Baby Grands and Oreo Turkeys

One of my greatest joys at this season in my life, is the time I get to spend with the grands. My little gang of three keep me on my toes spiritually, physically and emotionally. Challenging me daily with a unique wit, wisdom and faith that is often found in members of the pint size set. They prove time and again that out of the mouths of babes God will be known and praised.

The fall and winter after my daughters death, a large part of me wanted to hunker down, stay indoors and hide from everyone in hopes that I could ignore the annual parade of holidays until it passed.

The one-two celebratory combo of Thanksgiving and Christmas held some of the sweetest and most cherished memories of times spent with my girl. Lauren was a self proclaimed homebody, who loved her family and revelled in all occasions that brought the family together.

I made the silly assumption that because we were so recently bereaved, no one would expect the usual Thanksgiving fair. Those who usually graced our tables would make other plans to spend their days in more joyful surroundings, with brighter spirited people.

I could not have been more wrong.

This family of mine barraged me with request for all their favorite dishes, I had parties inviting themselves to dinner as well as their latest love interest. We were to have a crowd.

What was wrong with these people?

Despite my intentions to sit out that inaugural year, my family had other ideas.

With help from my dear husband along with emails and phone calls from in laws and outlaws we assembled a menu, filled the cupboards and prepared for the pending celebration.

My family had high expectations and good intentions-committing to do everything they could to make this festival of thanks go smoothly and with little effort on my part. There were many promises of what would be done and how they would help, promises that ultimately were broken as most fell into their normal holiday habits that included watching lots of football, Christmas movies and naps by the fire.

But not the wee folk.

Seems my baby grand girls would have no part in my boycotting the holidays. My girls begged to know what we would be having and how they could help put on this party.

From decorating the house to baking pies my two K’s hijacked every plan I made to sit the season out, instead setting a course for a holiday wrapped in true thanks.

At just over 2 1/2 years old, these two little sprites were formidable.

It was Thanksgiving by golly!

They knew what to expect if we were doing this holiday up right and they were tenacious enough to keep me from collapsing on my memories and shutting the whole thing down.

To that end, these two girls were on me all the time: my kitchen, my bedroom, my bathroom, my world. From early in the morning to late at night they seemed determined to miss nothing.

With my two little sous chefs and Paw Paw in tow, we went about preparing a Thanksgiving feast.

We measured, stirred, whipped and baked.

The girls wash dishes, shucked corn and deviled some eggs.

We read volume’s of thanksgiving books, played lots of birdie in the nest

all when we weren’t

swinging and sliding all over our backyard and everyone else’s.

My crew painted, colored and had all manner of tea parties that effectively filled every

dark corner of our big ole house with waves of love, laughter and other reminders of how much we truly had cause to give thanks for.

Those two girls wore themselves out with it all…they were so determined to be thankful!

By the time we actually sat down for dinner that year my heart overflowed and I dared to mention the unmentionable…the empty chair….

Lauren.

As with many families we traditionally take time to share something we are grateful for before going to God in prayer.

I was first to take a turn.

I thanked my loved ones for putting out all the effort, changing their plans and pushing so hard to be there in a home that no one in their right mind would want to be in – the home of a dead girl and her grieving family.

What kind of fun could that be?

Where’s a cause to celebrate and give thanks?

Yet they came, made me stay, face my loss and ultimately blessed me so. It was a bittersweet day of thanks.

What a family I have!

I am blessed and abundantly so!

This year, no one will be traveling over the river and through the woods to this Maw Maw’s house. It is not our turn to prepare their feast.

Instead, we prepare for a party of five.

Baby grand and I have been busy creating menu’s, writing grocery list and making decorations including place card holders made of Oreo turkeys all while anticipating the baking of our first pumpkin pie this season.

For this I am thankful.

My son and daughter in love are expecting again…a miracle in itself as Elizabeth has unique medical anomalies that have kept her from successfully carrying 3 other pregnancies to term, so we lift them up in prayer and praise God.

For this I am thankful.

Same precious daughter in love gave her heart to Christ earlier this year and has been waiting to be baptized here in Georgia. Lord willing, Elizabeth will take this next step of faith when the family comes to stay throughout Christmas and New Years.

For this I am so thankful.

Little Man K has been living with his Mama full time for almost 3 months now, they seem to be getting along well.

For this and so much more I am thankful and ever

Now it’s your turn, please share.

How has God blessed you and what is your testimony of thanks?

This post is a part of the Thanksgiving feast at L.L. Barkat’s Seedlings in Stone. Join us at the table. When you do, drop a comment by L.L.’s blog to let her know. L.L. will link to you in the Thanksgiving Celebration post (and Christianity Today and High Calling Blogs will link back to said post, so their readers can check out the full celebration).

Thought Filled Thursdays – Cultivating Gratitude

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.
Psalm 116:7

In the year leading up to Justin’s death, I prayed many prayers for him. He was a troubled young man trying to find his way in a world that had left him fatherless and searching for an identity that would make him feel complete. Justin knew Jesus. He struggled every week with his mental illness and angry thoughts. He knelt at the altar and honestly reflected on and shared his pain.

It is almost impossible to imagine the pain of losing a child suddenly and traumatically the way most of us have. Yet, with Justin watching him self-destruct up close and personal, and fighting for every inch of his life was almost worse. I remember walking into church in October 2004. I was weary, we had just spent a week unraveling the mess of having to pick him up from the police for breaking curfew. We would learn that week that he had been sneaking out regularly, experimenting with alcohol and prescription medication all trying to turn off his mind. He sat shaking violently as tears were streaming down his face.

“Momma, I need help. I can’t do this anymore.”

It broke my heart. We had been hoping to get him help sooner, but he had been adamant. He didn’t want to be medicated or otherwise labeled as defective. He pretended to be normal while his life spun vigorously out of control. As I felt the tears stinging my eyes that day in church I said, “I don’t even know what to ask for anymore. Would you just pray for my son?”

A few hours later, my friend – and Pastor’s wife – came rushing up to me at the evening service. She thrust a paper in front of me and said, “Michelle, God has given me a word for Justin – It’s continue. You know, like Philippians 1:6 – God will continue the good work He began in him at salvation.”

We immediately went to the prayer room and knelt there hands tightly clasped praying for my prodigal son. We looked up ten or so Scriptures that we prayed over her adult prodigal and my teenage one. All had the word continue in them. We prayed hard, we prayed often, and we prayed believing. His life began to improve.

After the New Year rolled around and 2005 came in full swing, those prayers came more feverishly and more often. Our cry to God became more desperate. My son’s life began to spin again, first slowly and then into full blown mental, emotional and social issues that threatened to destroy my marriage and our family. It was more than I could take. I would lay on my bed at night and weep to the Lord – Crying out in anguish over my child. I would go to Justin in the night to lay hands on him and pray. I had him on prayer chain after prayer chain, as well as in the counsel and company of godly men. I searched Scripture and held fast. Then one night, as we concluded an exercise at Bible study where we were supposed to write our most ardent prayer request on an index card a revelation and a release came.

The instructions were to write out the request, hold it up to heaven and instead of continuing to pray that request over and over again, thank God for the answer by faith instead. I started that night and continued throughout the next few months. That day, as I made my way to the hospital certain of very little except that I needed God’s strength and peace to face whatever lay ahead I found myself praising God for little things… That my son was alive when I got to the hospital, for a family and church that loved us so, that God would ultimately have mercy on my son and provide the peace I would need to carry on. When he died I found myself praising God and thanking Him for the 17 years of life we had with him. My soul finds rest in God alone… He is my hope, my strength and my song.

My soul will boast in the LORD; let the afflicted hear and rejoice. ~ Psalm 34:2