Columbine, on my mind....

Truthfully, it stays with me always. It haunts me, if you will.

When I'm taking my kids to school, I pray for their safety.
Every day.

Why does it bother me so much? A question I've been asked many times over the years.

No, I didn't know any of the staff members.
No, I didn't know any of the kids at the school.
No, I didn't know any of the families of the kids.

Instead, I was alone in my hospital room, having given birth to bratgirl2 just 24 hours before, when I started hearing "codes" being called. (I worked at the hospital at that time, and was familiar with what the various codes meant.) I knew something big had happened, and made the mistake of turning on the T.V.

Note to self: when highly hormonal, such as shortly after the birth of a child, do not turn on the news!

I watched in horror as Patrick Ireland hung out the window of the library, and was so grateful when the news switched cameras, so as not to show him falling out. I was so very relieved when they later showed that it was just a few feet to the top of the van or ambulance, and that he wasn't falling to the ground from the second story of the school.

I prayed for the families of the students, as they showed terrified parents gathering in the park nearby. I prayed for the students who were fleeing in terror, hands clasped on their heads as they were lead out by the SWAT teams. I prayed for the staff members, who acted heroically and prevented more loss of life. I prayed for the families of those slain, and for the families of those who bore the weapons and murdered their classmates.

And, as we all did, I wept. A lot.

As I held that sweet baby girl close. I wept for the loss of life. For the loss of innocence. I wondered how I would ever be able to let my children leave my sight, let them walk into a school, or go on a field trip. I wept for the families left behind, and for those who bore not just physical scars, but mental and emotional scars as well. Too often the unseen scars are the ones that take the longest to heal. And I asked myself over and over again, "What am I doing, bringing another child into this world. I can't protect her always, no matter how hard I try!"

That was the precise moment that I fully came to understand what faith is. It's when I fully understood that, no, I cannot keep her safe. I cannot keep bratgirl1 safe. I can protect them only so much. But, there is One who loves them more than I do, Who will protect them, guide them, cherish them, sacrifice for them, far more than I ever will be able to. And, I must give them over to Him. Fully. Completely. Without reservation.

It is also a moment that brought me closer to the cross. How could God allow His Son to die? How did He not lose His temper and wipe us all out?

As a parent myself, I can't even begin to fathom the depth of His pain. His Son was murdered. Brutally. And I am guilty. No way around it.

As a child, I find myself wondering what was going through Jesus' head. Not just about the pain He would endure. Did He think about how His Father would feel? Did He worry about His mom? He prayed in the garden for His disciples, for His persecutors, for His prosecutors, and for His executioners. He prayed for me. And for you. For His Father to forgive us. How? I'm speechless.

As a mother, I think about Mary. Her terror. Her distress. How helpless she must have felt. How hopeless. I can't begin to imagine burying my child, even my grown child. With every lash, I'm certain she wished she could shield His body with her own. I'm sure she would have lovingly wiped the blood, sweat and tears from His face with her hands and clothes, if she were able to get close enough. She would've gone to great lengths to bring Him a drink of water, bandaids, peroxide, a doctor... Anything for her child. Yet, she was helpless. There was nothing she could do, but wait. Pray. Weep.

And what an agonizing wait it must have been.

Yet, the story stays the same, every time it's told: He was raised from the dead the third day. Can you imagine her joy? Can you imagine His relief? Can you imagine God's smile that day?

Unfortunately, in this physical world, that was not the outcome for 12 students and one teacher. Not for the two shooters, either. Not for their families, who I'm sure were filled with trepidation as they waited for word on their children and loved ones. Sadly, those who died were not coming back to this world.

But, wait...

There's that glimmer of hope. That bright ray of light in a dark world. Jesus died for them. He died for you. And for me. He died so we would have the hope of resurrection. The hope of an eternity with God. Not separated from Him. With Him. The hope of seeing those whose lives were taken so abruptly. Seeing them whole. Healthy. Alive.

What's more, we're forgiven.

God has forgiven us. You. Me. Our challenge on earth is to forgive those who hurt us. Who wrong us. Who inflict immense pain on us and our loved ones. As God has forgiven us, we must forgive others. As Jesus prayed for us, we must pray for those who persecute us.

And we must always cling to the hope of eternal life. Resurrection. Forgiveness. Grace.

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”- 1 Corinthians 15:55-57

So, finally, I will be in prayer on this 10th Anniversary of that terrible, tragic day in Colorado. For the families and friends left behind. For the survivors. And for the hearts of every American, every parent, every child, that we turn to the One who can truly change our lives. He is the One who gives freedom. Freedom to make mistakes. Freedom to be imperfect. Freedom to not conform to the world. And hope. Of a new day, a new chance to try again. Of a new life. And grace. forgiveness. peace.

And joy.

I'm moving....

Eventually, I'm moving. Well, actually, we ALL are moving. My hubby of 15+ years is currently working in Grand Junction, and I'm here in the Denver-area, trying to get the house ready while working part-time, raising 3 kids (one of which is home all day), trying to be mom, dad, writer, psychologist, photographer, entertainer, teacher, chauffer, warden, fashion director, doctor, hair designer, nail tech, researcher, activist, handywoman, and more, all at the same time! Life is crazy, that's for sure!

Truthfully, I'm having a hard time with how incredibly FAST this last year went! Here we are, just 3-1/2 weeks away from 2009 already! Where does the time go?

Anyway, I just realized what time it is. I've got to get up eary; our school does not have bussing, so I am the chauffer every day! Nighty-night!

I've heard about the "Lucky Duck"...

Now meet "Lucky the Sparrow!"

It's 2:15 in the morning on Thursday, July 24. Mousie the cat comes meowing in my bedroom, waking me from my just-barely-fell-asleep-sleep. Nothing abnormal; we have the loudest, most talkative cat you've seen (as long as you haven't seen a siamese cat--he's not quite THAT obnoxious). He meows more, sounding like he's saying "mur-Ow. mur-Ow." Still nothing abnormal...

...until I hear the tiny "squeak! squeak!" one usually associates with a small rodent, a dog's squeak-toy, or the wheel of the shopping cart I've inevitably chosen to push up and down the aisles of Target.

Now, one must keep in mind that a) my hubby has been out of town, and b) we've been finding dead voles and deer mice in our yard on a regular basis, presumably hunted and killed by Jezebel, the neighbor's intrepid hunter of a cat, and Mousie, her ever-present side kick.

So, I find myself thinking, as I get out of bed to locate the "rodent" that's hiding from my cat and my guinea-pig-dog, that "I can't believe I'm getting up at 2:30 am to find a RODENT in my bedroom!" Imagine my surprise when I find that, WHAT?! It's not a rodent at all...

... but a poor little baby sparrow. Juvenile, really. Baby sparrow fluff mixed with adult feathers, unable to fly but able to eat birdseed. Cute. Scared (more like terrified). But alive. (Thank you God, that I didn't have to dispose of bird guts in my bedroom in the middle of the night!) Now, instead, I find myself having to figure out what to do with a living, breathing, possibly - no, probably -injured bird, in the middle of the night, with a cat that is trying to find it and knows it's there. Will it survive the night? Did my cat actually catch it? Did the guinea-pig-dog catch it? Did it fall out of the nest? Was it pushed? Was it running away? Will the cat eat it while I'm sleeping? What do I do? I'm so confused!

This morning, I got up, and the bird was alive. Not only that, but she/he seems to be fairly healthy. Unfortunately, it really isn't able to fly. It falls, more than flys. The kids want to keep "her," but I'm concerned "he" won't survive captivity for very long. (Not only that, but, what if the cat gets sick, and I need his carrier to take him to the vet? Nope. The irony of the bird living in a cat carrier does not escape me.) Ah, we'll see. In the meantime, "her" name is Lucky, and I'm looking for a rescue place for "him." (Have you gotten that we can't decide if it's a he/she yet?)

Here's the link to see her & the girls....
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=viewImage&friendID=156658672&albumID=1781043&imageID=23287384

Update.... She was released four days later. Flew to a tree, hopped up the trunk & branches.... The kids hold on to the hope that she will come visit us. I hope she does well!

Oh, Say, Can You See? Or hear?

She went through with it. Really. She did. And it turned out pretty well.

The day before the permission slip was due (I mean, like, 15 hours before it was due!), BratGirl2 came to me and asked if she could be in the talent show at school.

Good-night, Miss Myrna

I received notice today that a woman I know passed away. She had been sick with cancer for a very long time, and is now living pain-free in Heaven with our Lord. But, I was very taken aback by how strongly I reacted (emotionally) to the news of her passing.

I didn't know Miss Myrna very well. I met her at a concert, where she and BratGirl2 exchanged stones with their names on them, committing to pray for each other. As a family, we have done so, pretty faithfully, for 5 or 6 years now. We've never stopped. It may just have been "God bless Miss Myrna," but we always had her on our hearts.

When I gave birth to BratBoy, I was given a diaper bag, which was lovingly made by--you guessed it--Miss Myrna. I used that diaper bag almost daily for over 1-1/2 years. She made them for all new moms in our church.

Occassionally I would run into Miss Myrna, and she'd always give me a huge, warm smile. She had a joyful spirit, and a way of making me feel like she was genuinely happy to see me. She'd always ask me about the kids, and how our family was doing, and she would tell me that she continued to pray for us. I would tell her that we pray for her, too.

I knew she was sick, but I didn't realize how sick. I had thought about visiting her in the hospital, with the kids, but was concerned we'd give her a cold, so I didn't go. How silly of me! I meant to send her a card, but I never did. Why did I wait? I guess it's true what they say about "good intentions."

I was shocked when I heard that she'd passed. Did I thank her for the diaper bag? I think I did. But I don't know that I ever told her how much it meant to me that she prayed for us daily. I don't even know if I realized it before today. I hope she knew what a difference she made with her small gestures of selflessness. She set a wonderful example for me, my children, and all whom she came into contact with. She was warm, sincere, and caring, and I will treasure the brief moments I spent with her. I'm grateful to have known her.

What have I learned from all of this?
-Don't procrastinate. When I feel the need to say "thank you," or to let someone know that I appreciate them, I should do it right away. The opportunity to say so may not present itself again.
-Find some way, even if it's small, to give to others around you. Small things, like praying for someone every day, can make a huge difference in someone's life. Even if it doesn't, it can make a huge difference in your own life!

I hope, some how, some way, and some day, to make a positive difference in someone else's life, as Miss Myrna made in mine. I pray that the BratKids can learn to be giving, selflessly and sincerely, not because I expect them to, but because God does.

Thank you, Miss Myrna, for all you've done for me and my family. I look forward to seeing you again, someday, in Heaven. Sleep well....

All right....

Who pinched me????

Shake Your Groove-Thing!

My BratKids are too funny! BratGirl1 is shy in public; she doesn't speak above a whisper, if she even speaks at all. BratGirl2 is the strong-willed, extraverted, take-charge one. BratBoy--well, he's two-and-a-half (need I say more?) At any rate....

They like to put on "shows." Yep--major events. The top of our stairs is where the action is. It's our informal stage. And, being the animal-lovers they are (tree-huggers!), almost every show is about animals. Still, that's neither here nor there.

What makes these shows so special? The way all three BratKids embrace the spotlight. It amazes me that, tonight, BratGirl1 composed her songs, performing as "Lea, the Queen of the Dogs," singing (and not quietly, I might add!) and dancing. BratGirl2 didn't try to "take over," as she so often does. Instead, she played her supporting role as the Puppy Assistant/MC so cooperatively. And they included BratBoy, funny hat and all! No one yelled at anyone. No one said "stop it!" or "stop touching me!" or "you're in my spot!" No one whined "you're not singing it right!" or "Be quiet! It's my turn!" No. Instead, it was a harmonious moment in time. A breath of fresh air. The perfect example of cooperation.

Don't pinch me.... I must be dreaming....