Lessons in Everyday Life 29WednesdayJun 2016 t

Lessons in Everyday Life

29WednesdayJun 2016

t

The sun was shining and the waves were rolling in. David and I sat in lounge chairs, protected from the afternoon heat by a large blue and white striped canvas umbrella. Our seats were angled just a tad, allowing me a bird’s eye view of the family to my right.

Yes, we were at the beach and I was relaxed. The crew next to me, not so much, taking little ones to the beach can turn into a lot of work. I witnessed this as the parents lathered three little bodies with ample amounts of sunscreen. Then, the older boy called out, “Mom, can you help me find my goggles?” I looked on; her shoulders dropped as she pulled herself out of the folding beach chair slung close to the sand. Plodding through the shifting granules of the beach floor, she reach into their overstuffed straw bag and rifled under the brightly colored beach towels. Fumbling her fingers on the bottom of the rattan sack, relieved, she called across to her son, “I found them.” Minutes later her brood of hungry beach goers begged for a snack, along with asking for an ice cold bottle of water. Eventually, everyone was appeased enough to play.

Father and sons frolicked in the waves. Mom stole a few minutes of rest and read a book. Their third child, wearing a sunhat as big as a serving saucer, quietly played in the sand. Her little fingers sifted through the mixture of shiny and matte, tan colored crystals. She poked a plastic shovel into miniature sand dunes and flung what she scooped up over her soft rounded shoulder. Bowing over her personal playground, she was satisfied and oblivious to the wonder surrounding her. The majesty and motion of the ocean were just steps away. The
seagulls that decorated and danced in the sky were straight above her head. The rays of the sun that warmed the sand were on display behind her back. However, she was calm, content and carefree. Why would anyone want to interrupt such a peaceful scene? Especially one that involved a toddler.

With a peaceful heart, I watched the family drama unfold. The father’s aqua swimming trunks clung to his muscular thighs as he trotted away from the entertainment of the ocean. His quickened steps through the hot sand were aimed towards the youngest of his clan. Without warning and from behind, he tucked one strong hand under the youngster’s pudgy little armpit and slid his other muscular appendage under her diaper clad bottom. Lifting her into his safe embrace, he must have had good reason to disturb her.

Immediately, his daughter didn’t like it. She erupted into a fountain of tears that stung her pink cheeks and rapidly flashed her legs in an attempt to wrangle herself from his firm
grip. I believe, she liked what she was doing and saw no good reason to leave. The father held her tight and took a second to tenderly whisper a few words into her tiny ear. Whatever he said, didn’t work. Despite her two year old protest, he carried her towards the crystal blue waters of the nearby aquatic playground. He knew there were seashells to see, fish to find and the waves offered pure enjoyment, serving up splashes and sprays of cooling mist as they lapped up against the sandy shores. However, the unexpected interruption bringing her to a different place to play was not well received by the independent and absorbed young girl.

Initially, I chuckled at the unnecessary upheaval of an otherwise serene setting. As a mother watching from afar, my first silent thought was, “You should have just left her alone. She was perfectly happy just playing in the sand.”

Then, the Holy Spirit stood up and clamored for control, posing for battle against my average thoughts. This sacred part of me, which invites me to see the world through the eyes of Jesus began to write it’s version of what was going on across the ticker tape of thoughts passing through my brain. I sensed God was urging me to see below the surface. Within in seconds, I found myself asking,”What should I learn from this scene?”

Living in a new season of life, I have more space to tease out these kinds of questions. No longer do they rise inside of me, only to be swept away by the next item on my to-do list. With Sam in Heaven and Brooke away at college, the demands on my energy and attention have lessened. Therefore, allowing me space to ponder and soak up the wisdom that comes from everyday life. So, in my attuned frame of mind, I worked to reveal what the Holy Spirit told me I needed to see.

First, my eyes fixated on the father/daughter combo having fun in the sea. No longer did the little girl cry. Instead, she wore a smile that caused her cheekbones to touch the outside corners of her almond shaped eyes. Squeals of laughter and delight filled the heated air as her father tossed her up above the crests of the incoming waves. Her initial intimidation with the overwhelming body of water had given way to a relaxed posture while held in her father protective arms.

Sweetly, silently the lesson I was to learn eased into my soul.

“How many times have I acted like that little girl?” I asked myself.  Even as an adult, I have put on such a show.

Comfortable, contented, and complacent, I pitch a fit when God points me in a new direction. Not trusting when He moves me away from my easy-go-luck environment that surely, the place He is leading me will be overflowing with abundance. So many times, I have behaved like that youngest sibling, kicking and flailing when swept away from what’s familiar to try something new.

I had hours in the shadows of a glowing sunset to lean into what I was to learn. As the afternoon eased into a cooler evening, I gleaned the wisdom everyday life has to offer.

See, I believe the adoring dad wanted to share the wonders of the ocean with his cherished daughter. That is reason he returned to the beach and scooped her up, without asking. Actually, it was his job as a parent to always enhance her experience of living. He knew the added joy the ocean would bring. Despite her hesitation and unhappy reaction, he knew what lay ahead was better. In addition, he knew she would like, if she just gave it a chance. Gently he carried her to something more wonderful. When he decided to test her trust by dipping her toes in the bubbling waters below, he never let her go.

As so it is with our Heavenly Father, often He asks us to relinquish our comfort zone. So that, he can lead us to a richer environment. We kick and scream against change and fuss because we become worried about our future. Gently, he carries us as we struggle against what He knows is best, never letting us go as we as come to peace with our new place.

Who knew a little girl playing in the sand could teach me so much?

Lord, 

Please forgive me when I choose to kick and scream with every new thing you ask me to do. Help me to rise into your arms willingly and embrace the constant wonder, joy, and excitement you offer. If I start feeling a little scared of what is to come, please cover me with your peace.

I give thanks for the Holy Spirit that stands ready to bring me closer to you. Everything you do, whether we like it or not, understand it or are confounded by it, welcome it or want to walk away from it is for our good. Help me to remember this, so I can step into the abundant living you have promised. 

I ask these things in the sweet name of Jesus.  Amen!

Just Do Today

Just recently, I received this text.

Prior to responding, I knelt down on my newly carpeted floor, closer to my bookcase, and took a look at the titles I had in my possession, staring at the spines that saved my soul. In my response, rather than just rattling off a few, I listed what I had learned, recalling the strength I gained from reading each story. It wasn't the first time I had been asked to reference something that I read. My little library has taken on a life of its own. After I lend each book out, I need to ensure they are returned so they can be checked out again and continue to touch those that read them.

While sharing my sentiments, I began to remember why I had such a book collection. It was the days following Samantha's accident that I spent reading. Craving stories of survival. I needed to hear from others that had experienced loss and how they found life, again. Real stories, about real people walking through real storms and HOW they did it. I remember telling myself, "If they can do this, so can I!" One woman had to bury two babies. I read her story and told myself if she could do two and still be beautiful, I certainly could do one!  

When I finished one book, I would get another. Back to the store, I was binging on books. Devouring the details of their story, gleaning wisdom from their experience, their survival gave me a sense of security.  I kept on reading, having been given the revelation that these were the people that made it. The souls that get lost in suffering are not the ones reflecting and writing words that help and heal. Each time I turned the last page, a new life had begun. These people had found peace, their pain now had purpose. I knew I could be one of them. A survivor, an overcomer, whatever you want to call it; I had the choice to reach out, grab hold of Christ and carry on. Just as they did.

Elizabeth's Library

Three years have passed since Samantha's accident, my book collection has grown and so has my strength. Like those that I learned from, I am able to see the purpose past my pain. God has given me glimpses of what He wants from me. Letting me taste a tidbit of sweetness in tragedy as I occasionally am called to sit and share with others suffering. Allowing me to touch the truth that He teaches in 

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

For awhile now, I have known that the tide was turning. My time of receiving was receding and my time of sharing, swelling. More tragedy has taken place. Now, I am the experienced one. People have begun approaching me wanting to lean into what I have learned about loss and how to find life again.  "That is one thing I could never get over.", "I would never recover." are sobering statements I hear too often. How do you do it? Where does your strength come from? are common questions. 

Just the other day, I sat sharing with someone under a great amount of stress. She told me her story, looked at me with eyes of trust, as if to say, " I know you will understand, you have earned your stripes." It was real, she had run out of answers, with no way to fix the situation and she was ready to receive. I knew her emotion and shared with her my strength, my Savior. Then again, the very same day, later in the afternoon, while at work a client stopped by. She followed me into the stock room. I knew her situation and she knew mine. She stared at me with fixed eyes, without coercion she confessed her continuing struggles. It was illness this time. She was suffering in a physical kind of way; again I shared the truths of my testimony. When I have listened to someone grabbling with caustic circumstances, who don't know what I've "been through", then somehow they become aware of my experience, their entire stance softens. Their shoulders once rigid, give way. If I speak, I have their attention. Their reaction says you have some serious stripes; they want to hear what I have to say. None of these encounters inflate me, they serve to show me that struggle can begin a conversation to further the Kingdom.

For the past few months, there has been an underlying confusion to all that I do. Every time I start something, I cause myself to stop. I paralyze myself by asking, "Is this what I am suppose to be doing?" This quest of trying to find out what I'm suppose to do with the rest of my life is exhausting. Brooke has recently left for college, Samantha lives in heaven. Allowing most of my life pattern to be rewritten. Some days, honestly all I want to do is work full time and collect a check. Reclaiming a career I gave up, traveling and escaping. That would be the easiest. The next day, I want to return to school, earn another degree and relive a dream I failed to persue. That sounds like a good plan but, I'm afraid my ability to remember will be an issue. On top of that, I ask, "Is that what I'm really suppose to do ?" My thoughts are all over the place. Day after day, uncertainty eclipses all that I am doing. Feeling like I'm on the game board of LIFE and it's my turn to roll the dice.

There's a crossroad before me. Which path am I suppose to choose.  There are days, my thoughts are short and scattered about my next step.  On other days, like the one I mentioned above, I have complete clarity as to my calling. It's a supernatural sensation of completeness that I receive when I serve another by sharing what I know. Then life gets going again and I get confused. While my brain bullies my being, I feel like my hands have been following my heart. As I  pray for and create the website for my new ministry. I don't know for sure if it is what I'm suppose to do but, I've been doing it! For reasons you can read about, I called it, "Just Do Today."

I'm leaving the place of my pasts posts, where intense pain presided. Those writings helped me realize how God was weaving Himself in and through my grief. The healing process has happened. I'm in a new place, not quite sure about how to proceed, nor where it will take me. Occasionally, the lens of my life twists into sharp focus, allowing me to see the fullness of God's plan for my life. Gifted with the ability to separate myself from my pain and see it for something else. Oh, I don't like that it is there, that I had to go through something so terrible and live with it everyday it but, I know the experience and outcome can be used for the greater good. The even more miraculous part is I know, I'm the one in receipt of the gift when I share. The light shines bright for me when I engage in His Holy work. With this God given knowledge I feel ready and willing to share. As another has said, "The greatest ability is availability."

By reading or listening to the words of others, I have been given life again.  Whether the characters were written about in the Bible or are followers of Christ in the present century their written words have served me well. These people pierced by pain, weren't authors or speakers to begin with but, they took the time to sit down and record their testimonies. Then, their words were made available to the world. Publicly, they speak about their experience and silently they share by putting pen to paper. Due to reasons I don't really like, I realize my life experience looks like those that sit on my bookshelf. Now, the next step for me is to do as they did. Share. Publicly proclaim who worked for me, not what worked for me.  How arriving at this place of peace happens and allowing the experience to pour hope into another's heart.  By sharing "Samantha's Story" I hope to do the same for someone else. 

P.S. - After writing these blogs, mentally and emotionally I always end of where God wants me, in harmony with Him. Upon completion of this one I have no doubt about my next step. The die have been cast and I will follow the path of those that preceded me. Extending my experience out into the world. Scripture has instructed me to do so:

Jesus tells the man,“Return home and tell how much God has done for you.”

Luke 8:39

And he did not permit him but said to him, “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.”

Mark 5:19

Please join me on the next leg of my journey as I continue to create a space (or a site) that allows me to interact on a different level than before. A public platform to reach out and to offer my experience to others. 

  www.justdotoday.org

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was on him; and with his stripes we are healed. 

Isaiah 53:5

A Thanksgiving Testament

"For today, we are going to keep the garage door closed." This is what I told Kelly, my sister in law on Thanksgiving morning. We were on our way to serve community dinner at church together and would return to my home to celebrate the day.  Holidays are tender days, having lost my mother years ago, but this being our first Thanksgiving without my father and our third without Samantha. Since Sam's death, we had reconfigured some of our family traditions to avoid lapses of loose time. Serving others on Thanksgiving morning, served us as well.  While Kelly and I drove to church together, my mind fixated on what was, what had happened and the best solution I could come up with to cope with the day. Samantha's disassembled bed and bedroom furnishings were piled up against the wall, waiting to hurt anyone that walked through our garage door. I needed to reroute my 14 guests, not allowing any more pain to punctuate this particular day. After telling her all, Kelly, quickly replied, "Okay, we will use the front door today." 

Brooke, had already unexpectedly experienced the drastic change to Samantha's room, returning home from work while I was deeply involved in the repainting process. As Brooke walked down the hallway, she couldn't help but pass by. The tension was tangible; she poked her head in and asked, "Are you okay?" Her faced was frozen in fear. To her, my actions seemed erratic and unpredictable. She didn't know that I was going to redo her sister's room. Neither did I.  David left early in the morning for an LSU football game. Immediately after he walked out the door, I turned up the dial on my emotions and let them emit.  It was anger and hostility that fueled my ability. Defiantly, I marched in my own madness, straight to Samantha's room and finished the process of packing up her things. There was still lots to do. In the years past, I had removed just a little at a time, giving away items where and when needed. If I saw a use for something Samantha had, it felt good to let it go. I saw it as, blessing someone, with her belongings. Not this time. I was not letting go; I needed to get it out of my house, all of it! The pain was piling on thick; I felt like I needed to close one painful chapter of life so, I could persevere through another.  Anyway, it was just "stuff." With the recent passing of my father and the tedious task of deciding what to do with all that he owned, I realized how much we have that gets left behind. All of this making it easier for me to reduce what I had left of Samantha's stuff into one medium size cardboard box. It was cathartic to close it with tape and seal it shut. It hurt to think it belonged in the attic but, it did. I didn't save much to remember her by but, because of past experience, I knew it would be enough.  I could tell by Brooke's body language that she wanted to leave as soon as she got home. Escaping the dread, she descended upon a friend's house instead.  Leaving me alone, to wrap up the redo. 

I thought David understood the extent of what I was doing. LSU vs Texas A & M was his escape. He checked in during halftime with a phone call, wanting to know "how" and "what" I was doing. With restrained emotions, I told him I was cleaning out Samantha's room. Trying to illustrate the extent of my current torment , I gritted my teeth and told him, " Her room is almost empty!" I don't know if I mentioned repainting but, he knows me and I thought he would have realized that I was as determined as I sounded. My dialogue with him was curt and cross. He knew I was suffering, didn't think it was warranted and was helpless to do anything about it.  Our conversation ended and I continued with my pity project. David returned home, which required the revealing walk through the garage. With a crunched face that only the onset of tears can cause, he stepped inside and exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see that!" As my own tears trickled down my cheeks, I replied, "It had to be done." I started with the realistic reasons why; Samantha's room was beginning to smell musty because we constantly kept the door closed, the room, a white elephant in the house; not many feeling comfortable enough to use the space as an extra place to sleep. Then, came the acknowledgement of anger, a strong emotion that serve me well to complete a sorrowful task.  With the recent loss of David's job, the week before Thanksgiving, I was raw and vulnerable. The only way I could figure out how to survive the next "thing" that the world threw at me was to fight back.  I dealt with Samantha's death in a different way but, this latest trauma had taken its toll and I was drowning in dread. Financially, it wasn't anything to fret over. David needs to work but, we had a nest egg. It was the next loss, pain upon pain, the constant change required of me that left me empty and inconsolable.  Just when you think life has reach a peaceful plateau, everything can be pulled away from you. Trauma tiring me out.  I was so stung that I couldn't even find my faith to try to cling to. David's employers explanation was one that caused me great confusion! I couldn't connect the dots between his performance and their decision. The senselessness of the situation added to the assault being waged within my inner self. Anger had an advantage over me and I was acting out. I even quit my Disciple class because I couldn't sit in front of others and act like everything was OK!  I was exhausted and spent the next few days stewing over our situation while trying to start the holiday season. My immediate family was completely aware that I was experiencing an emotional meltdown. It was evident by the way I was acting and I knew it! I was so stuck that my ability to pray had all but ceased.  I remember sarcastically saying to myself, "Lord, if I have to do this, too and so does David could you just reveal yourself to make it worth it?" If all this was unavoidable I needed to know there was something in it for me. It was as if I was saying to my Savior, "If I have to go through the struggle could you please show us a silver lining." Trust me, it was quick and without a lot of thought, not rooted in reverence at all. I'm now embarrassed at my own flesh. I was fragile and faltering in my faith! (But being real brings sincerity to a story and highlights my humanness.) 

David's intent was to have Samantha's bed and room furnishings loaded into a truck and donated before Thanksgiving Day.  An employment opportunity brought him to Houston, TX the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. He returned home late on Wednesday making it impossible to borrow a truck and bring Samantha's things to Habitat House. So, there all her stuff sat, stuffed in the garage ready to reveal to all who walked through, that I had taken the next step to separate myself from Samantha. Without an explanation, just the sight of the situation would cause concern. I know my family is affected and susceptible to the consequences of my actions. Who I am through all of this trickles down to them. David and I thought it best to hide my hurt, not explain my actions, keep the door closed and deal with everything else another day.

We arrived at church and fulfilled duties like ladling gravy, slicing turkey and preparing pies. The atmosphere was hectic and hurried as we worked to ensure that everything was in place before we served the people of the community. Public servants on duty that day, folks without large families and people who just needed a place to go were our guests. I remember looking out through the serving window from the chaotic kitchen scene and noticing how peaceful the people were. Strangers sitting together, sharing a free feast and conversing over coffee. I pondered the beautiful gift being given to them and I was grateful to be a part of the process.

David and Paul departed from church to do dinner deliveries. Hannah and I headed to my

house to put the finishing touches on our Thanksgiving traditions. While at church, we invited three more guests to our own dinner and needed to add place settings to our table.  I was performing and playing my part with a sincere attitude of gratitude. There was so much to be thankful for on this day but, I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit to the looming doom I knew I would feel when I walked into my own home. Truly, I couldn't shake what I thought were suppressing circumstances; Samantha's room was now empty, her bed disassembled and discarded in the garage, my husband unemployed because of a senseless decision, and two empty chairs at our Thanksgiving table.

Not having a car of his own and restricted from driving, Joey, one of our newest Thanksgiving guests rode home with us. During the drive, I checked in with David wanting to know how he was doing with deliveries and what time he expected to be home, wanting to have my dinner prepared at the correct time. Before I could even ask about the details I needed to know, David exclaimed to me, "Wait until I tell you this, you are never going to believe!". My ears went on alert, my eyes fixated on the the digital panel displaying David's phone number and I was ready to receive. He continued to tell me, " Elizabeth, the very first person I delivered to was a lady living in a trailer. I knocked on the door, she answered and we spoke for a second. I handed her the meals. I turned to leave and she spoke again, this time asking with an evident need expressed in her eyes, "Do you know anyone who has an extra bed?" David told me his heart ramped up and he immediately "knew."  David replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact I have an extra bed and I will have it to you today!" With renewed confidence that there are no coincidences with a life in Christ, David called Paul, explained the entire situation and made arrangements to have the bed and Samantha's other belongings brought to the trailer in none other than, Paul's truck. I know that is a poignant point because it was Paul I was trying to protect, by hiding my hurt. 

Earlier in the week, I had confided or maybe complained to Joey about how life was feeling like a lot of work lately. He was aware of my inner struggle and how the pressures of life were causing more pain. With that working knowledge and after hearing David's story, he just smiled and gently said, "God sure has a way of bringing good out of every situation."  

With ease, I acknowledged Romans 8:28 and knew my petty prayer had been answered. As requested, God had revealed himself as active and around at all times. We were given another gift that solidified our faith, increasing our eternal perspective and receiving our reward for being the hands and feet of Christ.

By the time we got home, we could walk through the garage. The bed and other belongings that once belonged to my little girl, Samantha, now on their way to a little boy who had been sleeping on the floor.  David and Paul unloaded the truck, while the woman wept. Before leaving, David turned to the lady and shared his story of the tragic death of our daughter, his current employment status and what my reaction had been, which is easily identified as a fit of rage that resulted in the complete stripping of Samantha's room. All of this, testifying to why we had an extra bed. Then, with tears in his own eye, he witnessed to the woman, when he quoted the old adage, "God works in mysterious way."  Giving God the glory for the divine encounter he had experienced while delivering Thanksgiving dinners. My thoughts sometimes wander to the woman who needed the bed. Of course, she was the receiver of something earthly (a bed).  I pray her gratitude is given to something much great than just a bed. Instead, to a Savior who says, ""Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him." John 9:3.

Before dinner, I bowed my head before the others, knowing I had been blessed beyond measure. Grateful for the gifts given to me, above and beyond what I had ever expected, pain turned into purpose, steps that led to spiritual growth and instead of two empty chairs, we had three unexpected guests at our Thanksgiving table. 

Sharing Stories

Thursday, June 20, 2013

During my deep suffering, I remember entering into the local bookstore and realizing to arrive where I needed to be, the “spiritual section” required a walk to the rear end of the store. I mean really, in the far back left corner were shelved the words of strength that my soul required. Reading stories of survival and redemption was and is a saving grace for my soul.  I felt like to get to the pages of peace, I had to push past pages of mystery and murder, affairs and altercations, chaos and cruelty! It angered me that the books I needed, the ones that had an impact on my innermost self, the stories that could heal and help my hurting self, lined the last shelves of the store!!! Many times, upon entering the store, I wanted to turn all the tables over, (reminds me of another story? Matthew 21:12) make a mess, then rearrange and redo. Placing the peaceful stories, the ones with reality and redemption, grace and goodness, truth and tenderness, front and forward, moving all the others to a less important position. Even with the passage of time, and the mellowing of emotions, I get twisted when I think on the way things are and why such stories of chaos are positioned to attract readers more so than books that pave pathways to peace. (Just a pet peeve of mine!)

The trips to the bookstore and the income invested in these books hit such a high, that on one particular trip after our purchase was complete, David commented to me, “Remember, we have been instructed to track our expenditures relating to the accident. Looks like the book store will be one of the biggest!”  I shrugged; I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t even care; reading was necessary for me, somehow it served as a lifeline. To sit with a stranger, to create within me, their circumstances, to share their sorrow and their suffering, to experience the exact same emotions, to fortify myself with their faith, to acknowledge and accept the goodness of their God, to begin to recover from their redemption. This was where I could relate; real people, with real pain; warriors winning against worldly ways, hearts clinging to hope and souls surviving their crippling circumstances. Within the pages I shared so much with the characters. Often, underlining and highlighting lengthy sections. At times, sharing my mind in the margins; written comments that notated similar experiences and shared emotions. Some of the stories mimicked my situation. For instance I identified with, Mary Beth Chapman in her book, Choosing to See. 

Her story tells how their beloved son, Will ran over and killed one of their adored adopted daughters, Maria. How did this mother handle this? The loss of one child and the heartache for her son involved in the accident. I needed to know how she handled such extreme sorrow and sadness alongside her life long love and devotion towards her eldest son. The words of her dedication, to her son, delivered a strong stance of faith through love and loss:

Dedicated to Will Franklin

“You have been entrusted with an incredible pain! I’m so sorry. I wish as your mom I could take it away, but I know God has a plan for you to steward this story well and to minister to others through your suffering. You are my hero, as well as Maria’s … she loved you so much, as do I! 

Can you imagine, grieving the loss of your beloved "girl" and watching your oldest son wiggle and wind through gut-wrenching guilt and grief, and to adhere to and honor the parental commitment to sustain his soul with the promise of God's peace and presence. My situation was not the same but similar, Paul was not responsible but certainly carries some self-imposed guilt in not returning Samantha home. He has expressed this to me. Samantha left with him and he didn't bring her home! He was driving the boat, however not held responsible for the accident. He loved Sam and Sam loved him, I love Paul and he loves me!  I wish my brother didn't have to know that pain that he does and the restless sense of responsibility. Along with Mary Beth Chapman, I share a similar knowledge knowing God will work through Paul to bring comfort and consolation to others through this awful accident. 

And Mary Beth's loving tribute to her daughter, Maria

Mommy misses you so much. Your time with us was too short, but there is only One who holds all of time and eternity in His hands, and we trust Him. My prayer is that Mommy's tears will continue to water the seeds of your life and that all who read this story will be pointed to the One who holds you in His arms until I can. 

I share similar heartfelt thoughts and prayers as Mary Beth Chapman does. Samantha's absence in our lives is always evident. But, not overshadowed by the knowledge of the truth that she rules and reigns in God's eternal kingdom. Don't get me wrong, at times my emotions escape by way of tears, tenderness and temporary insanity but none of that, changes what I know! What a double blessing it would be to use my scarring scenario and sadness to boldly bring others to the Kingdom of God! I remember telling my friend, Robin, as she helped us with the search in Shell Beach, LA, "It is my prayer that others will be closer to Christ because of this." Right there in Shell Beach, before we ever returned home, somehow it was within me to see that this tragedy could be used to Glorify our God. And another such affirmation from an earthly angel who once proclaimed to me, "Elizabeth, don't you know, Samantha's life was all about saving souls!" It has taken me a while to wrap my head around that particular phrase. But, I am beginning to see the light! When she said it, I knew what she meant, but it has taken a fair amount of time for my flesh to surrender into submission to this.  At times, I find myself praying for supernatural qualities to be bestowed upon me to deal with Samantha's death; for me to be given the ability to let go of her life and and find serenity about what her Savior had planned for her and how her life would be used for His Honor and His Glory. So that, I can continue to "water the seeds of her life," pointing those that come in contact with my story towards my Healer, my Hope and my Heavenly Father. I am so human, it is a must for me to lean into the Holy Spirit that dwells within me to do this. 

Another such story was, The Color of Rain. Two couples, each losing a spouse. Two complete families; one losing a father and the other a mother; wading through the loss however, having to move forward with life. There was a page of this book that actually reiterated my religious experience the moment I knew Samantha entered heaven.  Our stories had such strong similarities;  Immediately, the husband recognized that his wife had entered heaven not that she had disappeared from this earth and died. His, the husband's peace came from knowing God's presence at this very moment, despite the despair his emotions emitted. It can be a very uncanny experience to read about something you experienced, where the words acknowledge your every emotion and actually reenact your inner thoughts. I was reading about myself in someone else's story! Michael recounts, this manifest moment:

^{When I read this , it was as if I had written it; change the words, "by her casket" , to "sitting on a back porch in Shell Beach, Louisiana." In my most grief stricken moment, My God was with me, where He said He would always be, at my side! When my mental clarity is at a crest, I can confess, "Sam did not die, she went to Heaven!"  There is a sense that this person Michael and I, we are strangers, but both hold memberships in the same heavenly club!!!} 

^{My mind wonders to a movie I watched recently, The Great Gatsby. There was a buzz around town about this, so many folks traipsing to the theatre. I, one of them. I watched and when it was over , I could only shake my head with hollow thoughts. Oh, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it on a earthly level, I love clothes and enjoyed the costumery!  But, these people led chaotic lives! The show ended in sorrow and sadness, emptiness and agony, for everybody! Why did I come to watch this? I would equate the marketing of this movie to my experience in the bookstore.  A story of chaos, betrayal, lies and illegality promoted and placed in a position of importance. Presently, I find myself actively pushing away and safeguarding myself against chaos and confusion. This is something new for me, this inextinguishable desire for peace and harmony. Sometimes this sensation soars and prevents me from participating in social settings where there is a cacophony of conversations, unpredictable explosions of sound, and to many faces to figure out. My senses get overstimulated resulting in confusion and then I feel that "flee or fight syndrome." Small groups, one on one, and lots of alone time, is what presently promotes peace within me.  As I sit in the silence, a question captures me, "Why don't people pursue peace?" Why don't they relate to and read stories of peace? The world is chaotic enough without entertaining oneself with more stories of chaos! (Just my personal opinion, I record it knowing it matters not much!!)} 

^{To begin to put a period on all of these thoughts, I realize, the books that I have read, the movies that I have watched, they are all stories. Good or bad, long or short, fiction or non-fiction, peaceful or chaotic, they are all stories. I have been taught by many how important stories are. My pastor, James Mitchell, once said in a sermon, "Stories are powerful!"  My dear cousin Louise, one of God's faithful, once expressed in a letter to me how important stories are.} 

From: Louise Reinoehl 

Subject: RE: Checking on you guys

Date: March 1, 2012 4:22:37 PM CST

To: Elizabeth Vinturella <evinturella@charter.net>

Reply-To: LouiseReinoehl

Hi Elizabeth,

          I guess you might have participated in some Mardi Gras events. Your dad emails me often about what’s going on. Jim and I faithfully read your blog also so we feel we stay connected to your heart through your ever so honest words. I, too, am still amazed by how Granny’s influence is still prevalent. On a weekly basis, I am reminded of something she said or did and how I still want to emulate her and make my life count for eternity. Her words are prophetic and for all time because she based them on the scriptures. I am glad to know you rediscovered the letters and that her words bring consolation and hope. As I think over how you have a “story” and are trying to go forward by sharing all the events in light of God’s sovereignty, I was reminded of something someone told me once. And that is that we are a “storied people”. Stories resonate with us in that stories are the most powerful means of communication. For someone to tell us their story is a high honor. For you to tell others of your story is powerful. There is an implicit vulnerability in sharing our journey with all its smooth and rough places, joys and heartaches. Unfortunately, our natural tendency is to not share our story. But you have found courage in  your dependency on God and in knowing that He alone is your foundation, your rock, your comforter, your healer. He will do a mighty work through you because of your willingness to be His mouthpiece. And I predict, great healing will come for you in the process. I love  you and never cease to pray that God make Himself ever so real for you, David, Brooke, and Paul’s family on a daily, minute by minute basis. I know you are learning to look for Him in a variety of ways and to recognize His presence.

          My Spring Break is coming up the first full week of April. Jim and I were wondering if we could come for a short visit again with you and Paul’s family. We were thinking of arriving on Saturday March 31 and leaving on Monday or Tuesday. We love you so much.

Ease

Recently, I had the opportunity to walk once again in my former footsteps. Pre-family, my career orientated itself around my love of clothes. Having earned a degree in Fashion Merchandising, I once was employed as a buyer for a large department store and thereafter, a store manager as well.  After receiving the invitation to visit the Dallas Market with a friend, I was all in. Maybe this is what I am suppose to do with my life, I thought! Reenter the retail world?!? Off on the plane I went, only to fall on my face after spending several days of looking at so much "stuff." The company was incredible but I don't think I belong in that world? I had a major meltdown and returned home a bit dazed and somewhat defeated. The next few days were spent soaking in the stillness and silence, creating the environment where I am able to hear the small, sweet voice. I heard, "Why are you trying to go backwards, trying to relive what you have already done?" You have been there, you have done that! Move forward, I am creating something new in you." The lyrics of the song "Beautiful Things" by Gungor sprang forth in  my mind. (This song is so special; we played it at Samantha's memorial service.)

Beautiful Things" Lyrics	]
by Gungor | from the album Beautiful Things

All this pain

I wonder if I’ll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new

You make me new, You are making me new

You are making me new

Again, Lord lets me know this is the way it He works as stated in Isaiah 43:18-19:

New Living Translation (NLT)

¹⁸ “But forget all that—
    it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
¹⁹ For I am about to do something new.
    See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
    I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.

^{So, if I take just today, tallying up what is inside of me, I see I have a story. People have told me the story needs to be shared. I know it's not my story, it's God's story and I am only to be the storyteller. I know that stories have sustained and strengthened me during my suffering.} 

^{I know God creates beautiful things, out of dust. The song says so! Due to the circumstances, we had to cremate Samantha's body. How I remember burying what was left of her body; dust. We met in the memorial garden, just a small gathering of us. All that was left was in a little bag and we placed it in a hole in the ground and covered it up. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ..... So many have heard the saying. I have peace about returning Samantha's remains unto the earth but the best part will be the beautiful something that will delivered out of the dust!}  

^{I know I am called to do something new! Going backwards is a bad thing! Isaiah instructs me to forget what once was and to walk in new way, on a path that God has already paved for me.  He tells me the journey has already begun, that I have already stepped past the "starting line." Then, He questions me, "Don't you see it?!" I interpret this as having to be hit on the head with a baseball bat, to recognize what He wants of me. The beautiful thing has already begun. Could that be me writing a blog? Being a speaker at A Women's Hope Conference along with responses, that offer rewards and a realization that maybe I have the ability to write? Never, have I thought, either of these, to possibly be a part of my life! This is all new and can be unnerving. Until, I read the last two lines of Isaiah 19! When I lean into and listen to what the Lord says, " I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland." I know I need not worry. All I need to do is write and He will do the rest!!!}

^{I humbly know I will need prayers as I begin to write a book ....} 

    

Samantha's Story

My time typing has been dwindled, I must be getting somewhat of a life. I'm not complaining, it feels pretty good to begin to move around a bit, to broaden my safety boundaries a little, to engage in life. What a blessing Samantha's Playground project has been. It wasn't my idea but, I think I like being involved. When in public, it is easier play the part of person with a purpose rather than, the mom in mourning.  I'm not completely comfortable in either skin, however, the first is more flattering. (I still squirm when walking in a room, knowing I'm the mom without my child rather than the old me, with both my children.) So, there has been planning taking place, meetings to attend and a website to work on. My latest task, to complete the website was to write "Samantha's Story". Oh, how I struggled to do this. Procrastination was my enemy. It took me weeks to try to wrap my brain around "who" she was, "where" she went, "what" she liked", "when" she did it", and "how" it all happened. Then, to think about writing what I remember on paper!!  I don't like the idea of Sam existing only on a piece of paper! As the weeks rolled by, I learned within myself that I do not like, don't want to write about Samantha in past tense, it hurts. I realize my writings will be just "memories", not "experiences" that will shape Samantha's future, help her to grow, teach her a lesson, or let her learn about herself. None of those things are necessary anymore. Nonetheless, I needed to do this, it is part of the project!!! So to get started, I told myself, just pick three things to write about, just three, and see where it goes. As my good friend has taught me, "Sometimes you just need to put paint on the wall." So, I pondered on first her soul, then her mind and then her body, knowing how monumental this task would be because Samantha was so much. I figured I could share somethings but, she was so much! 

So, I wrote Sam's story and published it on the playground website. It was difficult but it was done! I checked the task off of my to-do-list. As always, after I write something I read and reread it to myself, day after day, asking myself, "Did I record it correctly/", "Is that how it really happened?", "Did that really happen, to me?" Eventually, with acceptance and acquiescence, I experience a feeling of peace with what I have written. ( Sometimes, I feel like I'm reading my own book.) This time as I read and reread, I began to remember more, the funny Sam, the silly and serious Samantha, my "sweet", "average", "normal" 12 year old daughter.  That sweet small voice told me, to remember and to write! So, I did!  

What appears below is "Sam's Story" filled with memories:

An entry from Samantha's journal

Samantha was a child of God, born into, not a perfect home but, born into a family trying its very best to uphold and embrace Christian living just as we, her parents, had promised the day of her christening. As a consequence, as she grew in age and experience, seeds of faith were planted in Samantha's heart. Each level of learning giving new knowledge and Godly guidance. I know, her firm foundation and flourishing faith had an impact on who she was becoming during her pre-teen years. Years of such personal growth and self-discovery, often riddled with questions concerning faith, character, and morality.  Just as it was for Sam. Upon her death, Samantha gave me a genuine gift of comfort, her journal. Within the pages of this precious book her personal relationship with her Heavenly Father is revealed. She was seeking His ways, when she asked Him questions like, " God, I would like to know if wearing what I got at the GAP today is okay? I also wonder about bikinis."  As well, when she confessed, " God, I shouldn't focus as much on my cute clothes and good-looking hair. I should work toward a real rewarding and kind-hearted person on the inside. But, is it still OKAY to have cute clothes..... RIGHT?"  Also, when she revealed her confusion and sought answers from Him when she wrote, " "God, often times I do not hold back my anger, I spill it out and scream and fuss at people. I shouldn't do this! Is it O.K. to ever stand-up for yourself?"  As well, she was learning to put her faith into action. During the summer, Samantha loved spending time at the Kreiger household with her good friend, Georgia. With 4 children in the family, there was always plenty of hustle and bustle.  On one occasion, one of Georgia's younger sisters had to be corrected. Samantha was witness to this and stepped in to give support.  She sat down with the child, asked Kadee, Georgia's mother, for a Bible and began to share something with her.  Oh, I wish I knew what she chose to share. Whatever is was, it work. Kadee was overwhelmed, watching Sam share God's word and Anna-Kate's soul was soothed. What a present of peace knowing that the Holy Spirit had secured a sacred spot in Samantha's soul! 


Samantha was also gifted with a quick wit and honesty, this lessened filter often got her labeled as feisty by her friends; adults adored her! I remember sitting in an auditorium, while on a family cruise, waiting to leave for an excursion, we were all required to have identification before departing the ship. Samantha was 7 years old and scrutinizing her Aunt Jeanette's driver's license when she boisterously commented, "Aunt Jeanette, you got an "F" in sex?"  Everybody heard it and everybody laughed, Samantha was just speaking about what she saw!  In truth, she was candid, gregarious, entertaining and extremely social, easy to make new friends and openly expressing her fondness for them, constantly asking questions and very animated with answers. I will never forget a specific piano lesson. Arriving for pick-up, Samantha's teacher, Robert, said to me with some concern, "Well, we didn't get to cover any new material because Samantha asked too many questions concerning the keys!" I smiled, happy she got the answers that that calmed her curiosity and increased her understanding. The only teacher conference I ever had to attend was because Samantha was under the impression that a particular teacher did not like her because she asked too many questions. I was hesitant to attend the conference, knowing that I had to share and straighten out this misconception. I knew Samantha was somehow getting the wrong impression and I also knew she was asking a lot of questions. This wonderful teacher and I talked and devised a plan to entertain Samantha's love of learning. A few days later, Samantha received a special letter, in the mail, from the teacher complimenting her constant quest for knowledge. 

David and Sam in their chair.

Sam was created with other characteristics. She loved to dance and did so for many years. She was filled with joy and laughter when she attended classes at Northshore Academy of Dance. She was silly and showed it ! She loved watching TV with David, often sitting in the same chair. A chair that was purchased for this particular purpose, so they both could fit.

Babies and pre-school children stole a piece of Samantha's heart, which in turn unfolded her future dreams of being a teacher or a pediatrician. She had such admiration for Ms. Edmundson, her math teacher. Often, she would come home from school, bragging non-stop what a wonderful mother and teacher Ms. Edmundson was. Stating, " She really wants us to learn, Mom. She is such a good mother, she loves her children so much! I can tell, Mom!"  Ms. Stephanie had just recruited her to help teach a 3-year old Sunday School class, in the Fall of 2012. She had tremendous admiration for her older sister; at times to her own detriment. Recently, Brooke revealed to me that Sam would sometimes say, " Brooke, you are so much better than me." To hear that kinda hurt but, Brooke played it down, relegating it to just, "sister stuff." In my eyes, Brooke had achieved many goals, Sam was just getting started. Recalling a particular summer evening, Brooke swam a "sectional" time and Samantha shard the starring role in a play and showed her true colors. David raced in between Mandeville and Baton Rouge, to witness both rewards. Motherhood doesn't come with a paycheck but,  the "mom" inside of my felt like I had earned a bonus that evening. They both performed to the best of their given abilities! I was proud.  However, in Brooke's eyes the tables were turned when I uttered a comment that she will never let me live down. One day, I commented to Samantha, "You know when I look at you, you twinkle, there is something about you that kinda sparkles. You know what I mean, you twinkle!" Brooke heard this and asked, "Well, what about me?" I honestly replied, " You remind me of a horse, a thoroughbred horse! " When I said this, I was thinking about the adjectives used to describe a thoroughbred, the qualities that reminded me of Brooke, steadfast, strong, dependable, tremendous work ethic, "fine" through and through. All she heard was the description, "HORSE."  To this day, Brooke holds me accountable for this one word description of her.    

Paul and Samantha after her surgery. Alas, she was far from perfect. Sam was born with a club foot and after the appropriate operation she had two different size feet. This was going to be a life long situation and was beginning to steal some of Samantha's peace. Nearly always, we purchased two pairs of shoes for Samantha, trying to fit both feet. She would often apologize to David about the added expense. David always provided confident comfort, telling her that the expense was his responsibility and not hers and encouraged her to chose the pair she wanted. When she would succomb to awareness of the physical difference and voice her concern, I would often tell her, "God gave you dimples so nobody will ever notice your feet."  She liked that!  However, she hated putting away her clean clothes.  There was a particular corner in her room where she would piled them up, folded and neat. It was putting them in the drawers that she would dismiss. Eventually, after motherly chiding she would relent, in a huff, and put them away, referring to this chore as her "penance."  She disliked doing it, each and every time. Samantha had other struggles, imperfect vision, severe constipation and she was suffering under the shadows of pre-teen girl drama. Some of this her own doing. Like I wrote, she was far from perfect. My motherly intuition told me this was a normal passing phase, I had walked through this age with Brooke. I remembered!  Sweet girls ..... just growing up; all still learning right from wrong.  However, it was a very "real" situation in her life, near the time of her death. Six weeks before her accident, while sitting outside on the swings in our backyard, she actually cried out to me, "I don't want to live. I don't want to live this life!"  Boy, that is a red flag, I thought!  It was so out of character for Samantha to say this! I was stunned! Immediately, "I" knew nothing was going to happen to Sam because "I" would not allow it to happen."I" thought to myself, You are young enough that "I" will not let you out of my sight until "I" have this figured out."

At this very moment, as I write this, I realize how wrong I was to think I was in control of that situation. I was not, in my human mind I thought I could prevent anything "bad" from happening!!!! I have so much to learn and I have learned so much! 

I called David and told him what happened. He was shocked, sick to his stomach and actually swerved the car while driving. A select few knew of this unnerving comment. It was crushing to hear at the time. On purpose, we kept it within a limited numbers of persons, trying to give Sam time to unwind and relax. We sought professional help; Samantha met with several counselors. As the new school year approach she was still struggling with the situation. David and I knew this! We were "on task!", trying to fix, trying to control!    

Now, I think about the tiny bits of glass and the stained glass window. Up close they don't make sense but as we step back and the picture comes into focus bit by bit, and knowing God is sovereign in all things, I believe this to be divine preparation for David and myself.  I now realize I could try to control Sam and her environment but, there is no controlling what God knows is already going to happen. I can connect another dot, Hauck, the police officer in Shell Beach told me, repeated to me, over and over, "Elizabeth, this is not a surprise to God, he knows Elizabeth, He knows!" Psalms 139:16 teaches me, "Your eyes saw my formed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."  

What a revelation as I write! 

 
I'm an "in the box" person; there was a time when I thrived on order, control and predictability.  I didn't like loose ends! (In the near future, it has been placed on my heart to write a blog entitiled, "Learning to Like the Loose Ends." I'm being created anew, learning to embrace the uncertainties and trust and positively anticipate how God will finish His work.) When my kids were young, I dressed them in cute clothes and matching bows. Sam went along with this but, on hindsight there was always a part of her that I couldn't contain, the part that I couldn't completely corral into my corner. Visually, I see a box, with all of my life inside the box. Sam was inside of my box but, always kept one leg hanging out! At times, I couldn't keep up with her life. I mean I did, but I knew "her" life went beyond "my" life. She moved quickly, ignoring boundaries and creating her own space, not needing me to pave the way. Today, I chuckle on the inside, realizing for the first time that for the most part I walked behind Sam, not in front of her.  She was something else and she was so much!!