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Take a Deep Breath

Apr22

I’m sitting in my room in my house in Orlando with the door to my back porch open and a slight breeze blowing in on this 72º late spring morning. I know it won’t last, so I need to enjoy the cool while I can.

And while I can, in the stillness, I take a deep breath.

This year, while it started out on a sweet note with the birth of a new nephew, quickly went downhill when we lost my mother-in-law on March 4, and my sister-in-law on March 12. To say we were stunned would be a massive understatement. And as both sets of ashes sit on a shelf above my living room window, all I can do is shake my head in disbelief.

The reality of being the only one left of his family of origin hit my husband hard. As we age, we begin preparing ourselves for the death of a parent, but losing your only sibling, especially one just 2 years older than you, well, there’s no preparing yourself for that. No “they’re in a better place,” “they’re happier now,” or “you’ll see them again in glory” can fill the gaping hole.

Glenna Reeves (12/16/62-3/12/2026) and Pam Reeves (5/8/1943 – 3/4/2026)

I wrote both their obituaries for the funeral home. As I wrote my sister-in-law’s I had to stop, wipe away the tears and think, “I should not be writing her obituary. It’s wrong that I’m writing her obituary.”

And it’s true. Death isn’t just a part of the circle of life. It was never meant to be. Genesis 3 tells us of the fall of man and God’s judgment that “for dust you are and to dust you will return.”

Just a couple of weeks after the joint memorial service, we celebrated Easter. Resurrection. New life. Everlasting life. That’s what’s meant to be. Not pain. Not suffering. And certainly not death.

So I take a deep breath.

This is a momentary affliction for our family. It’s hard. It’s sad. It means we are the ones who need to be there for our nephews who lost their mom—even though they are adults and one has a family of his own.

And what does this have to do with Earth Day? It means there is still beauty. There is still life. There is still hope.

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
(Psalm 121:1-2, ESV)

Mt. Rainier, Washington. August 2025.

Run for the Hills!

Sep15

This post is part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt with no heavy editing. Today’s prompt is “escape.”

In a few days my family is escaping still-hot Orlando and heading to the mountains of North Carolina. My daughter’s golden birthday (turning 21 on the 21st) became a good excuse to get away as just the 5 of us. It’s been a long time since that’s happened. The last time we all went anywhere together for a few days was my 60th birthday, almost 2 years ago. But we had my eldest’s son and my husband’s mother with us that time.

Our little family’s first trip to North Carolina in 2003. Dad is taking the picture.

This time, it’s just us.

None of my kids are married, and my son shares custody of our grandson, so it was fairly easy to make arrangements to go. A couple of missed shifts at work will be a bit of a financial hit, but both my working sons didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

The last time we went on a trip together was around the country in 2012.

Every once in a while, you just need an escape. If you have the financial means—and we’re very grateful we do at this point in our lives—getting away can be soul-saving.

We’ve been dealing with a lot of loss the past several years. From my father-in-law’s sudden passing 2 years ago, to close friends moving far away, to the sudden resignation of our lead pastor that threw our beloved church into turmoil, to many little stressors in between, we’ve been wrecked.

The mountains are calling, and we must go.

 I lift up my eyes to the hills.
    From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:1-2 (ESV)

Teach Your Children Well

Aug20

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.
Deuteronomy 4:9 ESV

This post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. Every Friday we write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt, without heavy editing, and see what happens. Today’s prompt is “teach.”

For 15 years, our family was involved in a K-8 parent-involved school where if your kids were enrolled, at least one parent had to work on campus in some capacity. Our first year, when our eldest started kindergarten, I was pregnant and due with our third child just 5 weeks after school started, so my job was working in the school office one day a week.

But two years later, I was tasked with becoming the registrar and a member of the management team for the school. After 6 years on that job, I took a step back and became the teacher’s assistant for our middle school teacher. But within a month, our new 3rd grade teacher decided to un-enroll her kids, and therefore a void was left on the teaching team. Now, I had said that I was not a teacher and I would never teach, but as I prayed over the need for a new teacher in my daughter’s 2nd grade class (one of her current teachers stepped into the 3rd-grade role), God changed my heart.

And so I took on the task of co-teaching 3 little 2nd graders (it’s not a big school). Within two years, I was asked to lead the breakout of our 6th graders into a new class of their own, separate from the other middle schoolers in 7th and 8th.

For the next 5 years, I lead the 6th grade class and taught language arts and humanities. I got to teach my daughter again in 6th grade, now with several more classmates than just the 3 from 2nd grade.

But what didn’t click in those years of saying I would not be a teacher, was that, even prior to 2010, I was teaching my kids every day those principles that I prayed would stay with them a lot longer than Greek and Latin roots: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and your neighbor as yourself.

Escape to the Quiet

Jun25

This post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt, without heavy editing, and see what happens. This week’s word is “quiet.”

Last week my newly graduated from high school daughter and I took a trip to the mountains of North Carolina. She wanted to hike, write, and cook. We accomplished all of those things (albeit with blisters from ill-fitting hiking boots that I had gotten a month in advance just to make sure that wouldn’t happen) and had a fun time together.

One of the things that struck us the most was just the quiet of the setting we were in. We rented an AirBnB cabin for the week that we had to traverse up a steep gravel road to get to. We were surrounded by green with only the occasional dog barking marring the utter stillness. Even the birdsong enhanced the quiet.

We’re used to a lot of noise. We live in the suburbs, but have to endure the noise of completely obnoxious backfiring cars (what is it with that modification that makes the drivers like that?), speeding motorcycles with roaring engines that fly up the main road outside our subdivision, super loud airplanes that take off overhead because the airport is conveniently about 15 minutes away. It’s just noisy. And distracting. And often frustration-inducing. Makes me want to put my hands over my ears like my 3-year-old grandson and say, “Loud noise! Loud noise!”

I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. There is a lot that is good about where we live. But if I could take our house, our church, our friends, and the conveniences that I enjoy close by and transplant them to the quiet of the mountains, I’d do it in a hot minute.

But for now, a week at a time will have to do.

“Another Saturday Night and I Ain’t Got Nobody”

Apr17

This post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt without heavy editing and see what happens. Today’s prompt is “another.”

I don’t think Sam Cooke, the writer of “Another Saturday Night,” had our current situation in mind when he wrote the song. If you’re not familiar with it, the lyrics go on, “I got some money ’cause I just got paid. How I wish I had someone to talk to. I’m in an awful way.”

My husband’s 76-year-old mother with COPD lives with us, so we have been strict about anyone coming in the house who doesn’t already live here. We make an exception for my sister-in-law who has taken on the task of buying her groceries. That means that my sons and my grandson have not been here in at least 3 weeks.

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My mother in law feels badly that we’re making these sacrifices of having long-distance relationships during this time because of her, but that’s just what you do with a loved one. You do what’s necessary. You exercise caution. You spend another Saturday night (or Thursday, or Monday. Really, any night will do) watching a movie or doing a puzzle or playing a game. You turn to virtual venues like FaceTime or Zoom or Facebook Messenger or Google Meets to do what you need to get done.

Zayne and I have tried virtual story time with Nana, but he’s not much to sit in one place for very long. He just looks at the phone, looks at his dad and says, “I ready go Nana’s house.”

Breaks my heart.

But it’s not forever. Even though he’s used to spending 5 days a week here since he was 5 weeks old, he won’t forget we exist. I hope.

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Hang in there, bud. We’ll be back together again soon.

Who are you missing in your time of sheltering in place?

 

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