write policy, just to enforce it. So why were we invited to this meeting instead of the one with who ever has the power to change the policy? Sigh, I think they are hoping that we will feel adequately heard and sit down somewhere and be quiet. On the flip side we were photographed by the paper today and it should be coming out soon. The photographer said possibly on Sunday's front page! Please continue praying that this story will come out correctly.

Potty Training 101

A number of people have asked me recently for potty training tips. For those of you who don't know I worked for eight years in early childhood education before having my first child.  So here's what I know:

1. Ignore all those people who say your child has to be forty and emotionally secure or he might be scarred for life if you try before he is ready. The only person who will be scarred after potty training is you and possibly your furniture and carpet. Potty training is way more about where you are than where your child is. My recommended age is between 2 1/2 and 3 (as the starting point). Earlier is harder, later is harder, though depending on the child I've heard earlier can work but I have little personal experience there. Once your child is older he/she has discovered what a good deal they've got going and may resist potty training because they prefer having you do the dirty work. Are you at a time or position in life where you are ready to take the next step towards Christlike patience and charity? Or are you currently blowing up at every little thing? Consider this before you embark on the potty training journey! Kids are kids and potty training is no joke. It requires consistent compassion (otherwise known as steel nerves).

2. For children potty training is all about independence. I can not tell you how many parents are still carrying around their large child and wondering why he/she will not potty! Start asking your child to do things for himself such as take his plate to the sink, dress himself, wash his hands, wipe his nose, clean up toys, strap himself in the carseat, etc. Teach him how to do these things. Show him how instead of doing it for him. Your child should be able to get from naked to fully dressed including a simple jacket and slip on or velcro shoes after a few days (two weeks tops) of help. Realize that this means he will also be able to go from fully dressed to naked, but that is okay. That's just a part of being three. Some children enjoy having personal slaves, I mean parents. If your child is one of these invite him to do independence building activities like spreading jam/butter on bread with a butter knife for each family member(give him a dollop then move the jar: ), washing fruits or vegetables,  turning off the TV, sweeping, picking clothes out for a younger sibling and himself, opening the van door, etc. In  other words fun chores. Start incorporating less fun but necessary chores after a few days when he has gotten used to you asking him to do things.
 to be continued....

Ward Playgroup

“An Ever-Expanding Circle of Sisters”
LITTLE ROCK WARD
ALL AGES PLAYGROUP

Place: Little Rock Building, Gym
Time: 10 a.m. – Noon
When: Every second Friday (starting Nov. 11th)
Who: Everyone, whether you are married or
single, have small children or not, old or young

Please bring your laundry to fold or weekly
menu to write or Christmas cards to address or
whatever. We all have work to do. Once a
month let’s work and play together!

 Moses 7:18, Daughters in my Kingdom “influencing and Strengthening
Sisters in Wards and Branches” p.96 and “Strengthening Sisterhood
through Expressions of Charity” p.99-101 

Questions? Call Jessi Duncan