Recognizing Drew in Today

I've been feeling much better this week after the wave of grief that crashed in a couple weeks ago. All the encouragement, and the memories that were shared with me throughout that week really helped to comfort me.  It left me wondering why I didn't ask for memories before!  Each was like a little gift, a little glimpse of him again, and it was wonderful.  It doesn't bring him back, but it reminds me how truly amazing he was--and still IS.

I love that it's a lot of nurses who have the stories too.  Just like in his last week, as staff member after staff member came through his room, many leaving in tears, I realized who his friends were.  Not many kids his age, but so many adults from all walks of life, that obviously grew very close to him.  Many that I think would actually call him their friend, as crazy as that sounds.  A little two year old boy, but that was him.

He drew people in, and shared with them his joy, his love and sparkle for life.

And lately, I seem to be able to feel that sparkle again.  I may not be a firm believer in physical signs yet, but I have had several experiences where it just feels like him.  The playful, excited, happy little "Drew" feeling seems to surround me, and I could swear he was there.  It's a hard thing to describe, but it washes over me at times.  A distinct presence, that has a start and a fading away...I felt the sensation several times last week, as I read those stories and memories--almost like he was smiling along with me at the memories, or waiting to see my reaction to his antics that I didn't even know about (how many nurses and ladies did he snuggle when I was out??).  As I read the memories and felt him again, I was surprised and happy that it didn't just make me more sad that he's not actually here anymore, but that it really did make me feel better. 

But I also decided that maybe I don't need to focus on remembering him so intently as I talked about last post, but welcome who he is and his place right now in my life.  Recognize the new relationship we have together, because there definitely is one.  I talk to him and Snick a lot during the day while Molly's in school.  I'll do things differently, respond in different ways to things in my life, because of his. 

And it's not just the feeling of his presence I'm beginning to recognize that is with me, but that he is also with me through the evidence of, and impact from, his life.  Which I carry with me into each new day.  Just like when I make my pie crusts from my late Grandma Phyllis's recipe, and she's a part of my morning again.  Or how the influence of a dear friend who convinced me to cook with fresh ingredients and whole milk can be seen, even though she has since moved away.  Or in the warmth of the scarves handmade by another friend who's moved on from Austin, warms me up physically but also with the warmth of our friendship even though we are states apart.  I don't have to put so much pressure on myself to remember the past in detail, but maybe instead I should try just as hard to embrace the present, and recognize the ways Drew is and will always be a part of my life right now.

There is so much going on with Warrior Wagons right now, it is another place to see Drew in our lives today.  I am overwhelmed by the support and opportunities that are coming our way.  A handful of businesses and just as many individuals and families are coming together to collect items for the Wagons or to raise funds to support the Wagons.  God is providing beyond what we could have ever imagined, and we are so grateful for the support.

The impact Warrior Wagons is having on families is just as amazing, if not more so.  Families are reaching out to us with appreciation, but also stories of the comradery the Wagons are bringing between cancer families, and the encouragement they gain from our story. One Mom even shared with me that the only place besides her lap where her daughter is calm in the examine room, is in her Warrior Wagon.  That she imagines Drew somehow comforting her in the Wagon at those moments.  It's such a beautiful thought that brings tears to my eyes, making me confident that we are doing exactly what we are suppose to be. And it brings me so much joy to imagine along with her that Drew is not just the inspiration behind the cause, but a very real part of it right now.

And as I share about him and what we learned from his life to various groups as a speaker, I can feel him with me again.  I had another opportunity to speak just the other week, this time to a high school religious education class.  I was asked to share how my faith carried me through our last year and half, which at first seemed pretty broad.  But I feel like I narrowed down what living by Faith meant for me, and focused our experience into a discussion that was relatable and appropriate to the high schoolers about living with the big picture in mind.  It seemed to be well received, and I even heard back from a student who is now inspired to be pediatric nurse, which is awesome!  The world needs great pediatric nurses.  This talk made six different times this year that I've been privileged to share our story.  From preschoolers to ladies more advanced in age and several groups in between, I am always left feeling so honored to be a part of what God is still doing through Drew's life, revealing Truth through the tragedy. 

Whenever I give a talk about Drew, share his story and all that we learned though his life, it helps bring some purpose to our suffering.  And as I speak, I can tell he's with me, that "Drew" feeling comes to me.  And "we" share the story, as if it's our little thing together.  After all, it is his story!  Like, I could say "Drew and I have a gig next week, talking to another group." 😉

Obviously there are some days I wish I had more than just a feeling of his presence, and that I want HIM here, not just evidence/influence of him in my life.  I want so desperately to actually feel, hold, smell and hear him again.  And I think it's those days that I am clinging to the memories, trying so hard to hold on to the past.  However, I think I'm seeing that to move forward in a healthy way, I have to let go of the past, not try to hold on so desperately.  Instead, focus more on the present, acknowledging and enjoying the ways Drew's still very much a part of our lives, even as I am always looking forward to the day we can be together again.



Thanksgiving is this week.  A time to count your blessings, to look around and appreciate all you have.  A day we spend with family, eating and celebrating with thankful hearts.  I remember last year people asking me if it was going to be hard to be thankful, in the situation we were in.  And maybe this year some of you may wonder the same thing.

The answer I gave last year was that we were very thankful, and had spent the whole year counting our blessings and appreciating what we had--because we understood how quickly it can change, how fragile life was.  And this year it's even more true.  We not only know, but have experienced how fragile life is.  We've seen life and death now, and live in the world with that reality as a part of our daily life. 

Are we thankful?  Yes, so very much.  I kiss and hug my Molly every day, many times just because I can.  We thank God for each donation, each family that we have the privilege of helping through Warrior Wagons.  And I am so very grateful for each opportunity I'm given to talk about my Drew, and share all that we learned with and through him.  I need to continue to choose to be thankful, which I know will bring me true joy, each and every day.

Last thanksgiving Drew was feeling so good, he acted like nothing was even wrong.  He played with the teasing grandpas and uncles, sat with the snuggling grandmas, stole Great-Grandma Marj's walker, and colored at the kid's table.  He reminded us all once again, to choose joy and to live life to the fullest every day. 

I wrote in a CaringBridge update last year at Thanksgiving time, "So as we go into Thanksgiving this year, with the reality that we may not have our Drew physically with us next year, we continue to be so so grateful for the time we have. To savor each moment like it may be our last. And give thanks for all God has given to us this year."

This thanksgiving I'm again so, so grateful for what have and what we are able to do.  And just as thankful for what we had, all those stories shared last week reminds me that each day with Drew was a such gift. How blessed we are that all the bad days of his last year probably would combine together for a total of like 8 weeks, but the other 44 weeks of the year were pure joy, and we didn't take a single day for granted.   And increasingly so, I'm also thankful for the many ways Drew is still with us, and always will be ❤

Keeping the Memories Alive

I've been struggling lately with a number of different emotions.  Guilt, anger, and doubt to name a few.  I've gotten so caught up in some, they've really gotten to me in the last several weeks.  But when I really think about how I'm feeling, I've decided it all comes back to my longing for Drew.  That I really just simply miss him.  And as time passes, it seems to be getting harder.  It feels like it has been SO long since he was here. 

You know what it feels like on that last day of a vacation without kids?  You really miss them.  Other kids remind you of yours.  You wonder what they are doing.  You try to recall their phrases, their unique mannerisms and smile, and it hurts a little missing them.  You can't wait to get home to them, you almost feel sick.  And when you are almost there, on the way down your street, you're nervous, anxious, to see them.  And then there they are!  It all comes flooding back and you feel complete again.  

Now picture that reunion never coming, or at least that you have to wait a lifetime for it.  Stretch that homesick, missing-them feeling out for over 9 months, with no joyful conclusion.  That's kind of how I feel.

I try to not be dramatic about what we face, to go on and on about how hard it is, how much it hurts, because I think it's a dangerous hole that would suck me in.  I don't want to give in to self-pity or feeding off other's sympathies.  I know that's not what God wants me to do, or Drew for that matter.  And overall, I want to be relatable, approachable, because I know that I am just like anyone else, I just got dealt a tough hand. If I'm at all special, it's because of God's work through me, not anything that I am on my own.

But I think sometimes in trying to avoid taking on a victim role, I swing the other way too far.  I don't allow myself enough time to just be sad or I am mad at myself if I do.  But when I remember how big of a deal this really is, I seem to be able to give myself permission to be a mess every once in a while.  To not apologize for not having the answers, or not even wanting to ask them, just wanting to cry.  Because I miss my baby.

I've said all the good feelings in the world--all the love, the compassion, the joy--are a taste of Heaven.  That that comfort and love you feel through good, genuine, acts of kindness from others is what I imagine the essence of Eternity will be because God IS that feeling, that love.  I've also decided however that the opposite is true.  This pain that I have lived with everyday since January 19th, 2017, which some days feels like it'll never end, is a taste of hell.  Its a cliché I know, "this is hell on earth", but I really think it is.  It is a taste of the despair and the anguish of pain that will never go away, that will never end.

Some days that's how I feel right now.  It seems this pain will never end, even the 60 years or whatever I have to wait to be with him again feels like it might as well be an eternity.  But then I remember the Hope we have.  It WILL end.  It will be over, and only the good will be left, because of Jesus.  How awful if we didn't have that hope!  It's what keeps me going.  What keeps me motivated to get through this taste of Hell, because there is a light at the end of the tunnel.



But in this tunnel, it can be really dark, and scary.  I miss him so, so much.  And as I miss him and try to remember,  I'm getting so scared that I'm forgetting him.  I can feel the memories starting to fade.  I'm aware of how much harder it is each day to recall what he smells like, how his voice sounds first thing in the morning, the way his eyes twinkle with joy like he can't contain himself.  I look at pictures and wonder if I remember him, or just the pictures.  I watch the videos and hate that its starting to feel like I'm just watching some character on TV I don't know personally, but recognize from the show.  As we move forward with our story, my heart is desperate to remember him, to hold on to the memories.

But I don't think all the details have to be forgotten, that memories have to fade beyond recognition.  Like remembering the alphabet or multiplication tables in school, you need to practice them to keep them fresh in your mind.  I need to practice remembering, work at keeping them alive.  So I've been trying to actively remember him.  To look at the pictures, and try to remember that specific day, what we were doing, how the scene smelled, felt, sounded.  And I can do it.  I can picture it, him, again.  And so I'll share a few memories, a few things about Drew, with you now. For you, but just as much for me....

This was one of our last trips to our park.  It was an unusually warm late fall day.

There was a chill in the breeze, but the energy and joy from the kids kept me warm.  We knew that Drew probably wasn't going to make it at this point, and there was an awful since of awe in knowing that this was probably our last trip to the park together.  The weather was going to change, we wouldn't come, and he would die before it got warm again.  I tried to soak in every part of the experience, but not make it weird for them.  It was one of the first times I handed Molly my phone and had her take the pictures.  Of Drew and I going down the slide.  It was too scary for him to go down on his own, but with me, he would do it.

He was kind of a pansy about cold weather too--not built for Minnesota we always joked.  On the way in to Walmart, with all his winter gear on, he'd get a face full of cold wind and you could see it literally take his breath away.  He wasn't a fan of playing in the snow either.  Molly would want to go out, but Drew would say, "No!  Nooooo...."  So when he would agree to go outside in the snow, I'd have to take any pictures fast before he'd be whining to go back inside.

He was happy 97% of the time, completely easy going.  I've shared before how in his early, early years my biggest complaint was that he smiled too much.  When he would be nursing, and come off and look up at me and just smile, I would try to get him back to business--I didn't have all day here!  But bless his heart, I'll always remember and smile at how he could get distracted from eating by smiling at me...

I remember the nights late last year, I'd have sets of sheets, towels, and PJs laid out at bedtime in case he'd get sick overnight.  I'd hear his cry, run in and get him cleaned up, change everything out, and sit with him for a moment or two, lay him back down and go back to bed myself.  I'd lay there and couldn't help but smile through my irritation that he wouldn't always go right back to sleep, but lay in there and sing Jingle Bells to himself.  What a clown. After just throwing up and having a total bed change, how is he in there just singing Jingle Bells to himself??  Gosh, I'd do anything to hear him sing Jingle Bells in the middle of the night again...

He really didn't require too strong an arm of discipline.  All you had to do was raise your voice and give him a stern look and he'd cry and immediately want a hug.  But Molly and I still talk about the time in Walmart when they were both in the "crazy cart" (that giant 2 seater attached to a regular cart) and he got down as I was self checking out and took off.  I chased him down and brought him back to Molly and he cried the whole way home because he got in trouble, and I was mad at him.  (I think Molly loves to remember when Drew as naughty too!)

When he did get mad, he was ticked.  I think I'm the one he usually yelled at the most.  Not really Josh, but always mom.  He wasn't physical, but loud and red in the face mad.  Daniel Tiger's "Mad Mad Mad" song was one that he really remembered and would sing, I think because he identified with it.  And he'd sing the last part, "take a deep breath, and count to four.  One, two, three, four!".  I'd use his line on him when he was the "Mad Mad Mad" one, those few times he lost his stuff.

Dad really was his favorite it seemed some days.  At the hospital, he'd apparently be perfectly "fine" until I walked in, and then he'd get really whiny, clingy and grouchy.  I think a lot of kids save the cranks for mom, thanks!  But it's nice that him and Josh had this laid back feel at the hospital and at home, even if I felt like I paid for it later.

But overall, he was so consistent.  So obedient and trusting.  I always had complete confidence in how still he would be going into that big CT scanner. 

How cooperative he would be with the nurses for site care in the hospital.  How compliant he was at home even for the hard stuff--the shots, the feeding tube replacements.  He obviously didn't enjoy this stuff, but he submitted, he allowed it.  The one day I had to put the tube back down by myself, and I was so thankful he didn't fight me on it, and we got it back down on the first try.

I know we don't even realize how much of a gift from him that was to us.  How unbelievable this two year old boy was in that respect.



And now, as I write about him, and the tears are flowing because I just want so badly to hold him again, to hear his voice, to see that twinkle in his eyes. The deep, deep ache in my chest is flaring up.  That longing just like the last day of a vacation, accept times a million, washes over me, and it hurts.  So much.   But I don't want to stop remembering him, even if it hurts.  So I will cry as I consciously recall these memories.  Because even as the tears fall, I usually have a smile on my face too. Comforted by the memories, thankful for the time I had with him.  How lucky I was to get to be this boy's mom!

So if I talk about him to you, say his name or tell a story that maybe you weren't expecting or ready to hear, don't be uncomfortable.  Don't wonder what you should say.  Just listen to me, let me talk about my son.  Because as I talk about him, he's back with me for a moment, and that is all I really want right now...

How Winning is Done

Exercise has been a good outlet for me when I've cried enough, or don't have the words to write yet.  After the half marathon, I've been trying some new things, taking different classes at the Y.  One of which I've really gotten into lately is kickboxing.  I'm able to experience a great release, especially with my more angry feelings lately, as I punched and kick the bag.  This week, a quote from Rocky Balboa, Silvester Stalone, popped into my head. I remember thinking, "Wow, I never thought of it that way..." as I watched the movie and heard the line way back when.  But when it repeated in my head this week, it meant so much more to me now.

"It ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!”  

Isn't this so true??  Yes, being strong and being able to hit is big in winning a fight.  But just as big in winning is being able to take the punch, and come back again.  To stand up after you've been knocked down.  To not give up, and preserver to the end.  It's also true in a bigger frame too.  Most champions have lot some matches, didn't end up on top at the bell.  Not many are undefeated in all of time.  But when they've lost, they didn't quit.  Real champions have lost, but didn't walk away.  They've learned from their loss, and gotten better from it.  Came back stronger the next fight.

We may not all be boxers or actually ever even been in a real fight (like me), but applied to life, we will all be knocked down at one time or another. And this week I remembered that its in the standing up again, withstanding through adversity, where real strength is shown.  And what creates champions.

And I needed this reminder as I felt mad at myself, embarrassed even, that I had such a hard time last week.  But I shouldn't try to hide or be ashamed that grief gets the best of me and it knocks me down sometimes.  It's just how it goes, and doesn't mean I don't believe all I say I do or that I'm not "strong".  It just means I miss my boy.  That I've been hurt and couldn't keep up with all the hits for a week.  It shows I'm still being shaped.  I've still got room to grow.  And if I pretended it doesn't happen, or try too hard to not allow the emotions to come out, I wouldn't be honest for one.  But also would be missing half the equation for building from this.  I need to acknowledge and embrace the "bad" days for what they are and let God us them to turn me into a better me.

And you know who a great example of a champion is to me in this life?  My Drew.  A real Champion, who embodied this whole concept.  Who was certainly strong--would endure the pain until his arm and hand were blue and blistered before he'd cry out about an IV infiltration.  But he wasn't invincible.  He wasn't on top all the time.  I unfortunately watched as he felt so beaten down as a result of the chemo he wouldn't hold his head up straight too many times. 

But as soon as he felt better his head was held high, and he was ready to go, play, and spread his joy and love to everyone he met.  He withstood, and got back up again so many times in his short life.

I think its what made him so remarkable.  It wasn't that he never was upset or down, but that he didn't stay there.  He refused to give up.  He got back up, and kept moving forward. Every. Time.   I just didn't get to see the last time he stood up, because it was on the other side, in Heaven.  But I am comforted to know he'll never have to stand up again, because nothing can knock him down anymore. In the frame of this world he may have "lost" a match, but because of our Grand Champion, Jesus, he got up again after what should have been a knock out blow from Cancer.  Take that death!

So as I recover from a storm of grief last week, and prepare for many more blows coming up as we approach the first set of Holidays without our son with us physically, I'll try to remember this.  It's okay to get knocked down.  I don't have to be strong all the time.  What's important is that I'll stand back up, just like my Drew did.  And get back to work, keep moving forward.  Being a good Mother, Wife, furthering aid to other fighters through Warrior Wagons, and anywhere else I get the opportunity to tell Drew's story and spread the Truth we learned through him.  Because, as Rocky reminds us, that's how winning is done.

(que the Rocky theme song...;) )

Choose to Believe

Today, a year ago, Drew completed his last radiation treatment.  It was such an emotional day, and in a good way!  I remember being so overjoyed, so hopeful, so proud.  Proud of my strong, brave boy who had endured so much.  Our whole family was there--Molly too--to be with him that final treatment day.

And watch him "Ring the Bell"--a tradition at Mayo which marks the completion of your treatment in radiation oncology when it was through.

"Ring this bell
Three times well
The toll to clearly say

My treatments are done
It's course has run
And I am on my way"

The treatments were done, we were feeling like we were almost done, and on our way...

I'd watched him literally "grin and bear it" through each of the 6 chemo cycles.  I cleaned the incision where they opened him up to remove the last of the tumor.  And I'd held his little hand while the high dose chemo made his bones hollow, and then the stem cells grew to fill them back up again.  Twice.  And at this time a year ago, I'd just seen his eyes roll back in his head, hands still holding onto his toys, as he went to sleep 13 times over the 2 1/2 weeks so the beam of radiation could hit him just where it was suppose to.   The actual toll to ring that bell cost us so much, but we made it.

And beyond the accomplishment we felt, there was so much hope.   I was so sure he was going to make it.  He was going to finish this, and be one of the lucky survivors.  He had come so far.  Only one more treatment phase to go.  At diagnosis the doctor told us this would be like a triathlon since the cancer was so widespread.  On this day a year ago I felt like we'd gotten through the swimming, the biking, and were now halfway through the final obstacle.  The end was in sight.  Drew was so strong.  The doctors were so optimistic about how he was doing.  Everyone cheered, and we all nearly burst with so much emotion after 9 long months of what we had endured.  We were allowing ourselves to feel a little relief.  To celebrate after all we had withstood.

And then.  Two weeks later.  The day after Halloween, we learned the cancer was already back.  More accurately, never really gone.  We were told that at this point, since it was there, he would "probably" not survive.  That he could possibly only have months to live, which indeed turned out to be true.  He'd have 11 weeks and 2 days from that day, November 1st.

The whiplash was awful then, and it feels almost as awful now looking back.  Seeing all the happy memories, reading such positive CaringBridge updates from last year, and remembering triumphant days like this one has been so hard.  Its difficult to see how high we were on top of the mountain we had climbed, and know how great the fall would be.  But I know we did everything we should have.  Medically, but also emotionally.  We were thankful, we did choose joy most of the time.  We had an attitude that was fueled by God.  He gave us the wisdom to enjoy each day we had, and we listened.  I know there was nothing we could, or should, have done differently. 

But that almost makes it worse.  It's so unfair.  Yes, we did have the right attitude, we did listen to God and obeyed.  Where did it get us?  WHY didn't it work out?  It should have.   Drew deserved to "beat" this as much as any other kid.  Our family tried so hard to positive, and what did we get in return?  I think many of you probably saw this last year, as it happened.  Maybe some of you had these thoughts and feelings for us as it unfolded.   And over the course to of the last almost 9 months since I watched him take his last breath, I've felt this way before.  But back then, we couldn't stop and think.  We had to keep going.  We couldn't get discouraged, and I'm so thankful we didn't.

But for a couple days, I've let those thoughts and feelings come back, and linger.  I've entertained the beginnings of anger, and resentment.  I haven't been thankful, or choosing joy like I preach.   I've just cried.  And felt sorry for myself.   And honestly, it has felt kind of good.

But I know I can't stay.  My head is trying to convince my heart we can't stay here.  We have to have faith.  This is the believing part.  We don't have the answers, and won't in this lifetime.  This doesn't make sense, and it does seems so, so unfair.  But we have to believe it will become clear some day.  This isn't the end of the story.  We have to hang on, and trust in Him, even, or maybe especially, when it doesn't make sense.  We have to have faith it will be made right in the end, and that we'll be with Drew again.  Take that leap of faith, consciously choose to believe.

If we don't, if I were to accept these invitations to be bitter, then we let death win.  We forget that Jesus has paid this debt to death, and we give it power over us again.  I would become a victim and accept defeat, if I chose to give into those feelings.  And I refuse to do that.  I'll cling to the Truth that through Him, I don't have to.  We can overcome this, and we are, with the power of God.  Cancer can't take anything more from us, including my hope and joy.

"And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope." 1 Thessalonians 4:13.   I can indeed grieve this great loss, but not like others with no hope.  Because we do have hope.  His sacrifice on the cross did save Drew in an eternal way, and it has saved me from being enslaved to grief, to be ruled by the sorrow of Drew's death today.

I hope you can see in this post that all this thankfulness and joy stuff I talk about is a daily choice, a daily struggle.  It's a constant battle, not a one time decision.  And through my own strength, clearly, I don't make the right choice all the time, like these last few days.  And maybe that's good in a way, to remind me how inadequate I really am on my own.  Heidi Becker would be just as much of a mess as the next Mother would be in this situation.  But more times than I'm capable of on my own, God helps me to make the right choice.  To open my eyes to all I have to be grateful for, which leads me to that peace and joy that I am really craving.  And it's easier to trust Him.  And to not give into those temptations to doubt, and be angry in the first place. 

It's a beautiful circle, really.  And I hope and pray that I never lose sight off or fall out of it.  That I can always get back here, to a place of hope and joy in the promises we have in the Lord.  To have faith like a child, and live in the moment; to be thankful and chose joy when despair is so much easier.

Just like a pretty amazing little boy I know named Drew, who taught us this and so much more about life, even though his was far too short...

In the Garden...

This Spring, Molly and I created our first garden.  In the far corner of our back yard there was a 9'x8' woodchipped stone/bird bath area, a perfect starting place.  I always thought I'd like to have a garden, but have never actually followed through.  This year was the year to try something new, to not put anything off for another season.

So Molly and I went shopping in the seed section of Walmart in early May.  She picked out a pretty random assortment--carrots, onions, sugar snap peas, watermelon and pumpkin.  I knew I wanted tomatoes, peppers and some herbs--basil and parsley--which I bought as plants.

We got home and had to prepare the area to be a garden.  Moving the bark chips, removing the under layer of tarp, tilling the soil.  Molly was eager to just skip to the planting the seeds part, but I told her we'll be glad we took the time to prepare the garden as well as we could.  Our plants would grow better, and it would look nicer.

I've heard before how much gardening teaches you about life.  Some of them, obvious lessons.  But this Summer I learned some not so obvious lessons.  I saw and felt things from this garden that really hit home, and so perfectly embodied many of the feelings I have as I continue through this season of grief.  All summer I've been writing things down, and knew I had to share. 

In this beginning stage of the garden, I could see in Molly how easy it is to just go with your eager emotions and dive right in.  Skip to the fun part, and rip open the packages, bury the seeds and give them a drink!  But you have to have some self control.  Hold back, think ahead, and do things the right way.  How many times do I want to just jump right in to something new, and not wait?  Skip the planning, the praying, the preparation, and just go right to the fun part?  Kids show you so much about yourself in their unfiltered emotions and reactions.  And in Molly, I saw a lot of myself right now as I start new projects, new endeavors.

So I explained to Molly, we should read the directions, see how each seed should be planted, and then make a plan for our space, since we didn't have very much!  Onions and carrots didn't sound like they needed as much sun, so they should go in the back row, spaced apart like the package said.  Then the snap peas in front of them we decided.  The pumpkin seeds were suppose to be planted in mounds, sets of 4 or 5?  Same with the watermelon.  And were suppose to get a lot of sun.  So the front right corner seemed best since it got the most sun.  We finally placed the tomato, pepper and herb plants behind the pumpkin/watermelon mounds along the far ride side.

All in all, it was a lot of work preparing, planning and starting the garden.  We watered the seeds, took a picture, and were excited to see them all come up!  Molly wanted to know what makes them grow.  I thought a minute, and told her it was God's touch.  We did all we could do, put the seeds just how they should be in the prepared ground, but what actually makes them grow is kind of magic.  God brings them to life, just like he brings each of us to life.  We wondered if maybe God would let Drew touch our seeds to make them grow, we were sure Drew'd love that...

Not long word must have gotten out among the neighborhood rabbits, because I swear there were a dozen having a social in my yard the very next weekend.  It was like they were just waiting for the seeds to sprout and they'd have their salad luncheon.  So Molly and I went to Runnings and got some chicken wire.  I forgot stakes, but found poles I could use in our shed.  Now we were all set!

The fencing was something I had forgotten to do in our initial set up.  As I saw the danger for my little seeds, I adjusted accordingly.  In life, don't we do that a lot?  "Wow, I didn't think that would be an issue!  I guess I'll have to change up my plan!".  And we do, and we move on.

Molly and I watered our garden those first few weeks before we ever saw anything come up.   And finally we saw the first sprouts.  In neat little rows!  Drew had touched our seeds, and they were finally coming up!  We saw them all peek out of the ground in different orders and rate of growth.  Accept the watermelons, where were they?  Everytime we checked, everything was making progress but the watermelon...they never did come up.  Why didnt' they grow?  We did all we should have for them. I guessed we'd never know.  Drew must have missed a few.

I remembered what I'd told Molly as I thought about those watermelon seeds.  We have to do all we can for the seeds, but its up to God to bring them to life.  I thought of some of the dreams I've had that never were realized, plans I've made but didn't work out.  I guess we can plant the seeds, do all the work that's for us on our end, but if it's not in God's plan, the seeds won't be brought to life, won't grow.  And sometimes we never know why, or find out later...

Back to the garden, the peas were getting really tall, flopping over!  Do they need a cage like the tomatoes did?  I looked it up--yes!  They are suppose to grow on a trellis!  What did I have for that??  I looked around in the shed again.  I could use the rest of my 3 foot chicken wire just stretched out between the rows of peas.  I got it all rigged up and the peas grabbed right on and grew tall!  More mid-game adjustments, but we were cookin' along!

Things were really starting to grow, it was fun to watch!  But Molly wanted to know when we'd get the vegetables?  "It will take time, dear.  You have to care for the plants, keep them watered, pull weeds from around them for a long time before you see any vegetables".  She didn't like that answer.  And in life, I don't either.  It can be hard to be patient, keep working without seeing any reward.  We get tired, discouraged.  But we have to keep the big picture in mind, where we are in the story.  This is just the middle, the end will come and we'll get our reward.  We just need to keep working...

And then the pumpkins really started to take off.  I thought everyone was just saying they "strangle" things out as an expression--no, they literally do!  Every few days I'd come out and pull the vines that were warpping around my tomatoes plants!  I started directing them in front of the peas, and up and over the fence.  Still no vegetables...

And finally, we got our first snap peas!  It was the first product out of our garden--and we were thrilled!

And the pumpkin vines continued to grow, now with bright yellow flowers.

We pulled out a few onions, but I think I let them stay in the ground too long.  They were getting tall and long in the back row, and I figured I'd let them keep going!  But they started to look droopy, and when I did pull them out, they were slimy.  I think they were actually green onions, shallots, not big ones.  So I should have gotten them out sooner.  I'll know better next year.  But I could use a few in our enchiladas .  And we couldn't resist pulling a few of the carrots. They really were orange!  And smelled like carrots!  But we decided we'd better keep them in longer.  The herbs were so nice to have for recipes.

But then one week, the peas started to turn white.  They resurfaced the parking lot behind our house, and the dust had settled on all the plants.  I tried to rinse the leaves of each plant, but the peas never recovered.  They withered and stopped producing peas.  I'm not sure what happened.  Some have told me peas just have a short season.  But, I wondered if the dust killed them.  We were disappointed. 

And as I mowed the next several weeks and saw the beautiful, flourishing garden all round those dying peas, I felt a familiar saddness.  It was just so striking, the death amongst the life.  For whatever reason, and without anything I could do, the peas were done.  After building a trellis, all the preparations we did for the peas, and they were just done.  I couldn't help but think of my Drew, and all the hopes and dreams we had for him.  All the "trellises" we built to support his life, and then he was just done. There was nothing we could do.  How out of place his death is amongst the life and energy of other children, his friends, still growing and developing.  I mowed and cried that afternoon as I made that connection, as I looked across my garden.  And I couldn't bring myself to pull them out.  The dried up pea plants stayed among the thriving garden until just recently...

Without the peas, we had a lull in our garden action.  Except to watch the pumpkin vines continue to grow.  And grow, and grow!  See Molly all the way in the back??

I thought back to those watermelon seeds that never came up, and I got it now.  There wouldn't have been room in my garden for both watermelon and pumpkins!  As I looked out at the vines which grew 10 feet or more into my yard,  I decided that was why no watermelon seeds grew.  God knew better than me, and He told Drew to skip those seeds, even if He knew it'd make us disappointed.  Because it would work better for our garden in the long run.   At the time, we didn't understand, but looking back I can see it.  Like many of my dreams and plans for the future, only God can know sometimes what will work out best for our lives, and He choices in His wisdom, not to bless the plans we've made in order to make room for other ones to grow.  I can be sad for not seeing watermelon this year, but thankful for the pumpkins that did grow.

Then finally we saw our first pumpkin, and some green tiny tomatoes starting to grow!  We couldn't help but pull a few carrots here and there as well, just to "check their progress"...

As we got deeper into the Summer, the tomatoes finally started coming too, and more pumpkins started to grow.  A few would start along the vines, but since they all were now outside of the fence, some would get eaten up or torn apart from animals. 

But if they managed to get big enough, tough enough, whatever animal that was trying to breakfast on them couldn't get through the skin.  One got pretty scratched up, but was strong enough to keep growing.  Now the scars tell the story of how it managed to survive, despite the odds.  In that pumpkin I saw myself.  A survivor, but not without scratches, scars.  But I will wear them proudly, to show that life tried to stop us, but we kept growing, just like that pumpkin.

 

And our tomatoes finally started to turn red!  BLTs with good, thick, Hormel Bacon (😉) and sweet corn from the corner stand made it taste like Summer around our house for several weeks!

We pulled enough carrots one day to have with our pot roast for dinner!

And we ended up with three pumpkins, growing, and orange-ing up!  We checked them out each day on our walk back from the bus stop, and watched in amazement their slow evolution from green to bright orange.

Finally it was time to cut those pumpkins off the vine we decided, to display them on our deck.  Our prize for the whole season of work.  To showcase the amazing process that took place from when we planted our tiny pumpkin seeds, to the huge plant they became, and the brilliant pumpkins that were produced.

We had a batch of tomatoes red all at once, and with some from my Father-in-Law's garden, last week we made homemade spaghetti sauce, and also homemade chili.

Maybe I've lost some of you with this post.  Not everyone is interested in gardening, I know.  But if you've made it this far, I hope you too have seen the story unfold as we did, with wonder.  How amazing it really is that our garden went from a few seeds in the ground and some straggly plants, to an overflowing, flourishing garden this summer.

And maybe you're with me in the symbolism so richly displayed.  I've learned a lot from my first garden.  Practically, that I should put my pumpkins somewhere else next year.  So they can have more room and to give the other plants space.  And in a related note, to space out my tomato plants more. I've learned to research plants first, build my trellis before I need it, if plants require it.  I learned to expect different growing seasons, that some plants have their lives spent earlier than others.  And my garden this year reinforced that preparation, planning ahead, working hard, being consistent and persistent, pays off.   But many times, you have to wait for it.  There will be weeks that all you do is work without reward, but it's coming.  The tomatoes do come, and turn red.  The pumpkins get bigger and slowly turn bright orange.  And carrots are doing their thing, out of sight, under the ground.  Just because you can't tell, doesn't mean they aren't growing, aren't making progress.  

As I prepared meals and side dishes from the fruits of our labor from this first garden, I hate to admit it, but I cried.  I know it sounds dramatic, and silly.  But all the work, the magic from God that caused our seeds and work to turn into the vegetables that I was turning into something delicious for my family, was just so beautiful.  It reminded me to not underestimate what God can do.  How much can come from something so tiny like a seed. 

It's sad, I think my generation as a whole has lost these skills I learned over the Summer.  We are missing the opportunity to gain these powerful insights because we're too busy to tend a garden, and make food from scratch. It is so much more convenient, and maybe even cheaper, to buy it from the store.  But, just like in life, there's value in the process.  It's not all about the bowl of chili in the end, but what you learned in getting it from the seed packages into the bowl. Somehow it tastes so much better because of the work that went into it. We appreciate it so much more if we had to earn it through our own labor.  And this summer, this garden was so worth all the work for what it gave us.  Not just in delicious meals and attractive front step displays, but in the wisdom, comfort, and hope that grew amongst the vegetables.  And we too have continued to grow through it, proudly wearing the scars we've earned, despite the odds.