One evening back in 1999, I was leading my horse, Roo back to his stall from the crossties where I had just finished grooming him, when my son Andy walked into the barn.
“Hey mom,” He called, “I thought I would find you here.”
We struck up a conversation.
Throughout his childhood, I would sit at the foot of this boy’s bed every single night, rubbing his feet, while he told me about his day. Now that he’s too big for me to tuck him in, Andy still seeks me out, sitting at the end of my bed and we’ll talk for at least a half hour.
After securing Roo in his stall, I turned toward my son. He wrapped his strong arm around my shoulder, my arm encircled his waist. Gosh he’s getting big; I thought noting how he towered over me. Together we left the barn and made the trek through the grass back to the house stopping on the drive next to the garage.
“Yeah,” Andy said when we reached the drive, “I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”
I hugged him holding him tight, enjoying the covering of his love.
Andy bounced a basketball as we stared up at the sky. He was filled with the wonder only the universe can inspire and shared his thoughts with me, and in that moment, I felt so close to him, like the luckiest Mom in the world.
After going inside, we parted ways. I began my nighttime ritual preparing for bed, submerged in the warmth and love of my son.
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep until I took pen to paper and wrote down the following poem formulating in my head.
“WISDOM’S FACE” The stars at night, the moon shines bright, With just the faintest speck of light— Traces from dusk’s pallet stretch across the sky. A blinking planet causes, you to pause And ask, “Could this be Mercury or Mars?” The splendors that your eyes behold, Embed within your heart and soul, And soon you find your senses are Enthralled with the wondrous creations of God. The basketball clutched in your hand, Your face holds traces of a man. The little boy now fades away, The childish carefree days of play, Replaced with questions men have asked for centuries, While caught in thoughts inspired by God’s magnificence and awe. Standing still under the sky… Dusk’s sweet decent, night’s early rise. The peaceful quiet, twinkling scene. The call of nature’s symphony. Yet, in your mind, my precious son, You wonder why tragedies come, Like pain, destruction, death, remorse. You question why the fall of man. “His Word reveals His truth, His plan. “So find your answers there and place “Your trust in His amazing grace.” I listen as you share with me, What’s on your heart, the things you see And how this moment moved you so. I want you son to always know, How much I love and hold you dear. Your strong arms hold and pull me near, You say, “Hey mom, look up at space At all the things that He creates. This world is an amazing place!” I smile and listen to the song, That Petra sings as you talk on. I smile, and utterly embrace, This growing man with wisdom’s face.
Meeting Ivan for the first time, on the cold afternoon of January 6, 2025
JANUARY 6, 2025
After spending my morning sitting in front of the computer working on a manuscript, I decided to take a break and go to the stables to check on Fly Guy, the new horse in my life. Currently, the weather here in the DFW area between the cities of Dallas and Fort Worth is bitter cold, or at least what we southerners considered “bitter cold,” meaning hovering in the lower twenties.
When I arrived at the stables, I also checked on my friend, Julie’s, horses, to make sure everyone’s winter blanket was secure on their backs, not tangled around their legs. I also checked on hay and water supplies.
After taking photos of Julie’s horses, I sent her copies, texting her that all of her babies were happy. Then she texted me about her baby, Ivan!
Ivan???
I hadn’t met Ivan yet!
I went to Ivan’s stall and found standing at the far-left corner of a very large and roomy run, a darling little bay horse staring out upon the vast pastureland, where only a few full-grown horses were grazing (Most of the horses at our stable were inside because of the cold). I called Ivan’s name and tried to snap a full body picture of him in his blanket to send to Julie. However, immediately after hearing his name, Ivan, who I guessed was probably a yearling from his size, swiftly made his way towards me.
So often, foals can be stand-offish because they are not handled on a regular basis. Ivan on the other hand couldn’t get to me fast enough. Of course I busied myself doting on him, scratching his soft, baby fur. Running my fingers through his soft mane where the ends still have the highlights from his formative years. Affection defined this sweet boy, and I immediately realized that Ivan and I would be good friends.
What a joyful blessing it is to begin the new year surrounded by the animals I love. Eagerly joyous is the year ahead, all of the wonderful riding adventures I’ll have, and watching sweet Ivan grow. We have
One day I was grooming my horse, Roo, when Polly trotted up to a gate close to the grooming area asking for attention. I couldn’t say no!
another baby at the barn that was born last spring, a little filly named Polly. I met her when I moved my horse, Roo into this new facility. Polly is a buckskin and, like Ivan, has an amazingly sweet, interactive personality. Currently she’s being weaned from her mare. We have a few other foals that are also being weaned from their mares.
I feel very fortunate to once again, be at a facility that is equipped to house stallion’s safely, foaling mares and their newborns, but best of all my personal equine family members. A good stable is worth its weight in gold.
Polly & Her Mare
I am so sad to say that little Polly recently went to graze the pastures in heaven when she lost her life due to a congenital flaw. I was heartsick when I heard, but an equally grateful for the moments of tenderness I was gifted to share with that sweet filly.
For three years now, I’ve driven passed this tree without giving it a second thought. Then one winter when it was freezing cold, when all the tree branches were bare, this tree caught my attention for the first time. I began to notice this tree in relation to the scattering of other trees growing around it. Curious, and with this article in mind, I parked my car and got out for a closer look.
I discovered that all though this tree is “different” in appearance compared to the majority of tree’s growing in this park, it is also perfectly healthy. In addition, it’s a fruitful contributor. It produces oxygen and provides homes for wildlife. It’s also pretty to look at. In fact, based upon the condition of some of the other trees growing around it, this tree is a top performer.
It’s lower branches are gnarled and growing close to the ground. One even extends along the ground for several feet. This tree doesn’t have the physical form we’re used to seeing. It’s different. It’s unique, yet despite looking different, this tree performs the same tasks all trees were created to perform and its doing its job well.
This tree has determination to survive! This is what drew me to it in the first place. Minus its spread of lovely leaves, I can see its struggle. I hear its story!
During the sapling stages of its life something bent this tree over, pressing it down. But instead of succumbing it the pressure, it continued to grow, becoming stronger and stronger. Eventually its branches became so thick and strong, it could sustain the weight of adults and children. While sitting on one of its low branches, I feel the desire to explore, thinking how much fun this tree would be to climb.
I’ve seen others sitting on the lower branches too. Enjoying a shady rest from the scalding Texas heat. Sometimes they pause long enough to eat a snack, evidenced by the discarded, plastic cup seen in one of the pictures. Frankly, this gnarled, odd-looking tree seems to be everyone’s favorite because of its accessibility, the comfort it provides, its strength, and uniqueness. This tree reminds me of my daughter, Juliann.
If you’re reading this article… I thank you! I’m also guessing that most-likely you are a mom to a special needs child. Simply because I have been told by many medical professionals that 99% of the children they see are accompanied by their moms. But that was over twenty years ago, so, if you’re a dad, I thank you even more, for the reason stated above and ask that you not be offended if it seems like I’m only addressing women. I’m not. It’s only because my story is delivered from a woman’s perspective.
Juliann, Andy & Chris in 1985
As I began writing about my life and motherhood, a sudden flood of memories laced with lessons I learned, inundated my brain. Lessons, that years ago I felt strong inclinations to share with other parents who might be facing similar circumstances as mine. My children’s needs ranged from physically handicapped, to gifted, with both of my boys having extreme ADD with hyperactivity.
My husband and I were also adoptive, foster parents, which opened our eyes to the effects of physical and emotional abuse in children and adults. In addition, I personally, have struggled my whole life with ADHD and Dyslexia.
My hope and purpose in writing this story is to offer as much encouragement as I can to other parents facing similar circumstances. To impress upon you that you are notalone in raising your special child! You are not alone in your emotions, your inner, unspoken thoughts, your isolation and the immensity of your load! Let me address your unspoken thought first…
Years ago, a counselor told me that feelings are just that—only feelings! They are neither good nor bad, it’s what you do with your feelings (how you act upon them) that matters. In a nutshell, you are not a bad person or parent because of the way you feel. And if you’re just beginning your journey down this road called special needs and can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel… I’m here to tell you, that light is there!
Juli with my husband Jeff
When I was first struck with the realization my child had significant physical differences, I felt as if I had crossed an invisible line, into an unknown world that was extremely frightening. No one else in my life was raising a child with special needs. I quickly learned that my friends and family members couldn’t begin to comprehend what I was facing.
Overwhelmed, and alone, I felt as if I was standing at the bottom of a huge mountain staring up at the top. I knew I had to climb to the summit but seriously questioned my abilities to so. Two conflicting emotions tormented me. One, I loved my baby with all of my heart. The second, and real zinger; I absolutely didn’t want to face raising a child that with special needs and a future that was unknown. In the beginning, I wished the years away, wanting to be instantly transported to the summit of that mountain. That place where all of the questions and unknowns were revealed.
My journey began with a seriously complicated pregnancy only two months after my second son, Andrew, was born. My complications resulted in an early amniocentesis, which revealed that my baby was a little girl. My husband and I were thrilled! We had our daughter and we named her Juliann (Juli). I continued to have complications throughout the pregnancy which climaxed two months before Juli’s approximate birth date. I was hospitalized, which was very difficult because I had two little boys at home. Finally, two months before Juli’s due date, she was delivered.
After raising my two boys, Chris and Andy who had just turned one, I immediately suspected that something was very wrong with Juli’s physical development which was severely delayed. Almost a year after she was born the diagnosis came—cerebral palsy. My head swam the moment I heard the words. In an instant I was propelled, for the rest of my life, into this world labeled handicapped. There was no way to escape, no way to determine the extent of Juli’s disability nor whether or not her cognitive skills were affected. She was a little bundle of mystery and the love of my heart.
Still, I did not want to raise a physically handicapped child! I can say that now but was deeply ashamed of this secret, inner truth that I never shared with anyone for several decades.
Interestingly enough, daughter’s physical differences opened my eyes to how prejudice a person I really was. As a child, growing up in the latter years of segregation I never understood social prejudice. I was also submerged in the arts, my family a collection of professional artists, musicians, my mom an award-winning singer and actor, dad a television and radio broadcaster, all within Cleveland, Ohio where I am from. My artistic family and my own endeavors as a child actress and ballerina had also taught me to not to judge someone else’s lifestyle. But the moment the word handicapped was attached to my life! I ashamed to say, that was a different story!
Juli with my horse TJ
Accepting my new state of being did not happen overnight. It was a process of multiple steps that continued throughout Juliann’s childhood. The beginning step was the hardest regarding acceptance that Juli needs would be different. My submission began while holding her tiny body close, kissing her infant hands, singing her songs, realizing I would do anything to keep my baby safe. Her needs took dominance over mine, and even though I didn’t want to manage cerebral palsy, I knew that I would do anything I had to for my daughter.
Immediately following Juliann’s diagnosis, she had further testing to give us a better understanding of her specific, physical needs. These tests became my second step. For the next twenty years Juli and I would have multiple doctor appointments, tests, surgery, equipment purchases, the first being form adjusting highchairs, walkers, wheelchairs, scooters and standers to stretch her hamstring muscles, as well as weekly occupational and physical therapy sessions. Just before she turned two, Juli had to wear glasses and an eye patch. It broke my heart, making her do this. Not just because she hated them, but because I hated covering up her adorable face. However, this treatment turned out to be excellent! By the time Juli was in the fourth grade she didn’t need to wear glasses at all.
At five years old Juli underwent a serious operation called a Dorsal Rhizotomy, which resulted in the severing over half the nerves in her lower body. Lifelong complications have resulted from that surgery, leaving me riddled with guilt wondering if I had made the right decision, despite an extensive team of physicians at Dallas Medical Center telling me this was her best option. We were part of an experiment, and I have since learned that the procedure is no longer done.
Throughout most of her childhood, Juli wore braces that wrapped around her feet supporting her legs, running up to her knees. As she grew, we had to have new braces regularly made. When she turned twelve, I supported her decision not to wear them anymore and to stop using the stander, which she hated. Next came the purchase of her first, motorized wheelchair, which meant purchasing a van with a wheelchair lift.
Before going forward, let me just say, that with each new step regarding Juliann’s development and physical needs, I went through a process or cycle of emotions. Here’s an example of what I mean, using the purchase of our first van with a wheelchair lift.
For some reason buying that van was, for me, the straw that broke the camel’s back. I hated it! It was a bulky huge vehicle and driving it frightened me. In fact, Chris named it Europe, because of its size. But the van was a necessary piece of equipment need for our entire family—for Juli.
Here’s the example of the process I went through: 1. Knowing that the van is necessary 2. Angry that the van is necessary 3. Purchasing the van 4. Angry that I absolutely had to learn how to drive the van 5. Mastering my driving skills (although Juli and her brothers endured (and still endure) bumps over curbs and the denting of quite a few handicapped signs when I park the van. 6. Acceptance (and may I add that we are getting ready to purchase our 3rd van!)
Whether it was the need for glasses, braces, surgery, medications, walkers, ect., I went through this cycle. Sometimes several times over a span of several years, before finally reaching acceptance. I’ve learned that this cycle is similar to the cycle a person experiences when dealing with grief; you experience, Denial—Isolation—Anger—Depression—Acceptance.
Juli’s physical and occupational therapist at her elementary school connected me with the most caring, heartfelt people, who not only encouraged her, but came to love her. These people were an essential source of support and information for me. They made my journey less frightening and steered me in the right direction, sometimes urging me to take action for events (such as SSI benefits) that would take place years in advance.
When Julu left the nurturing care of elementary school, to enter a far more demanding environment of middle school, she wasn’t prepared for the necessity of independence. Also, she had a difficult time connecting with special education staff. I took her out of the “heat,” and homeschooled her.
Homeschooling was something I had been thinking about doing for about four years, but didn’t have the nerve! But honestly, the experience in most ways was wonderful. The only drawback was I lost my social life because my mornings were immersed in the kids’ education; my afternoons booked driving them around to their specific activities; music lessons, sport practices and games; computer and speech classes, and theater productions my son Andy was in. And I found myself falling into an exhausted heap in the evenings.
Within a matter of two months after I pulled Juli from the public school, one by one the boys asked me to homeschool them too! Thankfully, the resources I needed were easily accessible. My children didn’t miss out on any activities or interaction with other kids their age. Lessons that I couldn’t teach such as advanced math concepts and chemistry; the kids learned through video programs that I purchased. Today there’s a rich supply of available homeschooling programs online.
When it was time for Juliann to enter high school, she and Andy both asked to be mainstreamed back into our public school system. (Chris had graduated from homeschooling and joined the Air Force as a Mandarin Chinese linguist.) During Juliann’s senior year, she spent her afternoons at a collage close to our home, working on a degree in graphic design. By the time she graduated from high school, making the dean’s and honor roll lists, she knew the college campus well.
Juli’s high school photo. She wanted them taken at home with our horse Roo. I put molasses on her arm so Roo would keep his head near her.
At this point Juli was handling herself on her own. She graduated from her associates degree and moved to live independently in Dallas to pursue a Batchelor of Arts degree, also in graphic design. She maintained her honor roll, dean’s list status with both degrees. Yet, to our shock, even with an outstanding portfolio and honorary status, job hunting and social discrimination met all of us head on.
Juli & me at her graduation from The Art Institute of Dallas
The most prominent issue was when Jeff drove her to a place for an interview and there were no entrances for a wheelchair. We discovered that potential employers were drawn to her stellar website and portfolio, however, and there’s no other way to say it—they were repulsed by the wheelchair. The moment they set eyes on Juli, even though she was well presented, and came with stellar recommendations, they changed their minds about hiring her.
The worst instance, that still make me upset, was the company that actually hired her based on her work. They asked Juli to get a drug test, then come to the office so she could meet her new coworkers. I drove Juli to the facility they recommended for the test. She looked beautiful, happiness and joy radiating from her face. Both of us were very excited as I drove her to the office, dropped the wheelchair ramp on the van, and sent her on her way, feeling great joy at the fulfillment of so many of Juli’s accomplishments.
However, moments later, Juli swiftly returned to the van. Red faced and on the edge of tears, she told me to quickly load her and get the hell away from that business.
What happened; as she entered the business, she was greeted by shocked faces. The men and woman didn’t realize that they had hired a woman in a wheelchair. Instantly they huddled in a corner, talking about Juli, glancing her way. Juli knew that they were talking about her and felt immediate shame. Finally, one of them walked up to Juli and told her there had been a grave mistake and they couldn’t hire her after all.
A recent photo (fall 2024) of Juli meeting my currant mount, Fly Guy
I sat in the van seething, fighting the strong desire to go into this place and slap American Disability Act in their face. Juli beseeched me not too. Understanding her need to get away from those people, I drove away. Sometimes you simply have to walk in forgiveness.
Now that Juliann is an adult, my husband, Chris and I are constantly on call, concerned about her safety. Three times Juli was hit by a car, as she was crossing a busy Dallas street to access the train station home. Amazingly, by the grace of God, she was unharmed, however, her wheelchair was totaled. One woman didn’t see her, ran a red light and send both Juli and her chair to the ground.
Occasionally her wheelchair breaks down! Leaving her stranded in Dallas (as well as defenseless). There are also the times when she’s waiting for the train, and a creepy person is too close. She calls us, and one of us stays of the phone with her until she’s safely on the train heading home. Home and my husband and I are an hour away from Dallas.
Then there was the time when she was on her way to school, and at the train station, a homeless man tried to pull her from her wheelchair, stating he was going to throw her in the street and kill her. But that’s a story for another time.
Jeff and I gave her advice and watched her positively worked with the Dallas DART system to control the homeless people, and drug addicts living in elevators that she and some of her coworkers must access every day. The process took several months. Jeff and I supported her at a meeting with the DART council, to thank them for the changes they worked earnestly to fix. This all happened in the wake of Covid 19.
Today, Juliann is 39 years old. She eventually found a wonderful job with Bank of American and after almost ten years still works with the outstanding company. Home for her is now close to ours. The drawback is she travels has to travel an hour commute (both ways) to get to work in Dallas. She is happy and although Bank of America didn’t hire her for graphic design, they have learned about of her talent in graphic design. Just before covid, Juli was given an artist’s computer and special cubby hole where she can work on graphic projects the company has been giving her.
Juli did the graphic work
As I look back upon my children’s upbringing, there are so many things I would like to have done differently. But I have to remind myself, that, at the time… I did the very best I could, with the abilities I was given and the tools that I possessed. That’s all any of us can do really, our best.As parents, especially women, we need to remember to take care of ourselves, the same way we take care of our children! A little fact that gets brushed under the carpet while juggling our family and work life (I also worked while raising my kids). An important lesson that I learned was that I couldn’t give to my family what I myself didn’t have to give. In other words, if I didn’t have patience when handling my kids, my kids in turn were impatient.
In Texas, the foster care system understands the importance of this need for rest. So much so, that they pay for parents to take short, overnight respites away from their house and children. I understand that leaving for the night isn’t an option for some people, finances and childcare being the main reasons. Still, everyone needs a break, especially if your raising children with special needs. Find the time and make it a priority. Search the internet for creative ideas. Most importantly, learn to discipline yourself concerning these times! Meaning don’t talk about or mull over in your mind, your children’s issues. This time is for you and your partner! Remember, even Jesus sought moments of solitude and rest.
Just a few days before December 2004, Juli and I went on a mother & daughter outing. Part of our day included dropping by a jewelry store to get her Grandmother Kissell’s wedding ring restored. While we were there, I made a comment about an exquisite diamond and emerald necklace I saw. To my utter amazement, Juli bought it for me!
Sometimes in the disappointment of an unexpected tragedy, a miracle is birthed. Such was the case with Alexandra’s wedding, which took place several years ago. The wedding was set within the lush Botanical Gardens, in Dallas, Texas. Buses pulled in front of the atrium dropping off my husband and I along with many other guests, two hundred in total. All of them relatives and friends who had traveled from all over the United States and Canada to attend the event.
But as we entered the reception hall, we were shocked to see a stark, bare room, unembellished and quickly learned that the caterer had assumed the wrong date, leaving Alexandra, her husband Mark, and all of the guests without a party. A very troubled Father-of-the-Bride paced the floor in desperation.
Instantly, concerned guests congregated together and organized into committees. Cell phones buzzed as we searched for the quickest, most accessible restaurants and food stores where supplies could be purchased. Alexandra, Mark and their parents were instructed to concentrate only on the actual wedding and to leave the reception to us.
As the wedding ceremony drew near, three groups set out in pursuit of the supplies we needed to quickly create a Cinderella reception. One group of men focused on purchasing drinks, while another tracked down dozens of pizza parlors. A group of women, including me, dressed in our evening gowns and high heels, invaded a nearby grocery store. We literally emptied shelves full tablecloths, paper plates, cups, napkins, plastic utensils, tea candles and bag after bag of assorted chips and other snacks, tossing them into our carts.
We arrived back at the reception hall carrying our wares and unloading them on a table. Immediately the other guests flocked around the table to help. Several women ripped the plastic from the paper tablecloths and began covering the tables. Several others established an area to the side of the room for drinks and snacks. Fortunately, the florist had arrived delivering the flower and arrangements were set on every table, along with candles they had brought. In less than a half hour, while the wedding party posed for pictures in the garden, oblivious to the flurry of activity taking place in the reception hall, the room looked as if a fairy godmother had transformed it.
Someone noticed that we needed more ice. So, my friends and I, now heady with glee, went back to the grocery store. We called ourselves, “the fifteen minute wedding planners.” When we returned with a carload of Styrofoam coolers and several bags of ice, we discovered that the men had also set out for the same purchase. An orchestra had arrived. They were seated at the head of a dance floor, instruments tuned and ready in their hands. I ran up to the balcony where I could overlook the whole scene. Marveling that within the past hour, every single one of Alex and Marks guests pitched in out of love, sharing heartbreak over the caterer’s mistake, and together as a unified team reversed the tragedy into the most amazing wedding I have ever experienced.
From the balcony I watched the bride and groom with their wedding party enter the reception hall. Expecting a gloomy scene, they were stunned when their eyes beheld a beautiful room full of ecstatic guests and dazzling tables. The congregation of guests applauded the Bride and Groom as the orchestra serenaded them into each other’s arms. Shortly afterward, the appetizing smell of pizza drifted through the room and if you can imagine, there were enough pies for over two hundred people to have their fill with plenty of leftovers.
The mix-up with the caterer was indeed a tragedy. One that Alexandra’s mothers still finds difficult to talk about. Memories bring back that moment of pain that comes with unfulfilled expectations. Yet the guests, who dearly love this family, will always remember how desperation united them with the ability to reverse the pain of calamity.
Alexandra and Mark will face challenges in their lives, as every married couple do, but the difference is that they know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their family and friends will always be available to help and support them in their times of need. In the ugly face of disappointment, hope pierced through the darkness, encircling them with love.
It’s Christmas eve, and my family is fed. The kitchen is clean. Our dishwasher hums as I wipe off the table for the last time. Grabbing my coat, I headed toward the barn. A blustery wind seems to pick me up off my feet, pushing me forward. The sky is very dark. The air carries the crisp cold of winter.
I walk into the barn and switch on the overhead light. My horses perk up not expecting my visit. They look at me with eyes blinking against the sudden light. The stables are clean. The stalls are deeply bedded with straw. Rose and Roo are content and sleepy as they nuzzle me with a greeting. I feel the day’s tension and pressures begin to fade in contrast to the warm and friendly atmosphere in the barn.
My thoughts turn toward the manger, many years ago, also embedded with straw and filled with gentle creatures such as my own, witnessing the birth of a baby Jesus. I visualize Mary and Joseph huddled together with Jesus wrapped in their arms. They are at once a family. How well I remember when Jeff and I suddenly became three after the birth of our son Christopher. I know the well of emotion that flooded my heart when I saw my son’s face for the first time. I already knew him; through his little movements and internal timeclock that I had grown accustomed to.
Hugging my horses, I take in their sweet scent and the deliciousness cold air draws from hay and straw. It’s remarkable how the warmth of my horses can chase away the cold. As I ponder this, I am struck by how God blessed the animals resting in the manger with Mary and Joseph. Suddenly I realize the only the animals witnessed the intimacy of Jesus’ birth. Animals understand birth, so I’m sure they realized what was happening. I can picture their curiosity as they timidly extended their necks to see if Mary was okay. Their soft noses carefully taking in the baby’s scent after he was born. All of them, the holy family and the animals feeling very close to God.
I can see God’s wisdom in His plan to have Jesus born in a manger, where warmth and gentle companionship would embrace the chosen family. Where there was peace and unquestioned acceptance. God surrounded his son with the tranquility of the very creatures He had created.
Did the animals somehow understand that they were witnessing God’s precious gift to the world? Could it be possible that the animals knew who the baby was, when so many people would reject Him?
Standing in Roo’s stall I petted his neck considering this last thought. Rosie gave me a firm nudge with her nose, reminding me that she wanted attention too. I give it to her, positioning myself between both horses, simultaneously petting their necks, before saying goodnight.
Walking back to my house, invigorated by the night air, I can almost hear sleigh bells ringing. I pause to gaze into the sea of stars, focusing on a small twinkling light. Too often we are taught that the manger was a cold, unfortunate setting for the birth of Christ. But now I realize that isn’t true!
The manger wasn’t an accident, it was intentional. God placed His beloved, family within the acceptance and warmth of the gentlest creatures on earth. And I’m sure that after Mary and Joseph’s long journey, following the birth of their son, the three of them found supernatural peace. The kind of peace that surpasses understanding. And with the animals they were able to sleep, undisturbed by a noisy hotel.
So often throughout my walk with God, I am continuously drawn back to the simplicity of small blessings, where I often find God’s lessons the most powerful. It’s the quietude in still places where I hear His voice the strongest. It was gratitude that drew me to Him and gratitude that sustains my journey in faith. This holiday season, as you celebrate whatever your family embraces, seek joy in the smaller blessings, for it is in those blessings where strength and joy are drawn.
Autumn’s leaves have been raked away, leaving only a memory of their musty smell. Each day the coming of winter is more apparent in the sky. The crispness in the air has turned bitter cold, heavy with the promise of snow. Long pasted are the sweltering months of summer and their elongated days. Like a jewel, the holidays descend upon our cities and towns, like a gentle hand of blessing ushering in joy and good cheer. Youngsters begin to count the days before Thanksgiving break, sitting in their classrooms learning about Pilgrims, Indians and the Mayflower’s voyage.
In the late 1950’s, early 1960’s, I was a child, living in Berea, Ohio. As soon as Thanksgiving preparations roused the cities along the shores of Cleveland into holiday preparations, great anticipation stirred in my siblings and me. My family, along with my uncle’s family and a few other assorted relatives, gathered for the holidays at my grandmother and grandfather Bury’s house in Bay Village, Ohio.
Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only time of year that we entered their house through the front door. The light emanating from inside welcomed us like a warm embrace, as a gust of wind pushed us through the open door. Shaking off the cold, we took off our snow-covered boots, stuffed hats and mittens into our pockets, so they didn’t get lost and hung our coats in the closet to the side of the front door. Instantly, the savory smells of grandma’s meal, roasted turkey, sage stuffing, oranges, brewing coffee and pumpkin pie caused our mouths to water. And the goodwill! The joy of reuniting with family members you hadn’t seen in a while. As children my cousins and I grouped together running off to the basement or upstairs to play, while the women gathered in the kitchen. The men sat in front of the television to watch baseball and smoke pipes.
For these gatherings, my grandmother adorned her house with cheer. The table was an elegant sight, adorned with her favorite sheer-pink tablecloth and finest china and silver. Pale-pink goblets glittered under her crystal chandelier that hung over the table. The long-stemmed candles burning on the table reflected off of them.
In her living room, grandma filled vintage dishes with of nuts and sweets. The adults cautioned the children to wait until after dinner to sample them. But, sly little fingers, finding the temptation too great, emptied many of the dishes. My mother pretended not to notice.
When the family finally sat down to feast, the children were seated at miniature tables that were set with miniature China. After the meal, and the cleaning of the kitchen, the women retreated to the living room to join the men. They discussed current events, but mostly, spent time catching up on each other’s lives. My cousins and I amused ourselves playing board games.
Inevitably, the women’s conversation drifted toward reminiscing over the past. As soon as the stories, usually told by my grandmother, turned funny, my brothers, cousins and I gathered at her feet to listen. We knew the stories well, but grandma was a skilled storyteller, having grown up in the days when her large family used to gather on their homestead’s front porch for a night of storytelling delivered by my great-grandparents.
Picture albums were pulled out. We looked at photos depicting another time. We studied the faces of loved ones we never met but they were our family members too and helped sculpt our heritage.
As soon as the sun was fully set, the photos albums were stored back in their cabinet and grandpa’s 8mm movie projector and screen were set up. Pie and coffee was passed around. The lights were dimmed. While eating our desert, we watched movies of our parents and ourselves. Far from our imaginations were the days to come with digital imaging.
Late in the evening Thanksgiving came to an end. The babies were tired and cranky and ready for bed. Those of us who were older, knew we would see each other soon. For Christmas was right around the corner. Grandma would once more open her house. This time with the glitter, lights and the intrigue only found in Christmas. With presents for each of us, stockings and more stories to tell. With her classical, pink Christmas tree, peppermint smells and candles that I used to sit and study wishing that I lived inside their magical scenes.
Sadly, as I entered my early teens my cousins and I lost touch as our lives took different routes. This was caused by a mixture of several occurrences. My family, moved to a new state. All of us were married and started families of our own. But the most impactful factor was when my grandparents sold their house in Bay Village and moved to Florida.
It’s impossible for me to greet the holiday season without thinking back on my childhood days spent in Bay Village, and the vault of memories my grandmother and grandfather gave us all. In turn, I worked hard to establish traditions and memories my own family could cherish. Amazingly enough our holiday traditions are still going strong, not just with our own children (who are all grown), but with the many family members who have joined us along the way. And when the prep works get to be a bit too much to handle, I remind myself of the gift my husband and I are really giving… the gift of love and understanding that you have a place where you belong.
We have a tradition in our family that when someone we love leaves our home after visiting, we bestow upon them what we call, a Traditional Carlos. A Carlos is nothing more than a wave that is maintained until the car of our guest(s) has driven out of our sight. This tradition was established back in the 1970’s by Jeff’s brother, David.
The “Carlos” became part of our family in New York City where David lived. A good friend of his, named Carlos, established it. When it was time for David to go home after visiting, Carlos walked outside with David and waved. He sustained the wave as David walked down the sidewalk and disappeared down a stairway leading to the underground Subway. This was how Carlos honored his guests, his way of expressing how important his friend was to him. David passed this lovely tradition onto our family; in turn, Jeff and I passed it onto our family.
Christopher on the day he graduated from bootcamp
The passage for years has taught me that the joy and anticipation of waiting for a loved one to arrive, far surpasses that moment when you kiss them goodbye. This knowledge tenderized my heart when my son Chris left the safe embrace of our home, to join the Air Force. I learned the lesson a new when my son Andy joined the Navy. Today, that same ache fills my heart whenever Andy’s son Aldon leaves. At the moment my heart is tender because we just sent him back to Mississippi. And as my husband drove down the drive onto a winding road, I waved a Carlos, until our car to disappeared from my sight.
Retreating into my house, I sought my computer, where I could be alone with my thoughts and the pain throbbing in my heart. Too fresh is the memory of my grandson’s embrace. I still smell traces of his cologne. My house is full of reminders of him, little gifts he has given me throughout his visit; notes he’s written. Now it’s time to be grateful too his sweet mom and dad, who so freely entrust him into our care. He must be released, like his dad, aunt and uncle before him.
Andy & me at his graduation from bootcamp
Strange are the mysteries of life as they unfold… In my youth, I learned to mold myself into a parent, changing my focus from me to my children. Then one day my children transitioned into adults, and I sought after the Grace to release them into the world. All the time, hoping that I had performed my job well enough for them to fly on their own. Fly they have!
I’m carried back to the first Christmas Chris was home, after serving in the Air Force. This was before 911 struck and we were able to join our loved ones at the airline gates. Jeff, Grandpa Kissell and I went to see Chris off. Once Chris boarded the plane and was out of sight, I saw tears come to Grandpa Kissell’s eyes. His outward display of emotion embarrassed him, but his words echoed my own thoughts, “He’s the first!”
When Aldon left our house this morning, he didn’t know that his Uncle Chris was waiting for him at the airport, to surprise him. Nor did he know that, Chris was planning to fly back to Mississippi with him, to surprise his daddy (Andy). They’re on the plane right now…
Aldon at the stables with our barn cat, Bob
This summer, as a family we have gorged ourselves on laughter, good food and outings. Aldon and I rode my horse Dude and went to Six Flags twice. I took him swimming and he rode bikes almost every night with his grandpa Jeff. We celebrated the 4th of July, his birthday and Grandma and Grandpa Kissell moving to Texas to live with us. Always, when we gather together as a family, we reminisce over the past, reliving fond memories while discarding the bumpy roads that came our way. We hold each other close, clinging just a little bit tighter. How painful that moment is when you kiss a loved one goodbye. The pain is strong, because the love is strong. It is in that moment of departure when your love is the most exposed.
This morning, while giving my grandson a Carlos, I felt a swirl of these emotions. After retreating inside the house, I let my tears flow. Oh, how the well of emotion tugged at my heart! Yet, there was stillness in the moment. Comforting stillness… And in that stillness, I saw the gift I was given… It hovered over me, as well as within. The moment I acknowledged the gift; it seemed to swell and radiate a soothing light. I grasped it with the hands of faith, holding it close to my heart so the light could fill my soul.
Another memory!
I’ll hang on to this one for a while and let it continue to tenderize my heart, before placing it in my treasure trove of other fragments of time. Marveling, how one little boy can completely melt my heart…
Tenderly the heavenly Father Gazed upon His sleeping daughter. Safe and restful was her slumber. Not a sound would dare disrupt her.
In the quiet night unmoving Angels kept their watchful duty. As He watched, His heart was filled with love.
Then a tiny little stirring Filled the room with urgent mewing. Capturing the girl’s attention, Summoning her warm affection.
Eagerly, her arms encased him. Lovingly, her eyes embraced him, Cradling, most tenderly, her son.
Snuggling to his mother’s bosom. Drawing warmth from milk that soothed him. Satisfied, his tiny body calmed.
Reaching for his mother’s fingers, Holding tightly, clinging to her. While he nursed, she gently stroked his hands.
With fingers formed so small, so perfect, Yet, with strength—they had a purpose, In the future path this child would walk.
She prayed that God would lead and guide him. Asked for health and peace to find him. As the Father heard, He sang a song.
The love that emanated from Him, Filled the room, encamped around them. Settled gently on the girl and child.
Her heart was filled with deep emotion, Full of blissful sweet devotion, For this precious babe within her arms.
His little mouth sucked slower now. With milk-stained lips, he gave a smile.
His eyes were studying her face. With innocence and trust he gazed, Until his sleepy head began to nod.
In loves sweet songful harmony, There came to them, the gift of peace. It wrapped around their earthly forms. It soothed her mind; it touched her soul.
And then the pleasant thought of sleep Again, descended sweet and deep…
She hugged her baby close and dear And whispered to the Father’s ear, “I’ve never felt Your Breath so near to mine!”
