IMPACT- Day Two.

I woke up on day two nervous, anxious, and nauseous, but ready to meet those children. We woke up each morning around six to load a bus by seven for the hour and a half commute from Galveston to Houston. When we arrived, I couldn’t get off that bus quick enough. I charged into the building towards the class room to have absolutely everything perfectly prepared for those sweet kids when they came in. And once set up was finished, the most agonizing portion began, waiting. I could not shake the pit in the bottom of my stomach. I was about to meet Gilberto. The child my sister had claimed changed her life. This child that I had imagined finding since she had passed. He was about to be here, in this room, and I had no idea how to approach him. I had played out every possible scenario in my head and I knew I had to lower my expectations. What if he didn’t like me?? That was possible. He didn’t know nor understand how important meeting him was to me. He held no obligation for my feelings. He was a regular kid coming for VBS, completely unaware of how special he was to me. The interns informed us it was tradition for them to create a spirit line up the hall that they would enter when they exited the buses. I stood there scanning the children, faking screams as they entered, zoned into finding Gilberto. And then he came in. It was no big moment to him. Or anyone else really. But there he was. His big honest brown eyes widened at the amount of people, his sheepish grin spread out across his face, and he hung his head in embarrassment as he walked through the line. I had found him. And I followed him. He grabbed his name tag from the leaders and walked into the next hall. He was clearly reserved. Many of his friends had begun to cut up and he remained in line, smiling after them. The interns would say something to him and he would just respond with a grin. He had very little to say, he was just thankful to be there. He turned the next corner towards the main meeting area and I walked right up to him. “Gilberto isn’t it?? I’m Elise!! I’m one of your teachers this week. I’m in green group with you!” I beamed at the child, excitement seeping from my pores and Gilberto stared. There was not even a smile. In fact, he looked frightened and instead of grabbing my hand and joining me as I had hoped, he purposefully walked around me and walked into the large room alone. I could have cried. I had imagined that moment so differently. Here I was hoping to have a huge reunion with this child, and he thought I was a freak. I stood up and collected myself, and determined I walked into the meeting room, found him, and planted myself beside him, refusing to move even when he looked up at me with slight disgust. He had no interest in me whatsoever. And as fun sing ensued and I tried even harder, grabbing his hands and dancing and smiling, but he only became even more annoyed and continued to pull his hands away and turn his face. I was crushed. Didn’t he understand that I had come here for him?? I needed him to like me, I needed him to care for me as he had my sister. And as Fun Sing came to a close he walked swiftly away from me into his reading room only looking back to make sure there was a good distance in between us. Feeling hopeless, I leaned up against the wall and prayed. I prayed that God show me what this child needed from me. I prayed that God give me some insight to what I was supposed to do. I had done everything I could think of!! I had smiled, been inviting, danced, sang, been energetic… And as I am going through all the things I had done it became more and more clear to me what I had done wrong. I had watched Gilberto in the hall, and he was a Bailey. He was quiet and gentle and sweet. And I had come at him intense and aggressive and he was not conditioned for that. For this kid to respond to me as he did Bailey, I had to be LIKE Bailey. And that blew my mind. I had never been intimidated by mission work because I do well with people. I love people. And I love to make them feel warm and welcome. I love to laugh and dance and make children feel excited to be there. But the problem with all of those things is that it began with what I, ELISE, loved. And this wasn’t about ME. Ultimately, it was about HIM. And I needed to change myself to fit Gilberto’s needs. He didn’t need energy, he needed gentle. He didn’t need excitement, he needed understanding. So in that moment I raced through memories of Bay and tried to document her mannerisms so that I could be as much like her as possible for this child. “Please God, let this work. Show me how it’s done Bay.” I clutched my necklace, and walked boldly towards the door, spotted him through the window, and stepped in quietly, sitting down next to him without saying a word. He looked at me carefully, shifting his only his eyes, but I looked ahead, pretending not to notice him and listening intently to the reading coaches instructions. She passed out books and I volunteered to read the books aloud to the class. I love reading to children. I read loudly with animation, changing my voices for each of the characters. But I glanced at Gilberto only twice, and spent most of the time focused on the book and the rest of the class. After I had finished reading, we were told to allow our little buddies to read to us, and to help them along if they had any issues. And everyone turned to their kids to start working. I looked down and Gilberto and asked, “Can you read?” I adjusted my voice to be quieter and soft, the way I remember Bay’s being. He looked up, and said nothing, but did respond with a slight grin. I handed him the book, and crossed my arms, waiting to see how he would react. And as I expected he opened the book and began to read. And he was brilliant. He sped through the book with ease, without a stutter or pause, and finished his work sheets the same. And we slowly began to click. Bailey had a way of making you feel comfortable in any setting. You didn’t have to be talking to spend time with Bailey. You could just sit and enjoy each other’s presence without having to force chatter. And that’s what we did. He rested his arm on my leg as he did his work sheets, and he was content. He didn’t need me to continue talking, he was happy I was there, and he had work to do. After he had finished his work we leaned up against the wall and I asked him a few questions. He would respond, but with quick and concise answers. At one point he asked me why I talked so much so I sealed my lips and responded with a grin. He went back to his book, flipping through the pages silently, but I watched him smiling and I knew I was doing better. After reading time we went into the main assembly for the Bible story and prayer before lunch. I sat down and Gilberto plopped in my lap and I couldn’t help but beam. We had all been anticipating asking Gilberto about Bailey. Whether he remembered her and what if anything he could tell us about her. Mollie looked at me and mouthed, “Have you asked him yet?” I shook my head and she nodded. I wanted to wait for the right moment to ask him. I had seen how overwhelmed he could get and I wanted him to be focused and comfortable when I asked him a question I had been holding for six months. We sat and listened to the Bible story and then went into our classroom for lunch and for more Bible time. At this time I was able to meet more of the children in my group and spend more time with Gilberto. We had them do prayer journals and the children blew us away with their selfless responses. Gilberto told me he wanted to pray for his little sister because she was sad. I asked him why she was sad and he said because she didn’t like to be away from him and she was in the kindergarten class. He wrote, “I want to pray for Jamina so she won’t be sad and she will love VBS like me.” I was in love. I also fell in love with an energetic, rough little boy name Ricardo that latched onto me pretty quickly.  He sat in my lap and kissed my face after knowing me for fifteen minutes and pulled at my hair when he wanted my attention. And by the end of class, I was wishing it could go on forever. At the end of the day they go back to assembly for what they call “Ticket Time” in which they celebrate good behavior during the day by presenting prizes to those that had received tickets throughout the day. Because of Gilberto’s timidity towards the yelling and dancing, I allowed him to shrink back and spent my time jumping around with Ricardo yelling back to Gilberto only twice and watching him smile in return. As they announced his bus route he ran over without a word and hugged my waist, and ran for the bus. I stood outside and waved until the bus was out of sight. Then I loaded my own bus, fell into a seat in exhaustion, and road the whole way back smiling with contentment, confident that Bailey was proud of the work I had done.

IMPACT- Day One.

My sister had a heart for mission work. Her giving spirit and willingness to work, along with her purity and compassion made her impossible to dislike. Children felt they could trust her, teens could relate to her, and adults understood her. She had a gentleness and humbleness that is recognized universally and in turn, made her influential in any setting. I remember her coming home from Impact Houston in the summer of 2012 and seeing a maturity in my sister I had never recognized before. She came back energized and confident, as though she had found a place that she could really thrive. I remember her speaking so highly of the program, the trip, and all the many wonderful people she had met while in Houston.  I remember being disappointed I had not gone as well, but there was no real urgency for me to make the trip myself. I decided that could be Bailey’s thing, even when she encouraged me to join her the next year. She insisted it was an indescribable experience and I would just have to go and see for myself. I remember how sincere she was. How she truly longed that I could understand the journey she had been on. And all these things came to mind even more clearly when she was gone. In December, I made it my mission to make it to Houston. To fulfill this “dream” she had for me. It became an obsession. I researched people she had come in contact with and children she had become especially close to. I wanted to interact with kids she had touched and meet people that had known her in one of her most life changing experiences. I had to put these pieces of who she was together. Because I knew Bailey at home. I knew Bailey as my little sister. But I wanted to know Bailey as just, Bailey. The Bailey that others had met. The strong, confident, independent Bailey that I rarely got to see. I wanted to go somewhere that no one knew me. They had no preconceived notions of who I was. They could give me a completely unflawed vision of who my sweet sister was to them.  So I informed Scott that I was chaperoning, and on the day of July 7^th, I packed my bags and entered a bus headed for Houston, Texas. I can’t describe the overwhelming feeling that greeted me in boarding that bus. For the first time ever in any sort of mission work, I was honestly terrified. I knew the week was going to be completely emotionally consuming and I didn’t know if I was up for the challenge. Was I asking for it by coming on this trip?? Was I just setting myself up to be depressed?? But I was determined to do this. For me, for her, for her friends, for Scott, and for my Lord. So I sat down in a bus seat, wrapped her blanket around me, grabbed my necklace, and I prayed. I prayed hard. I prayed that God would give me the strength to make it through the week, the knowledge to see the things I was meant to see, and the patience to understand how to act on them. And as we began our thirteen hour journey to Houston I felt myself cry. Embarrassed, I buried my head in the blanket and curled in a ball until I felt someone over me. I looked up and Scott smiled down. As usual, sweet Scott came with comfort and understanding. So he sat down beside me with my blanket wrapped legs in his lap, and we prepared ourselves for the emotional ride ahead.

We drove through the night on Saturday and arrived at a Cracker Barrel in Texas on Sunday morning. We got out to eat breakfast and change from our bus riding clothes, to church attire. We then rode into Houston and onto the road where the little Impact church sat. I wouldn’t have known if the kids from last year hadn’t jumped up in excitement. There are three buildings that make up the Impact church. The main building, where they host church and VBS II, the middle school building, and the education building where they have their Sunday school classes and VBS I. Because of the amazing work the Impact church does, they have too many kids to hold in one building. They have been forced to separate the large quantity of children into 2 VBS groups, and Beltline was placed with VBS I. Sunday morning we began with their Sunday school classes. Daniel Lane, a senior from our Beltline group, and I were put in a room with the 4^th graders to observe and help when needed. Now Impact Houston has what they call “interns” that the church brings in each year. People apply for these positions and the staff hand picks them for the summer. The interns are in charge of discipline while the youth groups are there and crowd control, but on a larger scale they teach Sunday school classes and help lead the groups throughout the week. They do an amazing job and it was an honor to get to work with them throughout the week. We met our first group of kids and a sassy group of girls that I hit it off with right away. I sat with them during class and they filled me in on their lives of boys, nail polish, hot Cheetohs, and their cousins that didn’t get along. Now three of the girls were three peas in a pod. They truly believed they were too cool for school and they were proud of it. They were skinny and had their hair braided similarly, and were dressed in cute little outfits. There was a fourth girl in the group that seemed to be the odd man out and she clung to me right away. She was a larger girl and she clearly didn’t have the same amount of attention at home as the other three. You could tell her hair hadn’t been done recently and two of the girls commented on her dress being the same one she had worn the Sunday before. But she had the sweetest heart and I enjoyed listening to her talk about God. At one point we were talking about things that annoyed us, and what we could do to change that, whether that meant being more patient or more understanding or removing ourselves from a situation. Most of the girls misunderstood the assignment and instead, wrote down the ways the people that annoyed them could change themselves so they weren’t as annoying. I will admit, Daniel and I had a hard time not laughing at some of their responses, but Shay’s answer was the one that truly pricked my heart. When asked what annoyed her she wrote, “When the other girls make fun of my weight.” And when asked what she could do to change that she wrote, “Realize that God loves me the way that I am and not let it hurt my feelings.”  How powerful. For a fourth grader to understand that her Father doesn’t look at the outward appearances as the world does, but He understands her heart. And that the people of this world will always tease you, but it is up to you whether or not you let it bother you. I don’t do that at 19, much less at 10. I allow anything and everything to hold me back. I allow my weight, my hair, my eyes, my cheeks, my toes, and everything else to dictate my mood. I will let one comment about my size, change my complete outlook on the day. I will stop myself from doing something, if I feel like someone will judge the way I look doing it. And Shontay was able to realize in the fourth grade that none of that matters?? Despite my fears for the week, and my anxiety towards meeting the children the next day, at that moment I felt hope. I felt fulfilled. And I smiled at her knowing that if I met one child like that in my day one, then I was bound to meet at least one more, and I was looking forward to the next moment I got to see my Savior smile back at me from inside a child.

Daddy's girl

I have always been a daddy’s girl. From the beginning, the relationship between my father and I has been special. For starters, we are basically the same person. We don’t stress about the little things. We have to be taken from any crowd, if you allow us to stand there and socialize we will be there for hours. We love to laugh. We love a good story, especially something inspirational. We love politics and history. We love family. We love God. But more than that some of our strongest convictions have come from what we have learned from each other. My father has learned to be more open minded and I have learned that a compassionate heart is never weary. I have learned that your home is a blessing from God and you are to use it to glorify Him, and he has learned words can be more powerful than he ever imagined. And above all of this, we understand that at the end of the day, we are there for each other, and our relationship can withstand any trials because it is founded on our love for the Lord, our original Father, who makes these earthly dads possible. The Father that allows us to connect and have these human interactions and imbedded love into our souls.  My definition of Father has changed many times throughout my life. As a child, my father was a man who protected me. A man who taught me right from wrong. A man who held my fingers as I started to walk on wobbly legs. A man who determined when I would eat or sleep. And as a child I depended on him completely. But as I have grown my father has taken on a different role. He no longer protects me, but stands beside me when times are tough and watches me take things on myself, whether it pains him or not. He allows me to be an adult and understands that he can no longer shelter me, so he stands in the wings and watches with pride. He no longer teaches me right from wrong, he has taught me everything I need to know. He is always willing to talk or give advice, but he is also wise enough to understand that he does not have all the answers and he often points me to the word of God so that I can seek my own understanding. He no longer holds my fingers or schedules my sleeping. I have grown from dependent to independent, which is the goal of a Godly father.  My father is an amazing man. In this year alone he lost his daughter and his best friend and yet he somehow manages to get up every morning, put a smile on his face, and lead what’s left of our family towards Heaven. When Mr. Chet passed, my dad was selected to be a Paul Bearer. Wanting to go in as a team, I asked if there was anything I could do to help and was told I could usher. We arrived that morning dressed in black. The same black dress I had fashioned for all of Beltline’s funerals, including my sister’s. For anyone that has lost a loved one, funerals are tough. It’s not a selfish thing, your body just naturally reacts. It’s like remembering a meal you ate before you had a stomach flu. No one means to make another’s funeral about themselves, but they create instant flashbacks, and Mr. Chet’s funeral was the first we had attended since our sweet Bailey’s. I walked in nervous and found my dad. I wanted to take care of him so badly. I wanted to take away his hurt and squeeze him to death. But I had to allow him to do this his way. So I watched him. All day. I walked up to the doors of the auditorium and peeked in the small glass window. I saw the coffin and my airway closed. I completely lost the ability to breathe. I walked swiftly to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. And I made a promise. I made a promise to make it through that day for the Humphries. To make it through that day for my dad. And to prove to everyone in that congregation that I was strong enough to handle this. That God hadn’t messed up giving me a challenge, he had chosen the right girl. I said a quick prayer, put on my game face, and I walked out of the bathroom ready to serve. I was instructed to stand about fifteen feet away from the family and weave the line of guests towards them. Talk to the people, greet them, and put them at as much ease as possible. My father stood at the back of the auditorium for a majority of the time. We would catch each other watching one another. But I was far too focused to be emotional. I thought very little of our own experience as I spoke to numerous people. I would flick my eyes towards the Humphries and then realize that was a poor decision. I focused on the crowd. The many many people that had been touched by that amazing man. And as the time for the funeral approached Mrs. Donna came to tell me it was time to lead the family back. We cut off the line and I stood to make a path for them, trying to stay out of the way. I assumed my work was done until I looked and saw Cara Paige veering away from the family. She came up to me, wrapped her arms around my hips, and laid her head on my chest. I felt my heart crumble and I laid my head on top of hers and held her close. I had wanted so badly to be helpful and for the first time that day I felt as though I was doing something right. And every emotion I could have possibly had at that moment whizzed through my head. I was taken back to Bailey’s funeral. I remembered walking up that aisle to leave and wanting to hold her so badly. To wrap arms around her one more time and feel her breathe against me. And with my eyes closed and Cara’s petite warm body near, she became my Bailey. She fulfilled what I had longed for since December 2^nd. And two people that were hurting, two people that were broken, were able to hold one another and fill that empty space with a little love. I put my arm around her waist and walked her up the aisle and to the foyer where I kissed her forehead. And I watched her walk down that hall that we had walked down. The hall that sealed the passageway and forever kept us from seeing our Bailey again. And after an entire day of swallowing tears and playing strong, I collapsed into weeping. I walked towards the wall and buried my faced and allowed by body to give into my break down. And as I cry I feel someone under me. I feel arms embrace me and I grab onto a man’s jacket that is against me. I don’t know who this person is, but I was too exhausted to care. And when I summoned the courage to look up, I saw my dad. And at the moment, I wouldn’t had wanted anyone else. And we cried. I am so thankful to have a father that isn’t afraid of emotion. One that understands that this life hurts and we need each other to lean on, and to cry into. My dad has taught me how to be strong. And being strong doesn’t mean you don’t weep. You take care of your responsibilities, and you don’t allow your emotions to get in the way when you are needed, but you take time to give yourself a break and understand that you can’t be strong around the clock. And you find people that understand this journey is a rugged road. I am glad to have my dad this Father’s day. I am glad we are given a day just to show him how important he is in our lives. I am glad that Bailey got to experience a dad as great as ours and I know that he and my mother are responsible for the beginnings of her faith and for her pathway to Heaven. I hope that as I age, I never grow weary in searching for my husband, and that I don’t allow myself to stop until I find someone as wonderful as my own father. Thank you for all that you do, all that you will do, and all that you didn’t have to do. I love you daddy.

Six blessings, for six months.

Six months sounds like a long time when you say it out loud. Six months is when a fetus develops their optic nerve. Six months is how long it takes for a fig tree to sprout. Six months is a full semester of school. Six months is half of an entire year. Time is an odd thing. During trauma it seems to slow down. You feel as if your life is a movie and everything is going on around you. But the scary part is when you sense your life change from slow motion to fast paced, and you realize the terrible, awful, no good thing about life is… It goes on. Whether you are prepared for it or not. And everyday the clock ticks. The seconds, minutes, and hours pass. Nights turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, and we slip farther and farther away from the time of Bailey on this earth. Memories become muddled. Sounds are hard to recall and her smell is impossible to find. I make an active decision to think about Bailey when I decide because otherwise, I am terrified to waste my memories of her. Scared that if I over use them, details will change or the memory itself will pass away forever. I carefully select which thoughts I wish to use. However, there is no measure of what I have lost, to how much I have gained. So here are a few things I have learned in this half of a year without Bay.

1. My God is my Father. He loves me immensely and He would never do anything to hurt me. He allows things to happen that benefit my faith. That cause me growth or cause others to grow through me. He hurts when I hurt, but He allows pain when it is what’s best for me. He gave me this trial because He knew I was strong enough to handle it, and my entire life up until now He has been training me to prepare me for this task. And much like a Father, I feel His pride when I surrender to His will.
2. Your church family, IS your family. Christ came to this earth to establish a church, to make a home for His followers in this imperfect world. Our Lord understands that this life makes us weary. He sees our burdens and pains. So He blesses us with relationships that carry us through the hard times. He gives us a place to rest, a safe haven from the reality of life. A place free of judgment and malice. And He fills this place with individuals from all walks of life that essentially have nothing in common besides the fact that they are all bound together by the blood of Christ. And because of His sacrifice He has created a way for them to become our family. In times of sorrow, they lend a shoulder. In times of heartache, they surround you with love. In times of happiness, they rejoice alongside you. In times of anger, they find ways to calm you. And in times of loss, they remind you who your family is.
3. Satan is a tricky fella. He uses tactics that we are blind to. He exerts his own powers to tempt us in every possible way. He causes confusion to create chaos. He slithers into your thoughts to muddle your knowledge in Christ. He prompts you to ask the wrong questions and he entices you with his fruit of lies. Do not be deceived by the world around you. Do not allow Satan to infect your heart.
4. You are not a freak. This grieving thing, everyone does it differently. There is no right or wrong way. As long as the way you choose to grieve does not hinder another Christian’s healing, you’re good. If you are not a crier, don’t cry. If you are emotional, weep when you see fit. If you feel the need to comfort others, do it. If you need to be alone, find a quiet place. Your process will be completely different from the person’s next to you. Pray on it, and God will show you what is best for you. Do not hesitate to do what your body is telling you, even if you feel it is unconventional. It might be just what someone needs to see or it could be a huge step on your highway to healing.
5. You can use it, or abuse it. I can allow Bailey’s death to change me for the better or the worse. It is solely my decision. I could turn to drugs and alcohol to drown out the world and destroy my life while blaming it on the death of my sister, or I can allow it to transform me into the person I am meant to be. Events such as these are not coincidences. They are not meant to be thrown away as a small stepping stone in your life. It is a monumental boulder that if you are strong enough to push aside, carry it on your back to make you stronger.
6. My sister wouldn’t change it. There are days that if given the choice, I would run to Heaven, grab her, and bring her home. But I had a dream once that changed my perspective. I was running through a long black hall and I saw the light of Heaven in front. I stopped at The Gates panting and looked up into the face of Peter. He looked at me, confused, and asked me what I was doing at the Gates of Heaven. I stood up boldly and announced, “I’m here to get my sister!” He smiled at me sympathetically, opened the Gates and said, “If she will go, you may have her.” I paid little attention to this remark as I was already sprinting through the streets of Heaven searching the faces for my baby sister. And I found her. I raced to her and embraced her, tears flowing down as I kissed her cheeks. We held each other for minutes but finally she pulled back and looked at me with a frown, “What are you doing here Elise?” she asked with a worried expression. “I’m here to get you Bailey!! I’m here to rescue you! Come home with me!!” I tugged at her hand anxiously and beamed at her with such pride. She gripped my hand, stared into my eyes and said, “But Elise, HE rescued me. And THIS is my home.” She walked towards me and kissed my forehead and after a bright flash, I woke up in bed. And I sobbed. As much as I breaks my heart to live here without my sister, I know that she is where she worked her entire life to be.

There are many other things God has taught me over the course of this time. But here are six things for six months that have been particular blessings. I hope they benefit you as well.

How beautiful Heaven must be.

As life continues to change and I proceed to grow, my idea of Heaven has evolved. My concept of Heaven as a child is laughable to me now. When I was younger, Heaven was where my childhood dog Princess was. It was a place lined with gold as taught to me in class, packed with old people from the Bible I had no personal connection to, and a God that I had trouble understanding. I had heard there was no sadness, but as a kid I had experienced very little sorrow, so I felt no need to escape from this world. The amount of sorrow I and the Beltline family have felt within the past year has been beyond outrageous. At this point it all seems unreal, like we will all wake up tomorrow and it will have been a terrible nightmare. For so many families, including my own, I wish this were the case. Throughout this year alone my idea of Heaven has tumbled from a distant place to a home. An embrace I look forward to whenever it is my own time. I have lost my fear for death. When Mike passed, I saw Heaven as lovely as I had seen it as a child, just with him there. I imagined him walking with Jesus, barefoot in the grass beside babbling brooks, discussing Mike’s many questions. Heaven became an idea of reunion. When Bailey left us, Heaven became a pure destination. A place I had to get to so I could hold her again. And the scenery of Heaven changed. When I dreamed of Heaven, it was my house. Mike opened the door, and Bailey was there, in the foyer. Arms open waiting to embrace me. And after I ran to her and cried on her shoulder, Mike came up behind us and wrapped us both in a bear hug and smiled. When Jim died, Heaven became Beltline. Mike, always the doorman, would push open the entrance beaming and I would run to Bailey. And as I hugged her I would look up and Jim would be standing behind us smiling. Mike would walk over and shake his hand and they would wait watching Bailey and I together, blessing it with their nods of encouragement. And then Baby Jack slipped away, and Heaven stayed at Beltline. But this time when Mike welcomed me in Bailey stood there with Jack in her arms, smiling at me and tilting her elbows down to allow me to see his sleeping face. I take Jack from her and she kisses my cheek and steps back to hug Mike and stand beside Jim. And now we have lost Chet. And Heaven becomes new yet again. I dreamed last night that I stood in front of Beltline. I knew that my loved ones were waiting inside and I boldly swung open the doors myself. And there they were. Mike sat across from Chet with his hand on Chet’s knee. Jim sat beside him, his arm around Chet’s shoulders. And Bailey sat on the floor below him with Baby Jack laying in her lap and her arms draped across Chet’s knee. And above them all is our Savior. He stands there watching them, His hands gripping Chet’s shoulders and as I stand there observing, Mike hears me. He turns to me and smiles, and then they all in unison raise their heads. They grin from ear to ear, happy for me to join their family. I think of this picture often. I imagine Bailey handing Jack off to Mike and running over to play soccer with Madison Dunlap and Noah. I see Jim Hedges and Peter fishing in the Tennessee River. I watch Mike and Paul study the Bible together on Beltline’s front pews. I see Bailey messing with Chet about the reflection of Angels wings off of Chet’s bald head. I hate that these souls are missing from our earthly Beltline family. I hate that their families are in pain. But personally, I believe Beltline will have the best welcoming committee possible in that City on a Hill. And frankly, I am quite ready to get there and see them all.

The Never Ending Sacrifice

There are many words you could use to describe mothers; hard working, compassionate, loving, and supportive, just to name a few. But I think the most accurate adjective to sum up motherhood would be sacrifice. They sacrifice nine months of their lives to be our incubator. They release their own bodies to form ours. They endure hours of physical pain and mental stress to bring us into the world. They lose days of sleep to tend to our every need. They trade a social life for our mute companionship. And all these things and more only pertain to year one. They are still responsible for at least 17 more years of life. Years of carpooling, laundry, cooking, cleaning, disciplining, and teaching. Some mothers have help, some do it alone. Some find is easy, some learn from mistakes. Some work, while others stay at home. There is no manual for motherhood, no magic method that guarantees perfect children. No mother is flawless, but as far moms go, my mother was pretty darn close. My mom went to school to be a teacher, and could have been a great one, but she made the decision to stay home with us instead. She was there every morning to help us get ready, every afternoon to assist with homework, and every evening to tuck us into bed. She was at every ball game, chorus concert, play, and awards day. She spent hours teaching us how to do household chores that we would carry into adulthood. But I don’t think I truly understood what an outstanding woman and mother my mom is until we lost our sweet Bailey. It is impossible to describe a mother’s love, but you can see it. I saw it in every mannerism the week of the funeral. There was a true sense of loneliness to her, as though a piece of her was missing. She seemed to be wandering, looking for something she had lost. She went through the motions but her mind was elsewhere. She longed for Bailey’s touch, for her warmth. She wanted her buddy back. But the true character and strength of my mother was carried out when she had every reason to fall apart, and she didn’t. When she could have been grieving the loss of one child, but recognized she had three others. No one would have blamed her for taking her own time, for separating herself for her personal healing. But being a mother never stops, and although she had lost one, she understood three others needed her love and comfort. She knew that Drew, Carter, and I are three very diverse and unique individuals and would need very different methods of care. She spent hours with each of us, catering to our personal needs, even if it wasn’t what she needed. When we needed to talk, she was there to listen. If we needed to cry, she provided a shoulder. If we needed to be angry, she let us rant. If we needed to be happy, she encouraged us to feel no guilt. And to this day she makes sure that we understand how special each of us is to her. She invests in each of us just as fervently as the other. I’ll be the first to admit that my mom and I have not always seen eye to eye. We are very different people in multiple aspects. But as our relationship has grown we have learned to respect one another for our unique talents. I will never understand my mom’s will power. She runs 6-8 miles BEFORE the sun rises and somehow manages to still function throughout the day. She keeps a house of 6 very involved people, fully functioning. We are never hungry, dirty, or off schedule. I guarantee you, this is not how I will be at 42. But at times I see my mom’s pride in little things I do and I understand that she appreciates the original gifts I contribute to our family as well. I had the privilege of watching an amazing mother-daughter relationship with Bailey and mom and I hate for her that Bay is not able to be around. But I hope through watching their bond and enjoying our own, I am able to carry the lessons my mother taught me and use them with my own children if God decides to make me a mother someday. Having Debra Robinson as a mother has truly been one of the greatest blessings of my life. Happy Mother’s Day mom. I love you.

"See you at Home."

There is no manual for how to handle death. There is no right or wrong way to approach it. At eighteen, I had never experienced death before and it left me not knowing what I could or couldn’t ask for. What was or wasn’t allowed and was or wasn’t appropriate. On the day of the funeral we were brought in a couple of hours early to be fed by the church as a family and we were then given the opportunity to say goodbye before the coffin was shut. It had bothered me that I hadn’t had any alone time with my sister thus far and on the day of the funeral I was itching to spend some time with her. I wanted my own good bye. But I didn’t know if you could do that. I didn’t want to be high maintenance, but I knew I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t try. This was my last opportunity and I knew I had to take it. Halfway through lunch I got up and went into the sanctuary of our church. I can’t explain my nerves, I suppose I was afraid they would tell me no, but I walked up to my youth minister and asked, “Could I maybe have fifteen minutes alone with her?” He went into action without any hesitation and deployed some of the ushers at each of the doors. He cleared the room completely as I stood waiting at the back of the auditorium. “I have people at the doors, no one will bother you. Take all the time you need.” He gave me a hug and walked out the back door, leaving me alone. My stomach turned. I had spent all morning planning how I was going to ask and what I was going to say, but now that I had gotten the time I had wanted, I was unsure of what to do. I wanted to hold her, to touch her. But what would I say? What was good enough for this moment? The slide show ran over her and I stood there watching our childhood in picture form. And I started walking. I drug legs of lead up to the stage and placed my feet on each stair until I found myself standing over her, looking down on my sleeping sister. And for the first time, I wept. I had cried in short spurts a few times over the past few days, but I had not let myself go. Until then I had responsibilities and eyes always watching. But now I was alone. Just she and I and the sounds of my ragged breathing. I watching my tears create water stains on her blouse and I absently brushed them away. I watched her intently, as if something was going to change. She looked lovely. Too much make up for Bay’s taste, but lovely. I began to panic. I was taking too much time. What if I had been in her for hours? What if I had held up the funeral? I couldn’t ruin everything, everyone had worked too hard. But I looked at the clock and two minutes had passed. I had spent two minutes in that room and I had assumed it was hours. I looked back at her and decided to take a mental note of everything I desperately wanted to remember. I buried my fingers in her hair begging my mind to remember how cool and soft it felt. I held her hand, forming mine to hers hoping to remember the shape of her long fingers. I brushed her cheeks lightly committing the texture to my mind. The conversation she had will stay between the two of us. My monologue rather, but I like to believe she was right there listening. I spent minutes trying to catch my breath and tell her things I needed her to know. I would pause between bitter tears, clear my throat and begin again. But for the first time, I was not embarrassed by my sobbing. It was just she and I, and I could cry in front of her. She understood how much I was hurting. I stood beside her, my body draped over the side of her casket. I held her hand with one of mine and pet her hair with the other. I rested my head on the pillow beside her and allowed my make up less tears to slide down her satin pillow. I held her and cried. I cried for my mother. My precious mother who had carried her for nine months and given her to us. The mother that had given up the chance at a career to devote her life completely to raising us in the Lord. The woman that woke us up in the morning, brought us home in the afternoon, and tucked us in at night. My mother that nursed us when we were sick, helped us when we were confused, and taught us when we need to learn. The mother that had become our friend. I cried for my dad. My father that spends hours overworking to provide for us. That spends all week working but was then up at the crack of dawn on Saturday to play with us in the yard. The dad that would miss any golf, football, or baseball game if it meant spending time with us. The dad that taught us how a man should treat us, and how our relationship with God should look, and had become our most trusted confident. I cried for Drew. Sweet Drew that is so much like Bailey. I look at him every day and see a piece of her.  He had become so much more confident with her encouragement and I ached for his upcoming pain. I cried for Carter. Our funny Carter that I’d never seen cry. Carter that would tell you daily how much he loved you, even if it was brief. But also, I cried for myself. I cried that I was burying my best friend. I cried that fifteen years was over. I cried that my baby sister was no more. I cried that I would have to live without her. I cried that she wasn’t there to dry my tears. I glanced at the clock and picked myself up, without letting go of her hand. And a thought came into my head. When she was younger I would go out, and she would be at home when I left and asleep when I came in. But as she had gotten older I had begun to see her out when I was. I had expressed just weeks earlier how odd it was for me to see my little sister out at events. I would always go up and attempt to embarrass her and we would laugh and go our separate ways. But every time we would see each other out we would say, “Love you. See you at home.” I smiled and looked down upon my sister for the final time. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, and stood up to gaze at her once again. I squeezed her hand and whispered through tears, “Love you sister. See you at Home.”