The Return of Brown Bear

 I didn't expect to have a sequel to our story, much less such a happy ending. But God has a way of surprising us with joy, particularly when it fosters our children's faith in Him.

Yesterday morning I got a call from the secretary at Clare's school.

"You were the ones who lost the bear, right?" Ms. D asked. "Have you found him?"

I told her we hadn't.

"Well, I think we may have him. When I came in this morning, there was a bear on my desk. Is your bear tan with eyes you can barely see?"

"Um, kind of. Maybe it's him! We'll come check!"

I tried to keep the kids and me grounded as we got ready to go to the school. "It may not be him," I warned. "After all, he's not really tan, more caramel." (And it's an elementary school where kids often bring their stuffed friends, and it has been a week-and-a-half...) But there was a chance! Evie and Jon discussed the pros and cons.

Eventually Jon and I arrived at the office; he dashed to the door while I followed with bated breath. We stepped inside...and there was Brown Bear, looking fit as ever, and waiting patiently for a little boy to swoop him up in a death-grip hug.

Where Brown Bear has hidden this past week is a mystery. Jon informed me that Brown Bear had come down in a space ship to Clare's school, but I haven't seen the space ship. Maybe it's hidden by an improbability field.

"Where was he while he was gone?" I asked Jon.

"At a fwend's house," Jon said.

So there you have it.

But can I just say, it's hard to find something sweeter than this:

A Boy and His Bear

Last Monday our family experienced one of those tragedies that every mother prays will never happen: the loss of a lovey. Jon's dearly-loved teddy, Brown Bear, went missing, and we have not been able to find him.


Brown Bear joined our family about ten years ago when he was given to Keren after one of her hospital visits. He was a soft, cuddly creature with a royal blue shirt from Kohl's Kids to Children's Hospital of Detroit. Over the years he sat on shelves, adorned beds, and got stuffed away in bins. Then last year, somehow, magically, like the Velveteen Rabbit, he became Jon's favorite and was dubbed "Brown Bear."

Brown Bear and Jon have had many adventures, and this is not the first time Brown Bear has performed a disappearing act. Typically, though, we've known exactly where he was and he was brought home post-haste. He's spent a day at Jon's buddy Michael's house. He's done two overnights at Grammy and Poppa's (partying with the stuffed friends there, I told Jon). His latest shenanigans involved staying at Jon's cousins' up north...though thankfully Grandma and Grandpa were returning a day later than us and could bring him home. So yes, Brown Bear is a little sneaky. But this time he pulled a trick that none of us can solve.

When we realized Monday night that Brown Bear had gone missing, I wasn't too concerned. I thought through our events of the afternoon (which, unfortunately, involved at least two outings) and tried to remember when I'd last seen our plush friend. Maybe he'd been left at Clare's school playground when we picked her up? Maybe he'd snuck into Mrs. Donna's house when we went for Clare's piano lesson? My mind was a blank. Jon, thankfully, went to bed without a problem and barely asked after his friend.

Tuesday brought no answers and I tried not to worry...and not to mention the missing bear to Jon who whiled his day away without concern. Wednesday went well, too, but no Brown Bear. It wasn't until Wednesday night that I think Jon realized something was wrong, and as I tucked him in, he started to cry for his bear. It was devastating. It didn't help that I was pretty sad about it, too. I mean, this was Brown Bear we were talking about! He'd been in the family for a decade and was one of those little things that linked Keren and Jon. He was Jon's close companion who cuddled so adorably under Jon's arm and flew so fantastically when thrown in the air. I wanted to burst into tears along with my boy, but knew I had to be strong and help him find something positive in the midst of sadness.

"I think, Jon," I said, "that Brown Bear has gone on another adventure, and this time it's a really big

one. Maybe--" I thought of Jon's favorite naptime audio stories of Winnie-the-Pooh, "Maybe Brown Bear thought that he would be like Winnie-the-Pooh and go on an expotition to the North Pole. Or maybe he's on an expotition to somewhere else exciting since Pooh has already found that."

More tears, but Clare and Ev got in on it adding their ideas as to Brown Bear's adventures. Jon eventually eased off into dreamland and I drew a ragged breath of relief. It was helpful, though, to imagine Brown Bear off on adventures, and I thought maybe I'd start writing some little letters from Brown Bear to Jon. Ideas started percolating.

I was a bit concerned the next day because every time Jon brought up Brown Bear his sisters supplied wild possibilities. Ev called out, "Jon! I got a letter from Brown Bear and he's gone away forever!" Great. Real helpful, Dear. And hey, that letter idea was mine! Clare posed the thought that perhaps he'd been stolen. Another joyful consideration. But little by little, Jon was drawn into the play and soon had Brown Bear shooting off in a space ship. Brown Bear has since joined up with Winnie-the-Pooh and is exploring the 100 Acre Wood, along with other places. The sweetest thing was what I discovered by Jon's head when I went to wake him from his nap that day. During rest time, Evie had created a little book that Brown Bear had "written" to Jon to tell him where he was and how he was doing and how he remembered his time with Jon.

So it would seem that Brown Bear has left our home to adventure out into the wide, wide world. I am thankful for imaginations and love surrounding my little ones here at home so that they can embrace his adventures that salves sore hearts. I will admit, mine still has a bit of an ache. But then I picture Brown Bear headed off to Pooh's house for some honey and sweetened condensed milk, and I can't help but smile.

Ev's Letter from Brown Bear

Three Things I Have Loved, Four Things I've Adored

Valentine’s Day has come and gone again with varying emotions… Does exhaustion count as an emotion? I’ve felt that way about Valentine’s Day at times over the past few years as my kids bring home a class list of all the valentines they need to write out, and Mom gets to help her dear ones put all of these together and make sure they get to the right place at the right time. Romance? Candlelight dinners with hubby? Not so much. Despite this, I will say there is a lot of love going around, and as crazy as school valentines get, I am thankful for a time to focus on the ones I love.

I am also thankful—so thankful—for the One who loves me most, often in spite of me. I had this paraphrase from Proverbs running through my head the other day: “Three things I have loved, four things I have adored…” In the past month, I ran into three popular ideas that are actually kind of skewed, and was reminded of four truths that I love.

The first idea was “God never promised us a rose garden.” When I heard it, something rang wrong. It’s such a common phrase, and there’s a lot of truth in looking at life realistically and knowing it won’t all be fragrant and beautiful. Yet this time I thought, “But God has promised us a rose garden!” He’s promised us His peace, His love, and in the future, perfect happiness with Him. What’s more rosy than that? The thing is, roses have thorns, and we will experience pain, trials, stretching and suffering along with the beauty as we walk through this life. In fact, the roses are all the more beautiful because of the thorns. They are a vital part of that rose garden God has given us. I love Him for that.

Second, how often have you heard the phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can handle”? It’s always bugged me, but I couldn’t put a finger on why.Then a facebook friend shared a note posted by a woman she knew who had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s at age 38. “Contrary to popular opinion,” the woman with Parkinson’s wrote, “I think that God quite often lets us face more than we can handle, so that when we do get through the hardship, we can say, 'Not me. I didn't do this; it was God.'” That’s it! I love that it’s not about me. It’s about letting God work so people can see His glory and come to know Him.

The third idea seems to dovetail with the other two: I read a blog post called, “The Myth of God’s Unconditional Love.” It was a catchy title, and the content was engaging, but I realized as I read that the theology was off, the author never clearly defined what God’s love was, and his examples lacked context. But I have known ones who believe that we might take one awful misstep and Christ will say, “Sorry. I said I died for you, but that’s one thing too much. You’re out.” I have a problem with this idea. Yes, God is just and sin must be judged. I would never argue that. But that was the whole purpose of Christ’s death—that we can be forgiven because the sin-price was paid. Yes, there will be consequences for sin, even for those who have accepted Christ, but we are held in His hand, sealed with His Spirit, and have the promise that once we are born into His family, He will bring us to maturity. This I love. This I can live for.

And the final thing I love? That even though I feel like the older I get, the less I seem to know, God knows me completely, and loves me. To quote a friend who blogged about this recently: “Jesus knows me, this I love.”

Happy Valentine’s Day! May the truth of these loves go with you in the year to come.

When All Else Fails, Use the Driveway for Sledding

…Though, to tell the truth, nothing actually failed. I was just too lazy to take the kids to a real sledding hill today.

“You should take the kids sledding,” Kraig said as he headed to work this morning, bravely facing a morning commute that would involve snowy roads with an underlying layer of ice that had closed schools for the day.

“Maybe…” I said noncommittally.

It’s not that I haven’t taken the kids sledding before, or that they wouldn’t have behaved well. That wasn’t my concern. We’ve had wonderful outings; just a couple weeks ago we bundled up to meet friends on a lovely, snowy day, and had the snow hill all to ourselves. I was glad we’d made the effort that day. In fact, this year we’ve gotten out more than any other year, taking advantage of real snow. Last year we barely had one snowfall. There was just enough to slide down our driveway.

But there it is. We can sled down our driveway, and today that’s all I wanted to do. It’s not a huge slant, and it makes for a slow slide, but it works when push comes to shove (and trust me, you usually have to do both to get things moving). So when the day flew by with a fairly quiet morning at home, followed by lunch with Grandma and Grandpa, then a dental appointment for Clare, it made sense to enjoy the great outdoors from the comfort of our own driveway. I don’t regret it, and as you can see, the kids didn’t either. Added to the fun was a visit with neighbors we rarely see due to vastly different schedules. Imaginations took flight, sleds slid and slushed, cheeks grew rosy and laughter rippled.

The Warnemuende sledding hill had opened for business.

The Wonder is in the Details

“This is crazy!” I laughed to a friend as we walked out of the school after dropping off our kids. The snow swirled around us and nipped at our faces; faces that had practically basked in unseasonable warmth the day before.

“I like to look at the snowflake,” Kunie said, holding her white-speckled gloves up before her.

Her words stopped me, and for a minute we checked out the individual flakes, each perfect and unique in its beauty.

When we arrived home, Jon wanted to shovel the driveway. As he plowed his way through the mounting drifts he exclaimed, “Snow is be-yew-tiful! Ice is be-yew-tiful!”

And if you really think about it, he is right. Sure it might be a pain to drive in, and its cold is bitter to the bones, but it’s a marvelous creation. I was reminded of a portion of Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl, by N. D. Wilson, where the author describes a snowstorm. “How many snowflakes are there in one storm?” he poses. “And yet God knows every single one of them. Every detail. In fact, He created each one.” To God, a snowstorm is a chance to wax eloquent. He doesn’t just say, “Snow!” and let the bounty fall. It’s more like, “Snowflake, snowflake, snowflake, snowflake!” Each one is special, and each gives Him joy.

How much more joy does each of us give Him? Think of the detail that goes into each of our bodies and minds, into the frames of our husbands and kids, of our friends and family. If we really take the time to contemplate that, it might be harder to get caught in the doldrums of hum-ho everyday life. Or worse, get angry and frustrated at those amazing creations. (Believe me, I’m not preaching at you in this. I’m part of the audience!)

Now if I can just remember this truth when I’m helping the kids get ten-zillion Valentines ready for their classmates in a couple weeks :) ….

A Life Worth Living

Now the word of the Lord came to me saying,

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,

And before you were born I consecrated you;

I have appointed you a prophet to the nations."

~Jeremiah 1:4, 5 (NASB)

For You formed my inward parts;

You wove me in my mother's womb...

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;

And in Your book were all written

The days that were ordained for me,

When as yet there was not one of them."

~Psalm 139:13 & 16 (NASB)

On September 27, 2002, I became a mom to our firstborn, Keren Elyse. But on the day of her tenth birthday last fall, our celebration was one of remembrance, because it was Keren's fourth birthday in Heaven. Today marks the fourth anniversary of the day she left us. We aren't celebrating, and it's hard sometimes to know how best to handle this day. 

I am not swamped with grief today. Kraig said yesterday that the tears were close to the surface for him this weekend, and that was true for me, too. But for me, that's not debilitating grief. It's poignant, but I am thankful for it, because it means I haven't forgotten our girl. No, the grief I hate is the dead depression that hits me now and then without warning. It's bound to hit at some point in January, and this year it came right after a wonderful, but also highly stressful, Christmas. I can blame some of that on the post-Christmas blues, but it was definitely more than that. I think it was that realization that January was here...again...and I'd have to get through the 28th, along with many other days of remembrance that mark this cold, bleak month. I know God is in control of these days, and that there is beauty amidst the grief, mainly because I know that He understands our suffering and walks through it with us. He lets me pound my fists on His chest and ask, "How long? When can we be done with this broken world?" He closes me in His arms and weeps with me, and I am comforted.

For some reason this year it has hit me more forcefully than usual how close the day of Keren's death is to the date of Roe vs. Wade. It seems fitting to remember how precious her life was, and how much she taught us about what "quality of life" truly means in light of that day that now marks more than 50,000,000 deaths to children who never got a chance for life. I know Kraig and I are counter-cultural. Why in the world would we have wanted a child who could do nothing for herself? Who would never contribute to society, and if anything be a drain on that society? Why would we want to give up our dreams and goals to give her life? But we did. Because it was the only right thing to do. If we believed God and took Him at His word, then there was no gray. Our choice was black and white. Each life, no matter how long it exists, is one formed by God and set into place with purpose. It is not for us to end it.

Keren had six years, four months and a day. That was longer than we'd been led to expect, and shorter than we had hoped. But they were the exact number of days that God had ordained, and her life had and has eternal effect. For one thing, she taught us that even those who will never be independent can teach us much about unconditional love. She forced us, simply by being, to look beyond our own dreams and let God guide us--and we have lived with that principle since. Her death has helped us understand others' grieving in loss, and so we can encourage each other and lift each other up as a result. Sometimes I wonder if I'm able to relate well enough to others because for the most part my life has charged on and I don't burst into tears every time I hear of another death. God is stretching our family and growing us in new ways, teaching us new things. But then I talk with a friend who has lost someone close, and I realize that I can relate and in my own way grieve with her. I am still learning how all that works--that strange dance of grief and joy.

So how do I remember Keren today? With this post, for what it's worth. It is a word cast out into the world to affirm life, to affirm Christ and His work, and to affirm my trust that God has His hand on each day of my life and of the lives of those around me.

Treasures for the Senses and Soul

 Last summer Kraig and I got to take our kids to one of our favorite places on earth, Michigan's Upper Peninsula Pictured Rocks Lakeshore. It was a glorious week, to say the least. But one thing that added to the joy was we were able to connect with Mike and Suzanne who live in that neck of the woods. Suzanne and I had "met" in The Rabbit Room, and were both headed to the Room's conference, Hutchmoot, at the end of September.

It was going to be both of our first conference, and while we were excited, we were nervous about the unknown aspects of the adventure. After all, we only knew everyone digitally. How helpful it was to meet each other in person ahead of time, knowing that there would be at least one familiar face when we got to Nashville. In fact, God in His perfect timing arranged it so that Suzanne was outside when I arrived at the conference, and so made my entrance that much less stressful! Not only that, but Mike was available to pick my sister up at the airport when her flight was delayed. Thanks to him, I didn't have to miss dinner to go get her (And considering the food at Hutchmoot, it was something I was selfishly not wanting to miss!). Since the conference, we've had to follow each other online again, but the friendship has been formed, and we're looking forward to seeing them once more in person.

This year, The Rabbit Room proprietors hosted a Secret Santa, where names could be entered and then handed out randomly. We could reveal ourselves or not as desired, but the fun was in sending a gift to one perhaps not well-known, but very likely of similar tastes due to the nature of the group. I put together my gift and sent it off with a little fear and trembling, then waited excitedly for what might appear on my doorstep.

And then the box came...and amazingly my Secret Santa lived in Michigan! Not only that, the address was surprisingly close to--wait--Pictured Rocks!? I couldn't believe it! Suzanne realized, too, that her identity wouldn't be hidden, and while she didn't technically give me her name, her gift had the UP written all over it. I love the way God wove the pieces. Check out the gifts on the left. The "stone" soap brings back memories of our families tossing and skipping rocks in and on Lake Superior (you never run out of rocks there). The pottery and bracelet (the latter made of local stones) reflect the colors found in that beautiful part of the world.

It is truly a gift from a friend, one like so many I have met now online and in person through the Rabbit Room. God keeps bringing our lives together, and I can't wait to see what the future holds.