Skinned

I've been riding to my friend's work (and then back home alone) on Wednesdays. I couldn't go with her last week because I had my annual skin checkup very early in the morning.

This break in my new routine enabled me to shoot the sunrise. And, oh, was it was a beauty. Many memories, however. I went to one of the places Lizard and I used to visit for sunrise, often by bike prior to Parkinson's. I remembered with tears the last five or six times we'd visited this particular locale, when he no longer had the energy to walk with me the short distance from the parking lot to the shore. I tried very hard to be grateful he is whole now and can walk as far and as long as he wants. I wondered if he is setting speed records in heaven...

I saw my first sundog in ages as I was leaving for my appointment. I wondered if Lizard was sending me another rainbow. He used to sign his emails Beam Boss because he knew how much I love rainbows.

I had a complete meltdown as I pulled into the dermatology parking lot. It was the first time I'd been there alone since Lizard's horrific rash in 2024, and memories of that visit hurt more than words can describe.

I read scriptures on my phone for a few minutes so I wouldn't be a basketcase in the dermatologist's office. When I checked in, I was informed my checkup isn't until December.

I had shown up for Lizard's checkup. I had cancelled all his medical appointments, but I had forgotten to remove them from my phone. We saw the same dermatologist. I really had no idea the appointment wasn't mine. The receptionist was awesome. She kept apologizing as she handed me tissue after tissue. And she wasn't the one who'd made the mistake. It was all on me.

I sat in the car in the parking lot for more than an hour, crying, reading scriptures and, once again, really mourning.

The sun hitting the car finally got me moving. I probably could have sat there reading scriptures all day. It helped.

I realized my December appointment probably won't be as difficult now because I already survived this accidental visit. Kind of like everything else I feel these days. I still cry a lot. But nothing is as hard as Lizard's final week. Nothing is as hard as the first several weeks without him here. I'm able to tell myself now: I've made it through the hardest part. WE made it through the hardest part. Our love for each other stayed strong all the way until the end. It will never be that hard again. There will be sadness. There will be tears. But the hardest part is done. If I can make it through that, I can make it through anything.

Tweet

The Promise of Peace

Tweet

The Sunflowers of My Life

Years ago, I turned a bunch of clean used glass jars into vases because I thought they would be great craft fair merchandise. If we ever got to do in-person anything again...

I was pretty depressed back in 2020 and 2021. Life seemed so bleak and hopeless. My glow-in-the-dark vases helped me find reasons to smile and keep creating.

When it finally was safe to have an in-person craft fair again, I attempted to sell my vases at a local one-day, three-hour Christmas craft fair. No luck at all. Craft fairs don't seem to be a thing anymore. (Markets might work, but I couldn't afford to buy a booth, and back then, I couldn't leave Lizard alone long enough to participate. I didn't plan to try one out and drag him along to be more miserable than he already was in his late-stage Parkinson's battle.)

I didn't want to try selling the vases on Etsy because I didn't want to chance their fracturability in the mail. So, my big box of mosaic vases has been covered all this time to prevent gathering dust. The pillow case covering the vase, however, gathered plenty of sneeze-worthy fine debris and soot, especially with all the wildfire smoke in our air now every summer.

Suddenly last week, I had to opportunity to put a few of my vases to good use. Really good use.

I'd been studying Esther all week, repeatedly reading the scriptures, watching every Esther podcast I could find, searching every kid-themed Esther activity, game and object lesson I could find. It was my turn to teach the 7-year-olds, and Esther has always been my favorite Old Testament story. I wanted to teach the kids something they might remember, something that might possibly help them throughout their lives.

One of the podcasts I watched highlighted how many Biblical scholars throughout history have thought Esther should not be included in the Bible because the book doesn't contain the name of God anywhere. Yet, His fingerprints are throughout the book. Luck didn't get Esther into queenhood. Happenstance didn't put Mordecai in the right place at the right time to save the king's life. Chance wasn't how the king remembered what Mordecai did on the very eve before Haman planned to request Mordecai's execution. And just why would anyone fast, especially back then, when the health benefits of fasting were unknown? Who were the Jews and Esther and her servants petitioning as they fasted? And Who gave Esther the courage to approach the king without invitation?

That podcast suggested the author of the Book of Esther may have intentionally not named God to encourage and train readers to look for God in places we don't expect to find Him, especially in our lives. He compared looking for God to looking for sunflowers. The host said he finds sunflowers along the highway, in wide expanses of fields and even in his own backyard, even though he had never planted them.

I will never look at a sunflower the same way. I have loved sunflowers since the first time I saw a field of mammoth sunflowers. I wasn't crazy about sunflowers before that. When sunflowers began growing wild in my garden, I was initially annoyed because they were in areas I didn't want them. But then, as the mercury climbed like a peakbagger on a quest to reach the highest point in every mountain range, I realized sunflowers don't need to be watered. They keep growing and they keep pointing at the sun, no matter the weather. They can even topple in a windstorm, and they still bloom and try their best to face the sun. While lying flat on the ground!

I promptly cut nearly a dozen of this year's wild sunflowers, which I allowed to thrive to remind me to look for the light each day. Or, the Light. Which I am trying very intently to do. (I'm sorry I forgot to take photos of the actual cut sunflowers throughout this activity.)

I put each sunflower in one of my vases with glow-in-the-dark mosaics (because I love reminding the kids to look for the Light of the World by giving them glow-in-the-dark lesson surprises), and at church the next day, I hid the vases all around the shady side of the church prior to class.

Two kids volunteered to "teach" the lesson because, they said, they already knew the story of Esther. I let them, because, you know... leadership skills. They needed help, but they did pretty darned good. I was very proud of them for the details they did remember. (Mordecai is a really hard name for a kid to remember unless they already know someone by that name. And who in the heck can pronounce the name of the king?!?)

The kids then went on their treasure hunt to find the sunflowers and vases. Even the boys were excited to claim their own vases to take home. (One said he would give the sunflower to his mom, but the vase was his.) This Sunday, while we were studying Job, the kids told me all the places they were noticing sunflowers. I reminded them that means that God is everywhere in their lives, too.

I learned to love Esther because of her courage in approaching the king. I learned to love sunflowers because one of my students many, many years ago asked me to take her senior portraits in the first sunflower field I'd ever seen. I learned to trust sunflowers to grow in my garden, regardless of how hot and dry it gets (and even where they grow). And I'm still learning, every single day, to keep trying to look for the Light. Even when everything seems dark.

Tweet

Leaping Lizards

(affiliate links to my designs)

A week or so after Lizard passed, one of my friends told me I would find him when I began doing again the things we loved. Another friend told me to watch for signs that he might be near.

I will be candid. I have not heard or seen Lizard or felt him near. I wish I could, but I also realize my task might be to walk by faith. And I'm doing the best I can. Yet, I have looked, listened and paused quite frequently in search of any kind of sign he might be near. I'm kind of to the point that I don't actively search for him anymore because it's too disappointing. I now try to be grateful for the time we had, strengthen my faith and live worthily that I can be with both him and my Savior again one day.

I saw lizards in Lizard's mother's backyard on Mother's Day. That was an annual thing for the last five years, I think. We began making Mother's Day trips over there as soon as it was safe to travel again after we were all vaccinated. The trauma was still so fresh this Mother's Day, seeing the tiny little lizards doing their pushups made both Lizard's mom and me cry. The little lizards are not unusual for her. She sees lizards about nine or ten months out of the year.

I first got back on my bike about six weeks after Lizard passed. It took that long. And I didn't really want to ride then. But I had no choice, unless I Ubered, which I didn't want to do. I was dropping off my car for routine maintenance, and I didn't want an Uber charge on top of whatever the car was going to cost. So, I rode my bike home from the shop. In the rain. I cried almost the entire way. I told everyone who asked that the sky cried with me the whole way.

I'm really thankful now that I took that first ride. It enabled me to get back on my bike. I'm typically riding twice a week now. I've been up Waterton several times. I've seen some great wildlife. But no lizards. Which is not typical. (And no bears, which is just my extreme wishful thinking...)

Until last week. My sister-in-law has been riding with me at least every other week, just to get me back on my bike, but she wasn't able to ride that day. So, I went alone. We had planned to do a different trail than either of us had ever done, but because I was going to be on my own, I decided to ride up Waterton.

I saw nothing on the way up, which isn't that unusual. On the way down, I passed a baby snake in the middle of the road. I circled around for a photo, then used my front bike tire to encourage it to get out of the middle of the road so it would not become a pancake under someone else's wheels.

Suddenly, a very large lizard charged right at both me and the snake!!! The lizard was a little bigger than the snake. I thought I was in for a showdown! I was so shocked, I didn't even think to get the camera ready.

I didn't know who was going to eat who! They were staring at each other, and the lizard kept looking at me, then looking at the snake. Finally, after just a few seconds, the lizard scampered off behind me.

I looked it up when I got home. Snakes will occasionally eat lizards, and lizards will sometimes eat small snakes. That was just fascinating to me. It still is, really. I've never seen anything like that before, and I feel what I witnessed was better than a documentary, even though nothing happened. Just to see two completely different species face off like that!

After I got the baby snake safely across the road (after one cyclist who didn't see it nearly did run over it caused it to jump about two feet in the air... I'd never seen anything like that before, either), I asked Lizard out loud if this means he was there with me. I felt kind of bubbly inside.

All the rest of the way down the canyon, I kept wondering if the lizard was a sign.

At the bottom of the canyon, another large lizard ran across the road right in front of me. I wondered aloud again if this was a sign. Was my Lizard with me? Did he know I was thinking of him?

Then, out of nowhere, five planes flew overhead in formation. Like they were practicing for an air show. On a Tuesday! There were no air shows I knew of. (I did learn Colorado's 150th birthday was last Saturday, so perhaps they were practicing for that.) Lizard would have been overjoyed!!!

I asked God without praying. I think I said something like, "That has to be a sign. Lizard would have loved to see that. He HAS to be near."

I was still happy inside, so I'm going to believe Lizard either knew what I was doing or knew I was thinking of him. He knows I'm trying hard, and he knows I'm trying to be more faithful, and that makes me feel so good.

This week I realized I waited 45 years to find my Lizard. I can't wait to see him again, but I know from experience, I can wait. He was worth every minute of waiting 21 years ago, and he's worth waiting for now.

Tweet

Ministering

I listened to a podcast last week that really hit me. These are my notes:

Jennie Taylor, wife of the late Major Brent Taylor, shares ideas on how to minister to those who are grieving the loss of a loved one.

There is absolutely no one-size-fits-all approach, and people are never done grieving. Words like closure and moving on have no proper place in discussions about losing a loved one. Asking, "How are you:" with just the right amount of sugar in your voice and tilt in your head isn't likely to yield very honest results. I'm not a professional counselor or grief specialist, and i certainly don't claim to speak for everyone who's ever lost anyone, but i have been asked to share with you a little of my own grief journey and what has been done or said by those who have genuinely sought to minister to me and my family during our time of loss. Let's talk about what happened, what helped, and what didn't help.

[Her husband had been deployed in combat four times, and, then, less than two years before this broadcast was recorded (in about September 2020), he was killed by the enemy during a military hike long AFTER the war had "ended". He left behind seven children ages newborn to 14. His deployment would have ended just two months later.]

Most of us don't know what to do when we're faced with grief, and we really don't know what to do when someone we love is faced with grief. So, sometimes we do nothing. We're worried we might say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing or make it harder or maybe offer an offense which we didn't intend. We're all eager to help, and yet, we don't know how. We get paralyzed in our fear that we might inadvertently actually make it harder, and so, we kind of dance around it and go about our day.

Here are some of the things very well-meaning people said to me that really didn't help:

Grit with Grace: Grief is hard work. We need grit, but it doesn't come easily. We comfort each other by strengthening each other. The real grace isn't elegance or beauty, but the grace of God.

He's in a Better Place: I know that place, and I want to be there with him, but I'm here in an ugly place doing an ugly thing, trying to survive without him, trying to raise seven kids and help them through their grief, trying to pay all the bills, trying to figure out all his passwords so I can manage our household, trying to get the water heater fixed, trying to keep the car running...

My husband is a part of me. His purpose did not change when he died, and neither did mine. I long for the day we can be in the same place again. But it's going to be a long time and a long road before that happens.

Your Best Days are Ahead: I don't like thinking that my best days are going to be alone. The future is overwhelming. Just focus on today. God doesn't move in linear time. Future me can take care of future things. Looking forward alone is very scary. Take it one minute at a time.

Heaven Needed a Hero: So true. I know my husband's best days also are ahead. But God did not take my husband home because He was shorthanded. My family is shorthanded. We can't erase grief. We can't put a bandage on it. God doesn't necessarily make things happen, but he can make beauty out of things that happen.

Let Me Know if You Need Anything: I don't know what I need. Keep a notepad so you can jot down things you need and then give people ideas when they offer. A better way to ask that question is to ask things you think they need and let them choose how you can help. Give simple choices.

Finding Closure and Moving On: Who in the world wants closure when they've lost someone they love? I don't ever want to close the door on my husband. I move forward WITH my husband. My husband affected everything I've become for the last 15 years. I'm opening the door to a new chapter.

Holidays Can Be Hard: Even harder than holidays are the milestones. The first Sunday at church without him. The first birthday without him. The first back to school without him. Birthdays, anniversaries, family traditions, those moments that were so full of life are now empty, lonely, and painful. The first month without him. The first wedding anniversary without him. The first year without him. Those days are the days to send a text or make a phone call or invite for a meal or even just drop off a note. Let that person know you are mourning with them. Instead of feeling alone on those days, I know someone I love is going to be remembering with me because they don't let those days pass without reaching out to me.

Elephant in the Room: Whether you say anything to me or not, I still remember my husband. When you talk about him, even if I cry, I know it means you love and miss him, too. Please don't hoard your memories. Tell me about the times you shared with him. Tell me about the things I didn't know about him. Never hesitate to talk about him. I want to hear! Even if I cry. Don't be afraid of emotions. It's healthy. It's healing.

[Here, she also spoke about the ways people have tried to help her children. She emphasized she wants to be the one to help her children through their deepest grief, but she praised the people who invited her children for game night or movie night or came to watch their games or performances.

One of her children asked: "What good does prayer do? I prayed Daddy would be safe every morning and every night, and it didn't work." She shared the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. "But if not." Everything hard helps us to become more like our Savior.

I do not have children living at home, but I do have my own kid point to add. Last week, I got to teach crochet to one of the 8-year-olds I taught in church for four years. This week, I got to ride a bike with one of the 8-year-olds I taught in church for four years. Parents of children I taught and teach have been reaching out to me consistently, and man, what great experiences we are sharing.]

Fix it vs. Face it: You can't fix the fact that my husband died. People can't fix that. The Savior heals. The Savior makes us whole. The Savior compensates with blessings. What if Lazarus had not died? Raising Lazarus was a miracle that offers hope. What would the world be like without that miracle? The ultimate raising of the dead, of course, occurred prior to the opening of the tomb. But what would that lesson look like without the healing of Lazarus first to better help followers understand what was about to happen?

When we face extreme grief, the Savior allows us to minister to each other, He allows us to show His love to those in need.

I get to feel the power of the Holy Ghost helping me change my mind when I think my loss is such a horrible, awful thing. I am grateful the Savior allows us to use our heartache and our tragedy to lift and heal and to provide hope to those around us. When we feel extreme despair, Christ will send extreme hope, extreme love and extreme promises, that through His atoning sacrifice, all will be made well.

Tweet

Coming Back to Life

(affiliate links to my designs)

I'm rediscovering me.

Never Stop Serving
by Snowcatcher

In some ways, it's difficult to go back to "normal". I used to tell my kids normal is a setting on a washing machine, not something we should try to emulate in real life.

"Normal" doesn't seem to be attainable anymore in my life right now. I know I will heal in time, but the pain is always going to be there.

So I'm trying to find ways to create that help me heal. I hope what I create can help others who are in pain heal, too.

Tweet

Grief

Less than 72 hours after he came home, Lizard valiantly completed his Parkinson's battle.

It's 3 a.m. I've been awake since 1 a.m. I can't sleep. I wake often in the night to help Lizard, and he's no longer there.

I miss Lizard. I want back the Lizard who didn't have Parkinson's. The Lizard he is now. Now that I can't see him. Hold him. Be wrapped in his arms.

My gosh, I miss him so much.

I didn't think I'd have to go so long without him. I thought we'd have more time.

I know he is whole now, and I know we will be together again one day. I'm trying to cherish and be thankful for all the adventures we shared. I'm trying to remember how exhuberant he was every morning until a couple of years before he was diagnosed with Parkinson's. I'm trying to remember every joyful moment with him. I'm doing my best to be faithful and hopeful. There are moments of exquisite joy. There are moments of excruciating agony.

I would never want him to have to endure that suffering again. But I miss him so much.

Tweet