A [long] Tribute to the Living

I feel like we are all handling the grieving process well (by “we,” I mean my immediate family). I say we have “good days and bad days,” but that isn’t really true since all grieving is really a good thing, the only way to heal is to grieve. But to grieve is to feel sad a lot of the time. The most difficult part of this process for me, other than simply missing two really great people that I loved, is all of the regrets, they keep me up at night. In my mind, I see Doni with her new haircut and wonder why I didn’t tell her how nice it looked, even though I thought it. Or all of the times I really enjoyed having Wolf as a Father-in-law, but I never said, even if I thought it or told other people about it.
My Mom and Grandma have been such good sports about all of this, rushing to my side and although my being close to the Krismanits for the last four years has been at their expense, they’ve allowed me to constantly share how much I adored Doni. My entire NC family was grateful that I found a second family in the Krismanits, but after my last post my mom responded, “I’m sorry I don’t love Christmas like she did!,” and I comforted her with, “When you die, I will have so many nice things to say about you.” I really wasn’t being funny either, that was the truth. When she dies I will remember her wonderful qualities. But not tell her? That’s stupid. Of course, we are barely a week out from the tragedy in Connecticut, and already in a state of grieving from my in-laws it got me questioning God, WHY? Why do we have these people in our lives: children, mothers, fathers, friends that we have such a limitless capacity to love with all of our hearts, and yet no guarantee that person will be in our life for all of our life. That is a hard pill to swallow. But I can only assume that it is because we are meant to love these people moment to moment, day to day and not take it for granted, because if there is one lesson I have learned from this, I do not even know how many breaths I have left in me. So what if I die first, does that mean my mom doesn’t get to know my opinion of her? Or anybody close to me for that matter? It’s rubbish. I just can’t live like that anymore.
My kids know it, my husband definitely knows it: I love them. I think Paul feels suffocated by my insane love! But others who are close to me, I’m not so sure. So I wanted to write it down, record it in cyber space.

First off, my Mom.
        She got pregnant with me young, unstable and I’m sure she was afraid. My Dad was little comfort to her, and I know she feared judgment seeing as though people knew my Dad would be little comfort to her but she married him anyway. I know she loved him, and yet, he had issues beyond any one’s control, not even his own. I am really grateful that my Mom chose to give me life despite her very erratic life at the time (more due to her husband‘s lack of ability to care for her, not really any bad life decisions she was making). She has always told me the story of why her teeth will not stay healthy, it’s because she didn’t eat enough when she was pregnant with me and her pregnant body took the calcium from her bones and teeth to nourish the seed she had growing in her womb…me. That’s a true fact about pregnancy, if you can't take care of yourself your body will make baby a first priority. This truth is the perfect analogy for my mom, as from the beginning she has made a series of selfless decisions to be a mother to my sister and I. I don’t think she was perfect, and she knows that. But I love my mom, and my sister too, and we have a very deep, unparalleled, precious relationship with her. I mentioned that Doni was my best friend in one of my posts, and in many ways she was. But I also very much consider my mom to be my closest friend, barely surpassed by Paul (and I work to keep him at number one!).
I recently received prayer from a young pastor who prophesied that I was a highly favored woman of God, and I believe it. I believe it especially when I see my mom, because I am merely a byproduct of her, and she was favored first. God set her and my step-father aside, for whatever reason, mercy raged to save their lives and I am forever grateful for this. I would not be the person I am today if it were not for my parents decision to walk through those church doors almost 8 years ago. There was a time when I am not sure if my mom really knew me, and I don’t even think I knew myself. The truth is, I can’t even remember that time in my life. All I feel is the overflowing of God’s grace over and through my family, and a radiant, all consuming love that I have for my mom.
So all of the things I planned on waiting until her death to share: Her and Dave both are incredibly generous. I can think of so many broken people they’ve poured their time and finances, sometimes multiple times, even after being cheated by these same people. In my own life, I’ve seen them pay for my husband to have emergency dental work done, buy warm clothes for all of us, pay for our groceries, completely supply our Christmases the last two years, and pay to fly me out to North Carolina when I’m lonely, even flying out others to help me if possible. Every year they sponsor a family for Christmas, sometimes 2 or 3.  I barley see them giving to charities because they are literally always giving to who ever is standing in front of them. It really sounds like they must be wealthy as I make this list out, but I don’t think my parents give extravagantly because they have extra to give, they really just give extravagantly because they love to give, and they know that by God’s grace all of their needs are provided for. The other thing that I love about my mom is that she is truly a deep well of wisdom. I call her almost every day with a question, and I will be hard pressed to not get an answer from her. Sometimes she has to call me back with an answer, but only because she’s done her research now. I talk to her every day, and I never get tired of it. I look forward to her calls because most of the time I'm lonely at home, grieving, stressing, tiring, and it feels so good to know that someone cares for me the way that she does. 
My Mom also loves my kids, and they love her too. She has had a difficult task of being the grandma from afar, loving them twice a year for 14 very full, chaotic, exhausting, wild days in a row. I know that she never thought she’d have to be that kind of "fifi" but she has excelled at the job, though it is a taxing one. I don’t think growing up any of us imagined that I would be a California girl, me least of all! But I am just in awe that my mom has learned to accept the move, and responded in grace and humility towards me, even when she’s missed me and her grand-babies (Ok, and Paul too…) so deeply.


Dave:

When I was a little girl, I found myself muttering the phrase under my breath, “I know my parents love their horses more than me.” It seemed that way.  They dragged me out of my bed before 9:00 am every Saturday morning and pointed my disheveled self towards the barn. I can remember my fingers being so cold I couldn’t grip the hose. I can remember being so hot that the sweat kept me from gripping the pitchfork. Poor, pitiful me. Then there was the time that the entire barn shook from the force of thunder overhead. I just knew that a twister was imminent, but my step-dad told me to stand my ground. I was holding a stall door open for the last horse to run in. It made sense to me to preserve my life. But not to him. To him, the horses have to be safe first. I’ve heard it said that horse people are a crazy breed, and growing up in the middle of all sorts of them, I have to say that I agree. But crazy needs a perspective, and now that it has been nearly 5 years since I‘ve even ridden, I can officially say that I have earned a healthy one.
Crazy is relative. It might be crazy that my step-dad woke up before the sun every single morning of my childhood to go to the barn, to look after the horses. I complained all of my childhood about that torturous Saturday tradition where he paid me $20 to clean 10 stalls before lunchtime. But he did the job day in and day out. I’ve seen him agonize over whether he should charge extra to blanket the horses, .50 cents extra. People go mad over things such as this. I was there, watching him carry his battery operated radio in the back pocket of his trousers, listening, waiting to hear if a storm was on its way, or a freezing rain. Then when internet came along, he and my mother would eat, sleep, and breathe the doppler radar. And depending on the storm, my step dad would go down the barn and determine one by one which blanket should be used given the night’s forecast. You could offer to help, or be dragged down to the barn all the same, but the job still could not get done without his expertise.
He was the only one for years who knew what each horse ate. Literally, each diet (we’re talking over 30 horses here) was engraved in his memory as he prepared bucket after bucket for morning and evening meals. He could not afford to get sick because no one else could fill his shoes. And he couldn’t hire anybody else because no one could do it quite like he could.  Including me and my sister. So many times he just took the scoop out of my hand, “no, you do it like this.” Or, when we’d clean stalls (yes, I was the only high school student who hated the weekends), the end result was always subject to examination. And then to constructive criticism. Dave has never “just got the job done.” He was outrageously meticulous.  And we were expected to be the same. From mucked stalls to cleaning tack to being shown how to polish tall boots military style, I wondered so often how he could be so hard on me. After all, it’s just a stall. It’s just a saddle. It’s just a horse. 
That philosophy never caught on with him. He was still the one up at midnight at the first notice of distant thunder, walking to the barn to let the horses in. The one night a “pop up” storm appeared, so violent it shook the foundations of our home, my step-dad was dressed and ready to go, while my mother told him it would be crazy to leave the house. The next morning we found a horse struck by lightening, further proving to my step-dad that he can never have a break, never stop. So he doesn’t, and he never has.
Some people just want more than he can give, and it makes no sense to me since I have only ever seen him give everything, his whole life for this sport.
You see, the closest I get to any horse now is driving by one in a pasture. My life took a different turn, and for that, I am grateful. In some ways. For one, I like having a normal life. Yet, there is an ache in me when I see that horse grazing from afar. How I miss it all. Not just the horse, or the riding. Only the fiery passion that burns in the heart of one who loves the sport. It may fizzle out, but it never dies. To this I can attest. It is this passion that I will carry with me for life, not only for horses, but now to my family. If I am going to do a job, I should do it well. If I am going to love something, I should be abandoned. If I am going to love people, I should lay my life down.
I’ve seen it from my parents time and time again. To the parents who had money for Disney vacations and beamers, but no money for board or consistent lessons, my parents allowed those students to work off ride time. To the parents who had full time jobs, they only need drop their children off at the barn. We called it ‘free babysitting’ back then, and it was. But my parents couldn’t fathom those same children sitting at home with a nanny. So they let them ride. They gave them a piece of the passion, something I now see each of these children will have for a lifetime. I have seen my parents robbed, those they trusted lie to their face. Instructors not showing up, starting underground businesses on their property where they profit from a lie. They once moved homeless people into our house when they were found camping in the woods at the barn. Then they hired them at the barn and later helped them find a home. Owning a farm that provides a public service opens one up to tremendous scrutiny, after all, every person has an opinion. Particularly those who pay good money to have their horse well taken care of. That is totally fair, I think. I just cannot help but to see this one picture of Dave in my head: dressed from head to toe in carhartt overalls ready to go clean stalls in the snow, beat out frozen water buckets with a hammer, hold a blow dryer to solid frozen pipes, and then drive my sister and I to a friend’s house because barn work on a below freezing day definitely, forgive my language, sucks. Dave would be willing to lay his life down for the horses. I see him do it all of the time, as my mom calls out to him, “Have you had breakfast today?,” “Have you had water today?,” “Dave, you’re sick, get in bed!,” “Dave, you are commanded to take a day of rest, go lay down.” But he keeps going back to the barn anyway, for you, for me, for all of us who have benefited from Ridge Haven. I know a lot of people who have muttered the words, “I just hope my neighbor will get a horse,” because the sport in itself is a lot of work, best to let someone else do it. I’m from a behind the scenes team, you can trust me on this, there is no such thing as “a day off” because horses appreciate being fed daily. But I believe Dave works hard at his job so that one day those of us who have ridden at Ridge Haven can look back and say simply that we loved a horse, and there are few privileges greater than that.

Dave has been an anchor in all of our lives, one of goodness and strength.

(But you shouldn’t feel bad that Dave works so much so you can ride horses, unfortunately there is no cure for the “horse bug”!)


Mama & Poppy:

I feel like maybe I’ve exhausted my readers at this point, and by all means, this exercise is more for me than for you. But continue if you’d like. Once upon a time I wrote in my journal, in all seriousness, that I would kill myself when my grandma died. Can you believe it? When my mom came to the realization that she could not have a baby and raise her alone, my grandparents were very willing to fill whatever shoes she needed filled. I am so grateful that my mom came to this place of humility, because I have precious memories with my mom from a young age, and the same sort from my mama. She was so tender, and loving, and loved to play with me. My mom joked the other day that she didn’t remember playing with Mckenzie and I, and the truth is, I don’t really remember her playing with us as young children either. I, however can remember hours and hours of coloring, building puzzles, reading flashcards, watching movies, and singing nursery rhymes with mama. She was someone that I wanted to spend time with because she loved me so much and I could feel it to the core of my being when I was around her. I knew that if my feet were itchy at 2 am she would wake up and dig through medicine cabinets for athletes foot cream, apply it to my feet, and then sit with me until I fell back asleep. If I was hungry at 4 am, she would wake up and fix me a bowl of cereal. To this day, I can not think of anyone who is more sacrificial of themselves then my Grandma. She used to get me a glass bottle of coke when I was sick. Every Saturday night (I stayed with her on the weekends mostly) she would fix poppy and I popcorn and make me coke in a little Tupperware cup and we would watch America’s Funniest Home Videos, and sometimes Walker Texas Ranger ( I can remember poppy explaining to me that they were actors and not really dying!). She would stick hot french fries in the vents of her air conditioning to cool them off in the car. She would sing to me all of the time. Poppy used to make me milkshakes with a package of chocolate Jello and a pitcher of milk. They loved me so much, and I knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I can remember Mama taking an hour to brush my long hair, and if I asked nicely she would piece by piece put it in rollers so I could have curly hair the next day. I don’t think there was anything that they would deny me, and there probably still isn’t.
Mama and I have more in common than anyone else that I know, and I grew up wanting to be just like her, though she felt like her job at home was not as significant as someone who worked a full time job. I still look around her home and feel warm and safe. Paul teases me for my obsession with Maxwell House coffee, but it’s because I’ve never walked through her door without inhaling that sweet aroma. It satisfies my soul. I sit surrounded by all of her framed handmade, cross-stitched pictures and I’m thinking, when they‘re gone, I want everything in this room. What the heck, I want this whole house!  Because I love to be in their house, and surrounded by their land, and to me it is the essence of what a home is supposed to be. And because I grew up with this close relationship to both my grandma and my grandpa, they really have never been just that. I have spent my life loving them, and spent the last four years missing them. And just like my mom, my mama never thought she would be a long distance grandma, and still, she has excelled at it. At times when Doni would be sick and friends would fade into the background of my life I would tell Paul that the only real love I felt was in boxes coming from North Carolina, from my grandma. The love I feel from my grandparents has always been constant and real, it has helped me to persevere towards my goals and dreams because I know that whether I succeed or fail, I will always be special to them. I sit here with tears in my eyes because I miss them so much. I just wish I could just be at their kitchen table right now telling them about my life and eating something that my grandmother fried, and not here feeling bad that two people who love me and my family so much have to love me from afar. But that’s life, and I’m grateful that just like they always have, they’ve stood by me whether it be physically, or simply with their hearts, like now.


I have so cherished my time in California. There are about a million reasons that God brought my family here, some more obvious now than ever before. I did find a really special relationship with both my in-laws and the entire Sonora community. And yet, I have never stopped yearning for my home place. I miss the june bugs (particularly their relationship with Braxton), and the fireflies, the hot nights, and cold dry days, all of my parents stupid dogs (and anti-social cat), my parent’s front porch, and the horses (with all of my heart, I miss being on the back of a horse!), but most of all, I miss my family.


And finally:

Mckenzie, to lose you would be most devastating to me outside my immediate family. Not because you are younger, or have much more life to live, but because loving you consumes so much of my heart. I love you, I love you, I love you and I am so grateful that you are my sister. And I have too many memories to list but one of my favorites is when we decided to cut Peedab’s whiskers off because we thought they were “too pokey” and then when we cut them short they were like little, sharp needles and like ten times worse then when they were long. That was really funny. Rest in peace “Dabber Doo!”

A Window for Jacob

I know I have been writing a lot lately. I am exhausted, but it's hard to feel well rested for some reason. Well, I think mourning is the main one. I am at peace, I feel "ok," but some things just have to be done. Things like writing down my memories so my kids will remember Nana and Opa. It makes me angry sort of, because it feels unfair that I should have to do this. It makes me sad, because as I recall all of these wonderful times I ache to have them back. Right now- not after I die. But preserving happy-go-lucky days by tucking my emotions away is not going to change anything, and it certainly won't preserve their memory. So I did it, I wrote a letter to Jacob. He was the closest to them as the oldest grandchild and they loved him so much. I plan on writing one for Sonora, and a short one for Cori. But here is the first of the series. A window for Jacob to look through as he grows, so that two special people may not be forgotten.

This was by far the most emotional thing I have written, I hesitated to share. It feels deeply personal, though it isn't really. But for those of you that have said, "I knew Wolf, but not Doni," this is who she was to me. It is a long post, so be warned. And still, not nearly long enough. I miss them today. I miss her voice. I keep waiting for her to call me. I keep praying for her to be healed, and I forget she already has been. But my greatest fear is not that I will forget that they died, but that I will forget they lived. So I wrote this for Jacob:


Jacob,

It’s been nearly two weeks since your Nana and Opa went to be with Jesus. That sounds so cliché to me, especially since in my head I can see them walking in complete wholeness and joy, “went to be with Jesus” sounds like a greeting card. I am happy for them, but grieved for myself, and for you especially. My heart hurts more than I can say when I think about what you will miss out on with them no longer in this realm. But we can’t dwell on the pain, but instead the joy and love cultivated from hundreds and hundreds of precious memories. My greatest fear is that you will not remember them, you will not remember these two people that loved you. Oh, how they loved you. Nana used to call you “the apple of your Nana’s eye.” But I remember, I go to sleep with rich, sweet memories of Nana’s laughter ringing throughout the house just as soon as she heard the front door close behind you and your spiderman backpack, on your way to spend the afternoon with her. I remember her falling straight to her knees on the kitchen floor exclaiming, “COME HERE YOU, OH, YOUR NANA LOVES YOU!” Do you remember this? I do. And then Sonora would come up right behind you and she would shift you to one arm and open up the other for Sonora to fall into, “THERE’S MY PRINCESS!” I looked forward to that greeting every time we would visit her. Then as I rounded the corner with diaper bag in tow, you and Sonora would run to the right and to the left and I would hug her as she’d exclaim, “and How’s Momma?” You would always run right to her TV and ask for your favorite movie, usually Muppets with John Denver, and it later transitioned to the Steve Irwin movie (Opa found it at a thrift store, and picked it out just for you). She loved putting movies on for you and she’d usually narrate the entire time. If you wanted to hold the remote to play with buttons and skip around, she would gladly pass it over. If you wanted to be outside playing with the water hose, she obliged. Nothing was off limits to you! And even if something was, she’d usually laugh at your naughtiness (like playing in the ash bucket outside!) before she’d move you onto something else.

You loved drinking root beer at her house. You would always run straight to the cabinet where she kept it. If she knew you were coming over, she’d make sure to buy you a brand new bottle so it would be fizzy. She’d let you pick out the sippy cup you wanted (if she could find all of the pieces!) and then she’d began filling your cup, exclaiming “Every man’s gotta have his beer!” You looked forward to that so much. You would jump up and down at her side saying “root beer, root beer!” As she’d reach it out to you, she’d say (very loudly!), “Here you go, my little boy blue! Nana loves you!” I think she said this between 5-10 times every visit. I can heard the words echoing in my head. Do you remember her voice? It was deep and rich, and always loud, and nearly every sentence was followed with laughter that echoed throughout the house, literally! I remember her calling you “little boy blue” most often, but if she was in a really goofy mood she would call you (in this really cheesy British accent) “Master Jacob!”

You and her had this game that you invented together. You named it “shippy-ship” and the premise was that their California king-sized bed became a ship, and you were the captain, and she was the crew. You’d grab a hat for yourself off of the bedpost where Opa kept several, and you’d pick one out for yourself, put it on, and hand her pink one to her. She’d say, “Thanks Captain Jacob, now lower the mainsail,” and you’d reach above her bed to the blinds and pull the cord to lift them up. Then she’d turn her hands into make shift binoculars and ask you what kind of animals you should save. You’d answer that you saw a lion and she’d laugh out loud for a second before getting really serious, then she’d pretend to have a walkie-talkie hand device and lift it to her mouth saying, “10-4 Jacob, 10-4. I see a lion, there’s a lion, let’s go get that lion and bring it on board. Do you have your net Captain Jacob?” She loved playing this game with you, and I was always impressed how she could keep it going for hours on end! Don’t people get tired of playing with toddlers? Well, she didn’t! When she was sick I would talk to her on the phone and she’d say, “I neeeeeeed my little boy blue, I need him to come play with his nana!” She played cars with you, and “farm set,” and I have so many memories of coming to pick you up and watching her follow you around on all fours, pushing around a truck or tractor. I always used to marvel at how she interacted with you, it was like she really saw you. She didn’t play with you while she did something else, or tell you to hold on while she finished dinner. You always came first when the two of you were playing. And if she couldn’t play, she say “Nana wants to play with you baby, I just have to…,” and she’d wrap up what she was doing as soon as she could to sit with you.

She loved the relationship that you had with Opa. She laughed and laughed when you’d run into Opa’s office and interrupt his work. She’d tell you not to bother him, but when you ignored the rule she couldn’t help but follow you into the office and clap as you crawled onto Opa’s lap and sat right in front of his laptop. Opa always welcomed the interruption, he’d say “Heeeey Jacob!” He’d bounce you on his lap, and Nana would laugh, “You found Opa, Jacob, you found him!” Opa would laugh and say, “Saaay Jacob, do you want to see something here?,” and then he’d google “you tube trucks” (as opposed to going to you tube and searching for trucks, always made me laugh) and he would click on the first thing that came up to show you. One of his favorite videos was one that you found together of a truck driving over a sand dune and when it would go over the hill a man sitting in the back of the truck would fly up in the air and land in the sand. It would make all of us laugh, the simplicity of the video, and then how much it tickled you and Opa to watch it together! Sometimes he’d show you dog videos too since he always had some dog video that he was interested in: dogs dancing, dogs saving their owners, dogs that liked to chase sheep- he just loved loyal dogs. Which brings me to my other memory, Opa and Bo! He loved his dog so much, and he loved watching you play with Bo. He would laugh and laugh when you’d sit on Bo, or drag Bo around by his tail (or try!). He was always impressed with what Bo would tolerate from you! Sometimes he’d intervene, and amidst laughter say, “No, no sweetie, we can’t do that to Bo, he doesn’t like that.” I don’t know if I ever heard Nana tell you no, just Opa. But he would always say it just like that, gentle but firm, “no, no sweetie.”

One time Nana was bathing you and she was laughing so loud from the bathroom, we could hear her in the living room. She was all the way in the back of the house, but her laughter rang out until Opa and I were both laughing without her knowing. Opa looked at me and said, “I tell ya, I haven’t heard my wife laugh like that in years,” I “awwwwed” at the statement and he kind of looked down and got serious. He said, “Jacob has brought so much joy into her life.” She went through a bout of being sick for some time right after we moved out to California. She was still not feeling well but once she started spending time with all of us, she began to enter into a season of being healthy. A lady at the church stopped me once and said, “Summer, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I just want you to know that Doni has been sick for as long as I’ve known her, and to see her healthy like this just makes me think that she needed a new reason to fight a little harder, and I think being a grandma did that for her.” Nana was still sick off and on, but she would often spend days in bed so she could feel better because she wanted to see you.

Opa loved to share his interests with you. He is the one that got you into ships and submarines. He put on 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea while you were over one night. Expecting you to be terrified, he wanted to fast forward through the “scary” parts but you insisted to see them and he obliged. From then on, you were hooked. If he was home, you’d have to sit on his lap either watching that movie, or googling you tube videos on submarines! One time I came to pick you up and he was letting you watch “ships crashing.” I wasn’t very happy about that, but you were elated! You were upset when I suggested you watch something else, and Opa would just say, “Sorry Jacob, Mommy doesn’t like that. OH, how about submarines!” He loved having a grandson. Nana and Opa were not rich, but they loved spending their money for us to have good experiences together, like steak dinners, going out to eat, or trips to San Francisco to see the Giants play. I hated that long drive, but half the reason Opa and Nana went was to share the experience with you. You were so brainwashed by Daddy and Opa after the Giants won the world series (we watched almost every game together two years ago!), you would see any sport and say "Go Giants!"

We almost always had a birthday for you at our house, and their house. Nana just wanted in on it. She wanted an excuse to get you two gifts, one for our party and one for hers! She talked about your birthday for weeks before it got there. She couldn’t wait to bless you, though she did that sort of thing throughout the year, wrapping the present was just more than she could take! I can hear her so clearly in my head, “JACOB, THIS ONE IS FROM YOUR NANA!!,” and when you’d open it and yell “it’s a truck!” she’d clap and exclaim, “THAT’S RIGHT! YOUR NANA LOVES YOU, JACOB!” I’ve heard that so many times through the years, her say “Nana loves you” or “Nana and Opa love you, Jacob!” Usually loud and followed by a tight squeeze and a kiss. I am so glad she got to be a Grandma to you these last couple of years. She talked about you all of the time, every time her and I were on the phone she would ask if she could talk to you, even if she’d already seen you that day.

Nana took Christmas very seriously. And Easter, and Thanksgiving! Pretty much any reason she could think of to get you a gift, she would take it. Christmas is my favorite memory though because I can hear her asking you, “Jacob, you need to tell Nana what you want for Christmas so I can talk to Santa.“ You would get a present from Santa Claus, and the Christ Child. I think Nana just wanted an excuse to get you more gifts. We decorated their tree with them for the last three years. Nana would let you do whatever, but Opa would say, “oh, no, no, no sweetie” every time you touched an ornament. He was VERY serious about his Christmas tree. He’d let you help by handing you an ornament and then pointing to a part of the tree and saying, “Ok Jacob, that one goes riiiiight there.” When you listened and did what he said, he’d clap and say “Yeah!” but only followed by Nana jumping up and down saying, “THAT’S MY BOY!” We had a tradition of gathering at their house on Christmas Eve for a small dinner and then opening a present together. Nana would sometimes let you open two and come up with some goofy excuse like, “Well, I got this one for him to open on Christmas Eve so I don’t mind if he opens this one, and then we’ll let him pick one that was for Christmas day.” I can hear Opa protesting, and confused, with a smile on his face, “Nooo, no, that’s not how we do it!”

And then Nana saying, “Hoooooney, this is what I promised Jacob!” Of course, Opa would laugh and consent to this craziness! There was no getting in between Nana and a gift that she had chosen just for her Jacob.

You were always the exception to the rule, Jake. After gift giving, we’d all head down to the Red Church for their Christmas Eve service. I was never thrilled about being out so late with such young kids, but it was so important to Nana to have you next to her on that front row. I’m glad we went with her now.

Nana would have done anything to put a smile on your face. In my mind, I can hear her voice singing to you this ridiculous Spiderman song that always made us laugh, or “Jesus loves me,” or “The Lord is good to me!” She loved singing to you. I can see her down on her knees next to you when you had an owie, saying “Jesus, please take Jakie’s owie away, in Jesus’ name.” I've heard her pray this hundreds of times, as only bubble wrap would keep you safe! I remember the night you had an ear infection and me, Daddy, Opa, and Nana all stood around you while you laid on the couch (with your saltine crackers and root beer in tow) and we laid hands on you and prayed for you, and that night you were healed. I think about all of the prayers Nana must have prayed over you because she loved you so much, and she always said that “her little boy blue” would change the world.

I miss her so much, because I loved her. And what I loved most about her, out of all of the wonderful, precious things I will miss, is the way that she loved you. It was so enormous, so all consuming, and even contagious. I have prayed many times that the Lord would help me to really see you the way she could without even trying. It was always so easy for her, or so it seemed, to have you on one knee and Sonora on the other. To have you sitting at her feet telling her a story, while Sonora sat on the counter asking her for a cookie from the lighthouse cookie jar, and she could hear you both at the same time. It was amazing!

My worst fear is that you will not remember her. An even greater fear is that a day will come when I won’t remember what it feels like to hear her laugh, or sing, or tell her favorite stories. So this is for the both of us. A testimony, true stories of her and Opa and the way they loved you so. This is not easy for me, the sting of them being gone is so real. But we mustn’t forget, and if I could choose only two things for you to carry for the rest of your life, despite there being millions, I want you to remember how much they loved you, and how much they loved Jesus. These two memories have to go together, because one without the other is pure torture. They loved you, and you loved them back, and now they’re gone. But they loved Jesus so much, and they lived every day first and foremost with the hope that they would one day get to see their precious Lord face to face. So it is with this memory that we can face tomorrow, sad because we miss them, but masked by an inner joy that we carry their same hope.

Never forget Jake, “Your Nana loves you so much!” And Opa too, who would simply kiss your forehead and say, “Love you, Jacob!”

Summer

12/12/12, For Paul

I cannot believe I am blogging at this ungodly hour of 8:13 pm. I am so tired. Today was just one of those days where I kept waiting for an opportunity to nap but it never came. But I have to write, I want to so badly because tomorrow is a special day, it is my four year anniversary to my husband. What a beautiful day it will be, simply because it commemorates the day that vows were exchanged and a covenant was made. I wanted to write something to honor him, but also maybe ramble a bit on my takes about marriage, things I’ve learned, advice I may want to impart given my measly 4 years of marriage (hey, we’ve accomplished quite a bit!).

I seriously love my husband. Sure, I’ve always wanted to be married and was pretty sure when the day came it would be the “truly, madly, deeply” kind of love, but to this extent, I just had no idea. In my opinion, I have been a pretty rotten wife. Because marriage has not ever looked exactly like I thought it would look, and I have often deemed it unsatisfying. Let me put it like this: because our love story has never looked like a page from “The Notebook” I have muttered such phrases as, “I don’t believe in real love!” What I mean to say is, I thought that “The Notebook” depicted real love, and what Paul and I were experiencing was far, far from making risqué love in our abandoned dream house, or having sopping wet makeout sessions during a rain storm. Darn it, I failed miserably, I supposed. Now, after all we have been through, I can definitely say that we have the real thing and that the Hollywood rendition is simply crap.

Most of my readers know how Paul and I met. It’s true, we met on a singles site online which prompted our cheap bums to take the conversation over to “myspace” where our love continued to blossom. I can’t believe we fell in love on myspace….gah, we are so old. I once wanted to write a book entitled, “When ‘Myspace’ Becomes God’s Space: When God uses the web to network love,” anywho, then myspace kind of flopped, and that entire point was pointless. My point actually is that God used myspace to connect Paul and I, and that makes me laugh. He had a purpose in it though and I want to share something I learned.

Before I met Paul, I began to resent men a little bit. Let’s face it, “The Notebook” was what I thought love was supposed to look like so I found myself sorely disappointed in the whole charade. Then I found Paul: handsome, charming, strong convictions, manly, chivalrous, sexiest man alive (in my opinion), bold, enjoys boasting of his genius IQ….and on and on the list goes of what I considered attractive qualities. But I was scared out of my mind. Paul bought a ticket to visit me for the week of September 15^th, and here I was, the last week of August visiting Myrtle Beach with my family, freaking out. I was thinking that maybe I’d just skip out on the airport and not pick him up. All the while we would spend hours on the phone doing the googly love thing, but I was deeply troubled in my spirit. So one day while at the beach I took the time to walk down to the inlet by myself. My mom kept Jake because I was a single mom at the time and she wanted to offer me some alone time. I only thought I didn’t get enough alone time back then [laughing at my idiotic self]. But I went to this inlet and sat down by it and was just captivated. Where I was standing, the surroundings were hotels, fancy condos, and people everywhere. But the ocean wrapped around and created an inlet where I stood on one side, and about 25 feet across was land that was untouched. Maybe this sounds silly, but I had never beheld the ocean apart from tourism. Here it was though, pure and real. I sat on that beach and closed my eyes, “God, that is so beautiful.” I heard Him respond almost instantly in my spirit, “….that is what I have for you.” Huh? I asked him what that meant because I was confused, and He answered in a simple word, “Beauty.” That is still one of the sweetest moments I have ever had with the Lord. I sat there for awhile longer and watched the trees blowing in the wind, the white sand against an untainted blue backdrop. I skipped my way back to the house, and as soon as I could mobilize my sister, I brought her to the inlet to show her the treasure I had found. When we got there she said, “so, swim over there.”

Uh, no thank you. I am afraid of sharks, first of all, and furthermore it is dangerous to swim across inlets. That is a fact. But Mckenzie walked up to the shore and put her feet in the water, beckoning me to join her. I planted my feet in the sand and shook my head. She said, “If you think it is so pretty, or whatever {insert evil snarl here}, you should go see it.” I refused and then she said something else that totally shook me to the core. My ears heard one thing, but my spirit perceived another. “Summer, you are always so afraid to go in over your head.” The words shook me like a snow globe until all of the little pieces of fear I had about meeting Paul rose to the surface and swirled around inside me. I don’t know how it clicked in my head or my heart, but it did. If I don’t act on this thing that God has given me, I can lose it. I can lose out on beauty if I don’t trust God.

I wish I could sum up this story by saying that Mckenzie and I swam to the other side of the inlet and explored it in all it’s glorious wonder. But we did not, because once again, inlets are dangerous. Not only that, but I later found out this inlet is called “Hog’s Inlet” which must be God’s sense of humor that the place of my most earth-shaking, life-changing revelation happened at a place called “Hog’s Inlet.” In either case, I was hoping someone would benefit from this story because ultimately it was the reason I stepped out on a limb to meet my future husband at the airport a week later. And let him put a ring on my finger eleven days later. And then I flew to California 20 days later. It scared the crap out of me, but I did it because sometimes God asks us to take a chance, to trust Him. I believe trusting Him opens all kinds of doors that we can’t even imagine. Bethel leaders say “Faith is spelled R-I-S-K.” I would have to agree.

So here Paul and I are, four years into our marriage, and I am blessed more than ever. I seriously love my husband. Like, so intensely and deeply that sometimes I just follow him around like a lost puppy dog hoping he’ll hold me underneath his wing. And he usually flaps me away saying, “don’t you have anything better to do?” Sorry, that’s love folks. I was thinking about the irony though, that even though I am attracted to my husband, that really isn’t what makes me fall in love with him. Every now and then I catch him in his black ball cap with his unruly curls spilling out the bottom and it makes me really sappy, but I have figured out that contrary to popular belief (and my former beliefs anyway) that my love for him really grows over every day sort of things. Like when he sweeps the floor, takes out the trash, holds the baby, changes Sonora’s poopy diaper without making her suffer the wrath of being rinsed off in a cold shower and instead explaining grace, taking the dog on a walk because he’s so annoying, watering the plants, cutting the hair away from Reagan’s butt hole so she can poo successfully (I know, you’re thinking that Paul deals with a lot of poo…), making coffee every morning, going to work and school so he can take care of our family and follow some of his dreams, and the list goes on and on. Then there are the things that really get me. Like when he tells me that one of the reasons he loves me is because I was courageous enough to keep a baby at a really inconvenient, unstable time in my life. Or when we’re in the hospital with Jake and he offers to hold him while the IV is inserted because my nerves cannot handle the trauma of seeing my baby boy go through that. When he brings me home a Starbucks just because he knows I need coffee to survive motherhood. When he gets asked to speak in front of the church, and he’s so bold, so smart, so in love with Father God he can’t wait to teach. When a neighbor backs into his car, one of this favorite possessions, he sheds a tear in private but to the guy’s face is willing to shrug it off as “just a thing,“ just in case the guy doesn’t know Christ and needs a lesson in grace. When someone offends or hurts me, even by accident, he seems to forget his own rules about grace, and releases that intellectual jib jab he’s been gifted with. When he gets up extra early to do his homework, read the Bible, and watch a football game so he can save the morning to hang out with me. When a stranger breaks a common traffic rule and hits his parents car, pushing them into a big rig and causing their untimely deaths, being angry or vengeful never even crosses his mind. He is just the real deal. He is a really good and decent man, and if I can be this in love with him after four years, I am seriously afraid of how much my heart and soul will no longer belong to me in the years to come. What a vulnerable place to be in, but that’s the kind of risk that love takes, I have found. So I’ll just keep on giving, because so far, he has been a really great steward.

I seriously love my husband. Four years and 3 children, 5 houses, 2 really big moves later, I just say to life, “bring it on.” We’ve got this J

Paul, love you, love you, love you more than you’ll ever know. You are the beauty that God promised me that day, that captivated my heart through a landscape, and I will never be the same.

The Answer to "How are you?"

Of course, following an emotion guzzling tragedy, I have wanted to write. Never have I been so grief stricken and lost, and yet also, never have I been so busy. The busyness somehow lends itself to healing, for whatever reason. I have many, many people stopping me at church and flooding my inbox with “Are you ok? How are you?,” and for that I am grateful. So here is a quick paced blog on where I am at currently.

First of all, I was beyond blessed to have really great in-laws. I come from a great family, parents and grandparents that I have always counted as close friends, and yet my mom has often laughed out the phrase, “I swear you were adopted!” Despite the fact that I loved my own family, I’ve always had very little in common with them. I love big boisterous parties with people, rich with tradition and fun, and board games and movies are some of my favorite things to do with others. Not so with my family (except maybe the boisterous parties!). I always said that the Krismanits were the family that I never had, and in so, so many ways they were. The first party they ever threw was an engagement party for Paul and I, and it was flowing with wine and fancy desserts. I felt so out of place, but I learned to love it. I fit right in to the board games, and the various traditions I could count on for each holiday. But perhaps my favorite thing about their family was the relationship that I developed with Doni. The idea that I lost a “mother in law” is foreign to me, because honestly, we were more like chatty school girls, really close friends. Our relationship started when I lived in North Carolina, we could spend hours on the phone. And then when I moved to California, we lived with them for three months. I cannot get into specific memories right now, as that does lead me down memory lane which is now quite drenched with my tears (happy tears!), but I usually talked to her on the phone 4-6 times week, and went to her house on average, 2-3 days a week. I went over to her house because I was lonely, and because she was great with the kids, and they were great with her. I also went because she was my friend, and talking is an energizing activity for me (if you know me, this may be an understatement!), and she was often in the same predicament, alone at home. I loved her so much. It’s been hard to be the “daughter in law,” the friend, because it has been muttered that maybe my grief isn’t as deep since I am “married into the family.” I only have my husband now to legitimize my heart, but she was my best friend.

Then there is the guilt that I carry now because through that season where I was so close to her, I was frequently struggling with bitterness. Why was she so sick? How could she be fine one day, and sick the next? How could she cancel plans with the kids for the second time in a row when she promised she would be there? She got to spend so much time with them, that’s true. But she also missed a lot that she committed to because she was sick. I found myself in the last six months frequently making back up plans after she committed to something because I couldn’t trust her health. I sometimes let it get personal. And it was her fault and my fault. My fault, because I didn’t just pity her, I blamed her. Her fault because she completely ignored her physical state and agreed and committed to absolutely everything! I just wanted to share that part because it torments me a bit. Other than that, I have very little regrets, we were always available to one another and I was as vulnerable as it gets, as was she. There was little lacking from our relationship to one another and I am grateful that I had her.

Mostly, I am at peace. I don’t know why, and I don’t understand how I can just go about my day, and get back to life as it once was, though it will never actually be the same again. I haven’t been reading my Bible, and my prayers are 2-3 sentences at most. I am not angry at God though, He has remained good and sovereign at this time our lives. Paul, as well, never ceases to amaze me. We can’t stop telling stories, laughing about the wonderful memories we have shared with our family. We are blessed that we said goodbye to them with very little regrets, we always enjoyed them and loved them as they were. Though we want them back, we keep thinking “well, if it was going to happen, this was probably the right time.” Doni, for one, gets to be whole now. I am sad for me, and not for her. When she cancelled on me the last time, it was when she was supposed to come to the hospital and help when Courage was born. Her health failed her, and she called me in tears. In tears, I had to tell my kids that Nana was actually not on her way. I rejoice that she is with Jesus. She always talked about Jesus, and loved telling testimonies. I just envision her telling her own testimony to Jesus, a story of a long hard journey where her body failed her continuously, and yet she was always so joyful, so positive, and steadfast in her faith. And now, she gets to be whole. That makes me very happy. I am not as sad for her, though she was my close friend and I loved her more than there are words!

Bethel always says that you cannot make a theology out of “Why?” and I have tried to stay true to this statement while walking this road. Still, I do not understand why Wolf had to go as well. He had open heart surgery only weeks ago and was given “a new lease on life,” he called it. He was also moving to part time employment at the church, and was looking forward to his second novel being published, a sequel to his first. I am glad they went together, yes. But to me, him moving on seems like the greatest injustice of all. It doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem fair.

For the first couple of days I was shaken by the injustice of it all, losing both of them at the same time. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs how robbed I felt. I wanted to cry deep enough to feel satisfied and it was not possible. My only guess is that prayers have been outrageously effective. And it isn’t just me, it was our entire family that played, laughed, and loved as we recounted all of our wonderful memories of Wolf and Doni. I do miss them, and there is pain there, but it coincides with a supernatural peace that I have never felt before this time in my life. Maybe I am in shock? I can’t say. Paul and I were talking about our peace yesterday and were even able to say, “At least it wasn’t our children, at least it wasn’t one of us….now THAT would be hard!” The other weapon in our arsenal comes from a famous Bethel saying as well, and that is, “Don’t look at what the enemy is doing, but what God is doing.”

Did the enemy steal something really precious from us? Absolutely.

But he loses. Wolf and Doni are in a better place, they are endlessly happy and blissful at this point, of that I am 100% sure. As for our family, I know that something was ripped open in the spiritual realm and I cannot wait to see the harvest that God is going to produce for our family, and for the county of Tuolumne. It is going to be crazy, in the best sense. I can feel it in my bones. The reality of the victory of Christ screams in my spirit like I’ve never heard or felt before. In the secret place, a small voice whispers “Do you trust me?”


So, I don’t know why I feel this way. But I do trust Holy Spirit on this one. I don’t feel like Wolf and Doni are dead, but that is the reality of my faith, they are not dead but very much alive. For the first time in two weeks I am with the kids at home, making snacks and lunches, coordinating nap times. It isn’t easy or quite normal yet. I also wonder if I will ever catch up on sleep, though I nap at every possible opportunity and have been going to bed at decent times. The hurt makes me tired. But we are ok. We have received the money sent our way and we are SO grateful for the generosity and outpouring of our community. Not worrying about finances has changed the course of this predicament to simply focus on healing. Thank you. We are also receiving messages by the bucket load and it does not overwhelm us at all, we just can’t respond at this point. But I think I speak for Paul and I both when I say that we serve an awesome God and He is good, and His love has been like liquid honey as we walk through this trial. I feel a sense of pride when I think of the mighty, sovereign, and just God that I serve because I know He will repay what has been stolen. And on top of that, I know I’ll see Wolf and Doni in eternity. We all have different ideas of what those two goofies are doing in the Heavenlies, but I just know Wolf is taking long walks with his Mom, who passed away when he was just 18 from a brain aneurysm. As for Doni, the Lord reminded me last night that she had lost a baby during the second trimester in between Stephen and Sonja. It was a little girl that they named Natasha. Now Doni gets to cuddle with her baby that she has missed for all of these years. There are few things (like maybe the Trinity counts as one of these things..) that Doni loved more than her children and grandchildren. I see the pain that is my own and the siblings, and yes, it is ever present. But what God is bringing about as a result of this, the bigger picture is what I am talking about, is just too good to miss.

I look forward to writing an expose’ on my in-laws too, a very thorough one of the positive nature, because there is little else to talk about. They were really awesome people, lots and lots of fun. I miss them so much, but there is a time to weep and a time to be joyful, and the latter season is nigh. Thank you, Jesus, for HOPE. Tis’ the Season, after all.


(Writing a blog makes me feel kind of blue. Every time I would write a blog, Doni would read it and call me. Last time we talked her computer wouldn’t pull up my last blog post and she wanted me to read it over the phone! I successfully paraphrased, I think, since it was so long. She loved reading my blogs, and it always blessed me! I suppose these sorts of sweet memories will follow me all of the days of my life....)