After the Storm

As I stood under our porch roof this evening and watched the rain fall, listening to the thunder overhead, and getting an occasional glimpse of a flash of lightening, I noticed the flowers seemed to brighten as I watched. They were getting a much needed drink of water after a long slow roasting day. The heat index was above 100 today, and we've been promised more of the same tomorrow and Wednesday! But as I watched the clouds roll in, and the sun's rays shine through the rain from the west, I thought about life. And I remembered standing in a hospital room singing through my tears, "I will praise You in this storm," because in that moment it was all I could do. The clouds had rolled in, and where I had been able to see the future and see myself growing old beside this man, all of a sudden I couldn't see more than a few minutes into the future, and I was terrified to look because the words "traumatic brain injury" were just too much to bear. The thunder was booming and I was so very afraid. Fast forward a year, and we were still in the midst of the storm. It seemed that while people kept telling us things were getting better, we knew different. Life was still moving on but it was a different life than we had planned. Bitter words were spoken, prayers were often left unsaid, and a man and wife who felt like strangers were growing apart and indifferent. "Once again, I say Amen, and it's still raining..." God worked, and brought us closer to Himself and to each other in spite of ourselves, but the pain continued, physical, spiritual, and emotional. We began to adjust to the diagnosis and the prognosis, but every time we thought we could handle things, another curve ball was thrown and we'd find ourselves trying to adjust again. We couldn't plan for the future. Just living day to day was sometimes too hard. I was starting to lose faith and beginning to think that we would never get to the point that we could move on. We tried new medicines, new vitamins, new foods, and new doctors. I can't put a finger on when it began to change. It's been over four years since that horrible day, and recently I looked around and realized that while I was busy accepting my new life and its struggles, the sun had begun peeking through the clouds. I was singing again, "It is well, it is well with my soul." Our storm has begun to subside for the moment. We have not come out of it completely, and I don't know that we ever will. Traumatic brain injuries have a tricky way of making you think they're healed, then they raise their ugly heads again. The difference now is that I know we have made it through the hardest part. We have passed through the fire and we were not burned. More struggles may come. More difficult times may be ahead, but for now, I'm resting in the sunshine of His love. I still don't try to look very far into the future, because I know that I can't worry about the future when I have a beautiful rainbow to enjoy after the storm...

Vacation... the best of times...

Our family vacation is coming up. So slowly... I keep thinking it's closer than it is, and I count the weeks to make sure and I'm usually a week off. If only time would go faster... It has set me to thinking about the family vacations we went on as a child. (I warned my mother that I would post this. It's just too good to keep to myself.) The most memorable vacation was the one that we took to Maine. It was mom, dad, my brother and me. Our youngest (at the time) sister had to stay with Grandma Lichtenberger. Because she was too little to really enjoy the trip, mom said. Jess and I knew better. It was because she screamed too much. (Sorry, Deb. You did, though) The whole vacation was off to a rough start because someone, I don't remember who, but I think Dad does, locked the keys in the car. The spare was in the house, but the house was already locked, and you guessed it, the house key was in the car. So, by some stroke of genius, because in those days, you left the house locked and the keys hanging in the truck's ignition, dad jumped into the truck and headed to his brother's place to pick up the extra house key. Dad got back, we got in the car and headed off on our vacation in a terrible silence. Our first night, we spent at Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. We did some hiking, and showered, and slept in a tent. Dad usually was the breakfast cook when we went camping. It seemed the only thing he knew how to cook on was a little gas camp stove. He made some good Bisquick pancakes. Ok, so Mom stirred them up and he cooked 'em. They were still good! Part of the trip happened in the rain. I don't remember what state park it was, or even what state we were in, but we had to camp in the tent in the rain that night. Dad stomped around in the woods trying to find some dry wood while a truck drove slowly past the campsite and a man yelled, "Firewood for sale!" I tried to tell Dad that the man had dry firewood for sale, but mom sent me into the tent quickly. Not before I heard Dad mutter something about paying an arm and a leg for firewood. The fire was pretty smoky that night, so any mosquitoes that might have braved the rain were done in by the smoke.  The next stop that I remember was Niagara Falls. It was there I had my first terrifying experience with a wax museum. (The second was in Gettysburg, but that's a story for another time.) As we entered the museum, the whole thing felt quite spooky, and in my timid little 6/7 year old brain, I wasn't quite sure what to expect, so I was flat out nervous already. As we turned each corner into a new room, I felt braver and braver, but still let my younger brother go first, you know, just in case... We turned into a room with a man standing in the corner, talking. I knew the man wasn't real, having already seen this type of scene earlier in the tour. What I was not prepared for however, was the man asleep in the bed. (To this day I have no idea why they had a man asleep in the bed, but they did.) I didn't even realize there was someone in the bed, still suspiciously checking out the guy in the corner to see if his lips were really moving, when I heard a snore and saw the quilt on the bed move like someone was about to get up. Jesse was still ahead of me, and it was at this point that he decided leading the tour was not his cup of tea, and said as he pushed past me, "We gotta get outta here." Mom and Dad were behind us just coming into the room, and they thought the whole deal was hilarious, and I was sure they were going to wake up the guy in the bed with their noise. Needless to say, we couldn't go out the way we came in, so we spent the rest of the tour peeking out at the exhibits from behind our parents. I'm still to this day, not convinced the guy in the bed was wax. He sounded entirely too real...  That night was a rainy, stormy night, and there wasn't a whole lot to do. We sat at a little camp store that was running videos of people going over the falls in barrels. I was entranced by this, no.1 because I wasn't allowed to watch TV, and this was something new to me! And then, the idea that someone would go over the Niagara Falls gave me something to think about! That night, a bad storm hit, and we went to sleep in a tiny little cabin that had a bunk bed and that was about it. I still don't know where the restrooms might have been, but I dreamed that night that I was going over the falls in the barrel, and when I awoke, completely terrified in the dark, (and probably still traumatized from the wax museum) I could still hear the water hitting the outside of my barrel, (rain on a tin roof sounds like that) I sat straight up and tried to get out of bed, forgetting that I was on the top bunk. My head hit the rafter overhead and I saw stars. I started to cry, because I had to go to the bathroom and I couldn't remember ever getting into a barrel! This woke my parents up, and much to my mother's chagrin, I was adamant about not going back to bed until I had gone to the bathroom. It was still raining and we could still hear thunder, so my mother, one of the most innovative people I know (she gets that from her mother) pulled a Campbell's soup can out of the trash, and with the aid of a flashlight, helped me take care of business. I went back to bed, and slept the rest of the night. We woke to a sunny day, the storms of the night and the rude awakening, but a distant memory. It still remains one of my favorite vacation stories. We camped in a campground by the ocean in Maine at some point. Supposedly we could see the ocean from the campsite, but a thick fog moved in and obscured the view. We were told if we listened, we could hear the ocean. I don't remember hearing it that night, although the ocean waves have become one of my favorite sounds. We did get to see the ocean from the boardwalk during that vacation. We were not allowed to go down to the sand, as my mother was sure the ocean would reach up onto the sand and sweep us away forever. There were a number of times when we were teenagers, that mom probably wondered why she hadn't let us go down to the ocean! I don't remember the whole trip, just bits and pieces and I am not even sure I got events in the proper order. It was the most fun I had ever had in my young life and gave me some memories to last a lifetime. Mom and Dad always told us they were spending our inheritance with us when they took us on trips. I, for one, am so glad they did.  We didn't go great distances all the time, but they are the reason I love camping, road trips, and the mountains. The memories they gave us, I will cherish forever, and it has made me want to give my own children the same type of experiences. So, come June we'll be loading up the minivan and heading out onto the road for a trip to Florida to visit family. We are already questioning our own sanity for thinking about spending 22 hours in a car with 3 children, but I know they will remember these times the way I remember the trips of my childhood. And someday one of them may even write a blog about it... It will probably start like this; It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

My baby sister is all grown up!

Saturday, my children and I spent the day at my parent's farm. Friday night was my baby sister's bridal shower. (Say what???? I know! She grew up when I wasn't looking!) We spent Friday night and most of Saturday at my parents so the children could go sledding in the snow left over from last week's storm. I reminisced about days gone by with my mother, played a new game with my grandmother, (and beat her soundly, I might add.), but my favorite part of the day, was spending time with my baby sister at the house she will live in after she marries her hunka hunka burnin love in February. We unpacked the loot she had received at her shower, washed and dried dishes, put food items away, and talked about the coming changes in her life. I wish I could say I imparted a good bit of sisterly wisdom, but I didn't really have any, as I still haven't quite figured out this whole marriage thing, and I've been doing it for a little over 12 years now! As I watched her in her new kitchen, sweeping up the floor and putting everything in its rightful place, I remembered. I remembered a baby with big eyes, looking up at me, the first time I held her almost 22 years ago. I remembered the winter we all got chicken pox and she ended up in the hospital because she was dehydrated. I remembered a little toddler running through the grass with her puppy, and laughing at their antics as they played together. I remembered that same toddler high on the milk house roof, happily eating the berries that grew from a plant that was probably poisonous, while I died a thousand deaths below. Our father was quickly summoned from milking so he could get her down. Miraculously, she seemed to suffer no ill effects from the berries or the climb up the silo that stood beside the milk house. I remembered being woken from a sound sleep in the middle of the night as she wanted a drink. And then I remembered hearing a thump and crying as she felt out of the bunk bed, waking me from yet another sound sleep... in fact the one thing I don't remember doing when she was little is sleeping... I remembered how hard it was to get her to sleep! We had a vhs documentary that explained the life cycle of plants with amazing time lapse photography. We'd turn it on, and in minutes, she'd be out. I remembered laying awake at night and whispering secrets with my younger sister, and finding out later that Amanda was only pretending to sleep. I think I may have threatened her with bodily harm if she shared with our mother. I don't know why I bothered. I usually ended up telling mom everything, anyway! I remembered so much as we worked together this morning. I remembered how old she was when I left home for the first time at 19 and she was 5. She was 6 when I came back, and I moved in to our great-grandmother's house to take care of her. Sometimes I'd take Amanda along to spend a few days. We'd spend time together, but mostly, I was convinced she was spying for Mom. Then I went to Haiti, and Amanda was almost 9 when I returned. I left home for good a year later and didn't return as often as I got busy raising my own family.  She came to visit once in a while but those visits waned too, as she grew older, and suddenly here we are 12 years later. She's a grown woman, and I'm still seeing the 5 year old sister I left behind as I first went into the world to make my mark. I didn't call home as often as I should have, and didn't have the time for her as often as I should have. But the memories I have are good. Like the time, she came to visit for a week the year she was 11. She was eating a pear from the pear tree outside of our house and as we were driving down the road, she tossed the core of the pear out the car window. Except the window was still up and pear juice splattered everywhere. And even more recently, we made a late night trip to Giant when she came for a visit, and we danced down the aisles to the songs as we shopped. She in her cowgirl boots, and I in my Nike flipflops. There have been fun times, sad times, hard times, and worst times, but through it all, we're sisters. There's three of us and some day, we'll be just like our mother. But that story, entitled Becky's Daughters, is going to have to wait til next time!

Worn

When I am down, and discouraged, or when I have had one disappointment too many, or maybe I'm mad at the world and at God, and I want to know why I should go any farther, this is the song I go to. It is the cry of my heart as I beg my Father to hear me and see me and acknowledge that this path we are on sucks really bad, and it isn't fair. Worn, by Tenth Avenue North is a song that expresses the feelings of my heart perfectly on a night like tonight. "I'm tired, I'm worn. My heart is heavy from the work it takes to keep on breathing." Yes, I'm worn. I'm tired, and I want all this mess to go away. The song goes on to say later, "my soul feels crushed by the weight of this world." This song wouldn't be the beautiful song it is, though without the message of hope that comes next "I know that you can give me rest, so I cry out with all that I have left." When I reach that point, it is not pretty. I spend some time raging and storming at God, begging and demanding by turn that he fix this. Tears stream down my cheeks as I write, because I'm not proud of how I have let my faith take such a beating, but all we need to do is read the Psalms to know that the man who wrote the beautiful Psalm 23 also wrote some other not so beautiful things. He was angry and he let God know. But he always ended his sad and angry psalms on a note that spoke of how God would continue to hold him and heal him and he would continue to put his faith in the only One powerful enough to save the world. And that brings me to the next words of the song that lift me up so. "Let me see redemption win. Let me know the struggle ends, that you can mend a heart that's frail and torn. I wanna know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life, and all that's dead inside can be reborn. Cause I'm worn...." There is so much more to the song, and I could go on and on about how this song blesses me. I feel triumphant when I sing the lines in the chorus. I feel God putting a hand on my shoulder, and wrapping me up in a spiritual hug. And when I'm done listening to that song, I move on to Colton Dixon's Through All of It, "life's been a journey, I've seen joy, I've seen regret, but You have been my God through all of it." And then I listen to Jeremy Camp's "He Knows", "He knows! He knows! Let your burdens come undone, lift your eyes up to the One who knows..." I don't know what the song writers have gone through to write these beautiful lyrics, but I know they are an example of the beauty that can rise from the ashes. Jeremy Camp's early songs were written after the loss of his wife to cancer. Casting Crowns' lead singer had his own battle with cancer recently. I don't know what God has in store for us. All I can see is the fragments of what was our future laying at our feet. I don't see the beauty in our situation. But, the words of Casting Crowns "Just Be Held" comes to mind. "Your world's not falling apart, it's falling into place. I'm on the throne, stop holding on, and just be held."  

This day has been hard for me. I spent 7 hours sitting in a waiting room waiting for Martin to see 2 different doctors and fill out a lot of paper work. It reminded me far too much of all the waiting that I did those first days after the accident. Then at the end, the doctor made the declaration that Martin would not be starting work until at least March. That kind of took the wind out of our sails since he was supposed to start his first day tomorrow. I know this is for the best because his headaches have increased greatly in the last few months, but I was so praying and hoping that this would be the answer we so desperately needed. And maybe it is, it's just not the fast answer I wanted. Now we spend some more time waiting, so maybe it's time to let go, and just be held... .. 

Makin' Memories

Today my in-laws leave us and head to Florida to spend time with their son in West Palm Beach. I'm a little sad, because even though I know they'll be back to see us before they head back to Honduras, I'm really going to miss them. They are a sweet couple who wonder about my sanity on a regular basis but they love me in spite of my kookiness. My father-in-law has gotten a good laugh out of giving me some Honduran slang to use on my husband. I may actually get myself in real trouble one of these days! With their time here rapidly winding down, this past weekend we took a couple day trips to show them a little more of the country. Saturday we went to Hershey Chocolate World. A great time was had by all! What more can you want? Family time and chocolate!

Our children enjoyed posing with the Hershey Bar. 

My in-laws had a great time on the factory tour! 

And of course the singing cow sisters were a hit! 

I love the change of the seasons, but fall is always very bittersweet for me. I hate winter more than any other season, and fall's job is to get the earth ready for winter. But, I do love the beauty of the landscape, and we took the opportunity to show my in-laws how beautiful Lancaster County can get on the way back from Hershey! 

Then on Sunday we took a ride on the Wilmington & Western Railroad with some good friends. We all had a wonderful time watching the scenery from the windows of a coach pulled by an old diesel engine. We reached Mt Cuba after about 20 minutes on the train, and had a picnic lunch at the lovely picnic ground the railroad maintains for the tourists that ride the rails. The next few pictures are a sample of the views we enjoyed on our little trip. 

We enjoyed a very nice picnic lunch at Mt Cuba. 

A beautiful covered bridge scene that seemed right out of a painting! 

This old house tugged at my imagination as I thought of the families that may have lived there when the train made its daily runs so many years ago. I could almost see the children who once lived there standing on the hill side waving at the engineer as the train steamed past. 

When we arrived back at the station, we took the time to snap some family pictures. The ones I will share with you here, are the ones that show the fun loving side of us! We were trying to get a mommy and daddy only picture when the little guy sauntered up and squeezed himself in between us like he belonged there. It made for lots of laughs and a cute memory. 

Our goofy children are hard to get a "nice" picture of. No matter how hard I try, their personalities always show through! I am told that's how it's supposed to be, but just once I'd like a "nice, normal" family picture! I may as well give up on that notion though, because we just aren't normal! 

This last picture pulls at my heart. It's the first picture of its kind taken of Martin's parents. When I showed them this photo, my mother-in-law smiled and smiled. Then asked if I'd be able to give her a copy. I was only too happy to say "But, of course!"

Finding Hope

My last post made me cry and I don't like crying, so I wanted to write about laughter this time around. But the truth is, laughter is a rare commodity in my life right now. I decided about six months after the accident that it would not define who we are as a family. The brain injury that had changed everything for all of us, would not change us... Well, that is laughable. You don't go through an experience like that and not have it change you. It changed me in ways that were good and bad. An example of a good change, I am now much more sympathetic to people with chronic pain and depression. An example of a bad change, is that I cannot get on a Ferris wheel or a roller coaster anymore. The last time I was on a Ferris wheel, I recited the 23rd Psalm and the Lord's Prayer continuously to keep the panic at bay. I blamed it on getting older, but the truth is, all I saw was our broken bodies on the ground as the ride for some unknown reason fell apart. It isn't logical. I'm not the one that had the injury, but that's one way I have changed. I didn't want to, but I changed. I get angry at the changes and decide I'm not going to let them define me, but I'm still not getting on that Ferris wheel again!

I love to laugh. I miss laughing so hard that I have tears rolling down my cheeks and sounding like I need a breathing treatment. I miss the jokes my husband used to play on me. Recently, though he's started again, and I love it. My last post was a bit depressing as I went back and read it, but it needed said. This time, I want to point out that healing is still happening. It's excruciatingly slow. We measure the healing by months now. Not days or even weeks. I look at what was happening six months or a year ago and can see a difference. It might be something very small, but I grasp any evidence of healing with both hands and hold on tight. I know that things will  never go back to the way they were, but with God's help and a lot of faith and prayer, we may even be able to make our dream to serve street kids in Honduras a reality. The last few weeks just thinking about the future scared me to death and sent me into a panic attack. Yesterday in church, we heard about how Jesus called Peter to get out of the boat and walk on the water. We heard how Peter forgot to keep his eyes off the waves and on Jesus and started to sink. And how Jesus lifted him up out of the water, and together they climbed back into the boat. That's pretty basic. There was actually more said than that, but this particular sermon helped me realize that I had taken my eyes off Jesus. I was watching the waves instead. Yesterday, I remembered to look to Him again, and for the first time in awhile, I felt something that felt a lot like hope. I don't know what the future holds, but I know that He's got this. 

Keep Going...

I have a lot on my mind tonight and I'm finding it hard to sleep so I'm sharing on the internet. Probably not smart, but here I go... My husband's struggle with his brain injury over the past 3 and a half years has been hard for all of us, but it has almost done me in to see how he struggles from day to day. I had to sit and listen to a letter today from a professional who should have known better, saying things like "you'd think by now there would have been some improvement" almost as though we are making things up. These moments are the moments when I want to curl up and cry. This person has no idea of the anguish we have been through and only knows what they see in the files. The day in, day out pain and knowing there really are no more options. The medications have been ineffective at best. And causing more damage at worst. We have been referred once again to a head ache clinic but really, what can they do that hasn't been done? I know God has never left us down but at this low point, I wonder, is this what's left for us? The constant struggle to feel "normal"? Whatever normal is. He "looks fine". I look fine. But we aren't. He's in constant pain and I'm trying to hold it all together for one more day. I'm not trying to complain. I know there are people out there worse off than I. Women who had to say goodbye to their men on that hospital bed. I know I'm fortunate and blessed, but every so often I need to cry for what we've lost. For the loss of that daddy and husband who didn't come home that rainy Monday, May 7, 2012. For the loss of our "normal" life. And for the loss of our children's innocence because what always "happens to somebody else" had suddenly happened to us. Now they know it can and they're afraid it will again. I cry because it's all I can do. Then I pull myself together, dry my tears, pray for the strength I need to get through one more day. And He always comes through. Nothing has changed. But we can keep going. That's all that matters.