Shoes with a Florence view!

Today my heart is happy for my daughter as her dream to study abroad came true.  Her plane touched down in Florence, Italy this morning and soon she was messaging me with delight about the amazing view from her student apartment.  Honestly I have had apprehension about sending her for four months to another land.  Our family has been through so much this past year and a half, and it has not been easy for Ali. This past weekend she asked to be a “guest writer” on my blog.  Once I read her words, I knew it was God’s way of saying yes, let her go, it’s going to be good.  Here are the precious words she penned before she left…

Within the last couple days I have finally started to pack for my 4-month semester in Italy. Yes, I waited until two days before I left; I needed the inspiration of limited time. As I have been packing I have been sorting through which shoes I will walk this new ground in. As I was zipping up my suitcase, I was unexpectedly reminded of my last visit to my childhood home where my Dad still lives. I noticed during our visit a dusty basket in the garage where my siblings and I would kick our shoes off before coming inside. In the basket were obviously shoes I had forgotten about; shoes I haven’t worn since high school. But for some reason I couldn’t get this basket of shoes out my head. I wanted them here in my Mom’s home. No, I really wanted them gone. I wondered why I cared so much and then… the Lord reminded me.

My mom has always loved the symbolism of shoes. Every time I visit home she takes a picture of my shoes next to the front door. She loves the symbolism that comes with a worn pair of sneakers being tossed off and left behind. Growing up, I loved the idea of throwing my small shoes in a basket to be collected with my brothers’ larger shoes. It made me feel part of a unit and I would look forward to the day I would grow into “big girl” shoes. I loved all of our shoes being under the same roof… I loved the memories of taking my shoes and socks off and telling my Dad about my day at school. I loved digging through the basket to find my pink flip-flops buried underneath my brother’s Chick-Fil-A work shoes. I loved running down the stairs on a Sunday morning and slipping on my black flats for church as my family “patiently” waited for me by the door.

As I pondered this dusty basket sitting in the garage of my childhood home, I realized why it bothered me so much. I hate that the feet that wore all of these shoes are in different places. We no longer flip off our flops and have a seat on the couch together. We no longer dig through the basket to find our sneakers and go to the park together. We no longer have two married parents’ shoes to walk in step with. We will never have that chance again. Having divorced parents sucks. It just does. It will never feel right because it is not supposed to. No matter how many times I try to rationalize it, I can’t, because I am not supposed to. I don’t want my shoes in that old house anymore because deep down, I want all my shoes under one roof. Those of you who have asked how I have been doing lately have probably heard me say that stepping into “adulthood” has given me some growing pains. It is easy to miss the simplicity and innocence of childhood. I feel like I know more than I would like to know. I feel like I want to go back in a lot of ways. But the Lord has been good in providing me with different but beautiful memories in my “big girl” shoes (no, not heels).

I invested in some hiking boots this past semester and climbed to the top of a mountain in Colombia. I took those boots to New Orleans and hiked a state park with my big brother. This past year some baby shoes were added to our family basket and I was beyond blessed with my nephew Parker. And just yesterday my Mom and I went to the dance store and bought a new pair of ballet shoes for my classes in Italy, a pair of shoes that have carried over from childhood. In all of these things I see the Lord and He is good. He is bigger and rawer than He was when I was younger and I LOVE Him! Oh man, I love Him so much. He is the reason I overuse exclamation points and the reason I have hope even when I feel like my shoes (AKA my life) are scattered in a million places. I am ready for this adventure because although I feel tattered, the Lord is meeting me in the place I am and the places I am going. I do not have to fear because He was with me when I was a shoe size 3 and he is with me in my size 8. These “new shoes” have been painful thus far but I know the Lord is breaking them in one step at a time.

New ballet shoes for a new adventure…

January with its fresh shiny “clean slate” always gives me hope. Hope that a new year will bring goodness, healing and progress with the things that matter most. Writing is one of the practices that brings me healing.  So to start off 2017 I want to write about a special event I’ve celebrated my entire life in January, and that would be my one and only sibling’s birthday, Ty Schenzel.

My brother Ty celebrated his birthday BIG every year. It didn’t have to be a “milestone” birthday. He expected everyone to know it was his birthday and bring attention to it on January 12^th. I’ve been kicking around ideas as to why in his 54 years of life on earth his birthday mattered so much to him. I have to believe it started with our wonderful mom. I’m sure having a birthday so close after Christmas could have led to it being under-celebrated due to post-holiday-slump. But I don’t remember that being the case. My earliest recollections of Ty’s birthdays are with his neighborhood friends gathered around the big dining room table in our split-level house in Littleton, Colorado. Mom would decorate, the boys would wear their nice slacks and sweaters, and gifts would be opened. It wasn’t anything more grand then that, but I know Ty loved being celebrated on his special day.

Birthday parties with neighborhood friends in Colorado!

Celebrating with the cousins and me back in Nebraska!

Fast forward to the teenage years and they are somewhat of a blur to me, as I was wrapped up in my own teenage life, being only two and a half years older than Ty. But I do remember Ty’s little posy of friends that would gather in the basement of our house on Teakwood in Fremont, playing cards for HOURS. And I’m sure when it was his birthday, my mom made sure they celebrated with chocolate cake, Ty’s favorite. I recently watched the new Netflix hit, “Stranger Things”. Take the four boys in that show and super-impose my brother and his friends and you have a picture of what I’m talking about. This incredible bond of friends that didn’t really fit in with the “cool crowd” at school, but they found happiness in each other’s company. I know Ty always looked fondly back on those friendships.

When Ty gave his life to Christ wholeheartedly as a teenager, I think his intensity for celebrating his birthday increased even more. I believe it’s as simple as him really grasping how deep God’s love was for him. I think he felt that one day a year, it was important to acknowledge that God had done a good thing in creating him. Now that can come off sounding rather arrogant, but actually Ty believed that about every person God created. One of his favorite sayings was, “God loves me more than anyone else, not really, but sort of!” He even tweeted that it was going to be the title of his next book, just days before the car accident that took he and his wife’s life. He had a strong grasp on the fact we are each God’s “favorite” and that we are each uniquely wonderful and worth celebrating.

Ty’s wonderful wife making sure there was plenty of chocolate cake for his birthday!

Ty also took great joy in celebrating other people’s birthdays. He flew into Orlando for our dad’s 75^th birthday and dressed up like a leprechaun to surprise him at his St. Patty’s Day themed party. The hilarious thing was it was such a big surprise (and such a good costume) that my dad didn’t recognize him for quite some time, which then gave Ty concern as to the mental condition of our father! (I’m happy to report we are about to celebrate my dad’s 85^th birthday and he’s still going strong with a sharp mind.) Ty also loved nothing more than flying his grown children in to surprise their mom on her birthday. I had the joy of being there when he flew their oldest daughter and first grandchild in from California to surprise Terri. A few years later he flew Annie in from New York for her birthday and they posted the video on Facebook. How I loved hearing Terri shriek with uncontainable excitement when she saw her special birthday surprise!

Ty surprising my Dad on his 75th birthday.  Dad finally recognized him once he took off the hat and beard!

Ty surprising Terri with the wonderful gift of a visit from Emily and Theo!  I love how you can tell both of them have tears in their eyes…

So now that my brother and sister are in heaven, celebrations have to change. Last year on Ty’s first birthday after the accident, his oldest daughter gave birth to her third child, a beautiful baby girl, and they named her Beatrix Tyler. I know Ty would take delight in having his third grandchild share his birthday with him. It is not surprising that this child has provided so much comfort to her mother during her first year of life. God gives us such good gifts.

I’m starting a tradition of taking January 12^th off as a holiday. I’m going to eat chocolate cake and celebrate my brother’s life. And I think we should follow Ty’s lead and make sure we take the time to celebrate birthdays well. He would want you to recognize the beauty of your life and the fact that God loves you more than anyone else, not really, but kind of!

Footnote: Thankfully my brother did finish his first book “A Thousand Screaming Mules” which chronicles his dream to build a safe haven for the inner city youth of Omaha. The unique title of the book is based on a quote he would use when his children would ask him if he was going to make their special event (dance recital, basketball game, dog show, etc.). Ty would say, “A thousand screaming mules couldn’t keep me away!” He applied that same love and devotion to the children at the Hope Center. (Available on Amazon if you’re interested in reading more about his story!)

Christmas with my brother Ty,  50 years ago.  Missing him so much this time of year.

As a new blogger, (this is my 11^th straight month blogging to be exact), I try to wait until I am inspired to write and share.  But I also balance that with the commitment to post once a month.  I like having a self-imposed “deadline” of sorts.  But December puts extra pressure on me to have something profound to say.  After all, it’s Jesus’ birthday and the end of a year, all rolled into one pressure packed month!

But this week I have found inspiration in the small things people have said to me, and then taking those small things and pondering them.  December is definitely a good month for pondering in between the running around from party, to school event, to shopping.  So here are three little moments of inspiration I discovered amidst the chaos of the Christmas season…

 Earlier this week I had a wise person tell me that we need to look for God in the “suddenly” moments of life.  God often in the Bible does something “suddenly”.   And that “sudden” thing changes the course of direction of a person’s life.  There were those shepherds, quietly watching their flocks at night, when SUDDENLY a multitude of angels appeared saying, “Glory to God in the highest!”  The course of their night took a sudden turn, and off to Bethlehem they went.  They would never be the same after visiting the babe in the manger.  Sometimes we are suddenly shown the reality of a situation we’ve been praying about, and then we need to take action on that.  I experienced that in my life about 18 months ago.  If we start to question ourselves down the road about our decision, we need to remember our SUDDENLY moment, trust that God was in it, and that He was directing our steps.  I needed that affirmation this week, and I loved how it intersected with the story of Christ’s birth.  Mary had her own SUDDENLY moment when she was told she would give birth to Jesus.  I’m pretty sure she didn’t start her day thinking the angel Gabriel would visit her to tell her she would conceive a child by the Holy Spirit, but it happened.  And it changed the course of all humanity because of her willingness to accept her sudden news.

My next moment of inspiration came from my married son and his wife yesterday.  I “face-timed” with them and my adorable six-month old grandson, to watch them open their Christmas gifts I had shipped them.  (They are Atlanta bound to my daughter-in-law’s family for Christmas this year.)  At the very end of our merry little Christmas celebration, they ended the call by saying, “I’m proud of you Mom.”  I’ve had to draw some boundaries and take some tough stands this week, and I have reached out to some of my trusted friends and advisors for wisdom.  But in the end, it had to be me taking the action that was needed.  To hear your own son and daughter-in-law say, “I’m proud of you” was so comforting.  God used it to lift the heaviness off my heart and to trust that I was doing what needed to be done.  I reflected later how many times I have said to my children (and still do say), “I’m so proud of you!”  But I think this was one of the first times I’ve had my own child say it back to me.  It must be one of those “growing old, full circle” things, but I tell you, it truly blessed and empowered me to stand strong in the battle.

 My final moment of inspiration came from our time of sharing today in our small church group.  I’ve been attending this small group on Sunday mornings for over a year now.  It is a safe place for me right now, a place where we learn and share and encourage each other.  Today we were asked to give a “verbal gift of blessing” to someone in the room.  A friend shared that he has been blessed by my bravery this year.  Me–brave?  It caught me off guard.  More often than not, I end up crying when I share during our Sunday’s together.  That doesn’t seem very brave to me.  But he went on to share that he sees me being brave as I journey through my “new normal” and that I am brave, but in a “Winnie the Pooh” sort of way.  Well my children loved Winnie the Pooh, but I didn’t remember him being particularly brave.  So I came home and looked up famous Pooh quotes, and low and behold here is what his best friend Christopher Robin had to say about him:

 “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

 Wow, so much inspiration in that quote!  I’m going to hold on to that blessing as I head into 2017.

 And with that, I wish you each a meaningful and joyous Christmas.  If it is a first one where you will be missing someone special around your Christmas tree, I wish and pray for you an extra measure of grace and strength to endure it.  I sadly know the feeling.  But I leave you with another Pooh quote I discovered that also brought me comfort today…

“If there every comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart.  I’ll stay there forever.”

My dear Aunt Marge’s final Christmas on earth.  So grateful I could be with her and praying for my cousins on this first tough one without her…

As the month of counting our blessings comes to a close, I would be remiss not to add my own thoughts on giving thanks. The longer I live, the more I’m convinced we have a choice to make in our heart’s attitude towards what life hands us. In 2014 I had the pleasure of doing a book study of Ann Voskamp’s “One Thousand Gifts” with some dear friends. At the time the study began, I had no idea what the next few years would hold for me. But it was as if the Lord was training me in the practice of documenting the gifts in life, knowing I would need to make it through the challenging days ahead.

The first chapter of Ann’s beautiful book ends with these words…

“How do we choose to allow the holes to become seeing-through-to-God-places? To more-God places? How do I give up resentment for gratitude, gnawing anger for spilling joy? Self-focus for God-communion. To fully love—to live full of grace and joy and all that is beauty eternal. It is possible, wildly.”

I wrote in the margin of my book, “Wow! This chapter stirs my heart deeply. So raw, so vulnerable. I pray this not just for me, but for my loved ones (friends, family) who need this so deeply.”

So in August of 2014 I started my own list of “one thousand gifts”, and in June of this year I penned my 1,000th entry. The entries cover a wide expanse of gratitude, including the simple things…

12. Fluffy white duvet covers on my hotel bed for a great night’s sleep.

182.  Great laughs over a game of Spades with the kids.

Important events in my children’s lives…

367. Drew passing his comps for his doctorate—a huge accomplishment and milestone.

To the really gut wrenching thanks…

542.  Pulling into Christ Community Church and seeing the hundreds of cars gathering for the funeral.

666.  Receiving the memorial edition of my brother’s book. So sad, perfect for this number (666) but the enemy will NOT prevail.

I love documenting the times God gives me a “wink”…

719.  The song “Cats in the Cradle” playing while we sit at the restaurant after Cam’s graduation.  Hugs from heaven–his Uncle Ty’s often quoted song!

And then there are the easiest of times to give thanks…

761.  Finding out I’m going to be a grandmother to a grandson! Drew and Mary are having a boy!

This entry was appropriately followed immediately by more baby news…

762.  Emily and Paul’s baby arriving on Ty’s birthday! So good of God to allow this to happen!

I had one “guest entry” when Ali snuck this entry in during last year’s spring break…

853.  I love you so much mom!  Thank you for all  you do!  You’re the best person I know and my best friend.  I’ll miss you.  Thank you for loving me so well.

My grandson’s arrival is in extra large bold print…

982.  The safe arrival of Parker Ross Darr on June 4^th, 2016!

I thought maybe Parker’s arrival would be my 1,000^th entry, but it ended up coming later that month as I was flying home from my nephew’s wedding in Cancun. My final entry was penned to the Lord…

1,000.  Knowing that no matter what, you will forever be by my side, carrying me through the storms of life. And with that, I can survive and thrive!”

I bought a small three ring binder and carefully punched the holes in these pages that contained my precious list of gifts. And then I wrote a concluding letter. I close with this excerpt…

“I hope that my children and grandchildren will read these pages and see the fingerprints of God in their mother/grandmother’s life. I pray that no matter what comes into their life, they will trust their Lord Jesus to carry them through the valley and back to the mountaintop. For what I have learned is there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God as long as we keep our heart open to Him. I will continue this practice of looking for the gifts from God in life, in the big things and the little things. For truly EVERY good and perfect gift comes from above.”

My journey to 1,000 gifts…

Sadly we did not make it through this year’s hurricane season without a devastating one. As Hurricane Matthew battered Haiti earlier this month, my heart ached for this country, already existing in such poverty. My daughter was evacuated from her college in West Palm Beach and she headed to central Florida with a car full of friends to hunker down with me. At work we were scrambling to come up with our game plan. Thankfully both West Palm and Orlando were spared, but it really made me think about the hurricanes that have personally swept through my life, and how I have responded to them.

Exactly one year ago, I was bracing myself for the after effects of my personal hurricane. My marriage had been ripped apart, as much as I wanted to believe it could “never happen to me”. I stood alone in an Osceola County courtroom, in front of a judge I never had met, and she declared my marriage dissolved. It seemed wrong that a total stranger could make that decision based on a stack of documents prepared by an attorney. Cold and impersonal, the gavel came down on her desk and thirty years of Mrs. Michael Darr were over. I walked out as “divorced” Julie Schenzel Darr, a label I never wanted, and a new role that I didn’t want to play. As I left the room, I deeply felt the loss, but I knew I had to embrace the life ahead of me, even though it’s not what I had wanted.

The twelve months that have passed have been filled with the hardest days of my life, but I have found renewed peace and joy as well, that I honestly hadn’t realized I had lost. The reason I feel compelled to write about this loss, is to acknowledge the pain, but also to give hope in the midst of the adjustment, in the process of identifying the “new normal”. Perhaps what I share will give someone the courage they need to face their loss, as they define their “new normal”. Because if we cannot redeem the hurt, what is the point? If we don’t allow ourselves to be vulnerable with each other, how can we learn?

“Divorced” is a word that to me has always sounded ugly. I always prided myself in thinking that it would never be a label I would bear. When Mike and I stood in front of our many friends and family at Trinity Church in the summer of 1985, we were in our late twenties. It was a beautiful ceremony where God was honored as we pledged our lives to each other for the rest of our lives. I truly feel we did honor God with our marriage for the bulk of our thirty years. Out of respect for our family, I’m not going to share details. But trust me when I say, I had no choice but to move on.

But the reality is my marriage did end, and so I was faced with what to do after thirty years of marriage. The tough adjusting began as I packed up the kitchen I had fed my family and countless friends in for the past 14 years. The hardest packing moment was dividing up the coffee mugs. Mike always loved getting souvenir coffee mugs wherever we traveled. So there I stood deciding who gets the “Library of Congress” mug, and who gets the “Disney Cruise Line” mug, with tears streaming down my face. It sounds so silly, but it represented so much.

As I moved into a cozy townhome a few miles down the road, it was such a strange feeling. In many, many ways I’m so grateful that our children were grown and out of the house before our marriage ended. But on the other hand it means coming home every day to an empty house, and that can feel very lonely on certain days. Mike and I had always loved having our home full of people. So much so that when our kids started leaving for college, we started having Disney interns and student teachers live with us to fill the empty bedrooms. The times that have been the hardest to return to an empty house are after being on a trip. There is something about walking into the townhome with my suitcase and having no one to greet me that really magnifies the loneliness.  But I truly love this new little home and I call this place my “sanctuary”, for it is a place of peace for my soul, which I so desperately need right now.

Relationally it has been extremely challenging to navigate the new role of ex-wife as well. I’ve lost my best friend. We were a great team. We parented well together, our home was filled with lots of love and laughter. We were intentional with raising our children to know God. We had great years of ministry together taking many on mission trips, doing city-wide worship events. How did we end up in this dark place? There can be times of interaction between us that escalate into extreme ugliness. It results in me feeling guilty and convicted for harsh words that came out of my mouth. I wake up feeling horrible and sad, and sometimes I don’t have the strength to get up. Then I have to remember that God understands and it is His undeserved grace that is there for me to embrace. After the big blowups I retreat relationally from Mike. I told a friend, “I feel selfish, but I can’t take anymore interaction right now.” She corrects me, “That’s self-care Julie, not selfish.” And again I have to give myself the space and time I need to heal up.

Then there is the undeniable pain that has been inflicted on our four children. Even though they are all in their twenties, I have to help them process their loss. They are old enough to make their own decisions about what they want their relationship to be with their father. I try not to share the times he hurts and disappoints me, but I blow it sometimes. My children are some of my closest friends. I have a hard time knowing what the boundaries are. Our family has always been an integrated unit, and now there is this fractured dimension that we’ve never had before. This is not the plan we had envisioned for our beautiful family. I worry about the hurt in each of their hearts and how it will impact their relationships in the future. There is absolutely nothing I can do to fix it. I have to pray and trust that their relationship with God will fill any void that exist in their heart.

I also struggle with feeling that I don’t qualify any longer to give advice on marriage. But I have been reminded by friends that they still respect my opinion because they watched the years when our marriage was strong and life-giving. I have to remember that I can still be an advocate for marriage, despite my marital status. I had a friend remind me of this when she said, “Julie, YOU believe in marriage.” I had to be reminded that even though I’m a divorced woman, I can still have hope for other marriages to be strong and Christ centered and to cross the finish line. I can still cheer and support the marriages of my children, nieces and nephews. I refuse to become cynical about the institution of marriage. It’s designed by God and can be the most life-giving relationship on earth.

My first year of singleness was complicated by the death of my only sibling and his wife. Anyone that knew Ty and Terri would say their marriage was one to be envied. And when they both perished on the same day from a tragic car accident, as incredibly hard as it was to lose both of these precious people at once, many of us said they would not have wanted to survive without the other one. Many, many times this year I’ve questioned God. Why would you let them leave this earth when they were such a great example to others? But they crossed the finish line here on earth so very well. I’m so grateful that their children and my children were able to observe and learn from them.

My prayer is most of you cannot relate to the pain I’ve shared in these words. But the longer I live, the more I’m convinced at some point in our lives we will face major loss of some kind. This quote from “A Grace Disguised” resonates with me:

“The supreme challenge to anyone facing catastrophic loss involves facing the loss on one hand, and learning to live with renewed vitality and gratitude on the other. This challenge is met when we learn to take the loss into ourselves and to be enlarged by it, so that our capacity to live life well and to know God intimately increases.”

I don’t think we should compare our losses and rank them. People say to me, “You’re so strong, you’re doing so well. I can’t believe what you’ve been through.” But today I wanted to be vulnerable and share some of the hard stuff. The tears I’ve cried could fill buckets, and I still have nights I cry myself to sleep. I’ve blown it with my attitude and words. But my roots have gone deeper in Christ. Many of my friendships are richer. My children and extended family love me incredibly well. I’ve been blessed with my first grandchild which is beyond wonderful. My marital status has not changed how God designed me and the fact that He has good plans for the rest of my life. It may be His “Plan B” for me, but I have to believe His “Plan B” can be incredibly rich and rewarding. I have found hope after the hurricanes.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:22-23

September is a month full of promise. Students start the school year with a “clean record” ready to fill it with assignments and test scores. In my vocation, the timeshare industry here in Florida, we breathe a sigh of relief from the business of a summer filled with tourists. But by far my favorite part of September is the launch of a new college football season. Teams assemble for that first game with a record of 0 – 0 in the win/loss columns. Pre-season polls get busted and resorted after the first weekend. Playoff hopes can be destroyed in September, and Cinderella teams emerge seemingly out of nowhere.

I’m not entirely sure where my love story with this sport began, but my earliest recollections center around my brother when we were living in Littleton, Colorado. Ty would rush our little family of four through our Sunday post-church meal of spaghetti with giant meatballs at “The White Spot” to go home and turn on NFL/AFL football. The Los Angeles Rams with their swirled royal blue and white helmets were his favorite team, and thus they became my favorite team. In our split level two story on Roxbury Place, Ty’s bedroom was wall to wall professional football posters. (My dad was a district sales manager for Hormel and they were a proud sponsor of the NFL, thus resulting in said posters covering Ty’s room!) Then there were the fall Saturdays spent watching Ty playing on the Columbine Knolls “peewee” team. I can picture him like yesterday, his bright white football pants (our mom was excellent at keeping them clean) and his grass green jersey. He and his best buddy Brett Goetz played their hearts out. Though that was the beginning and end of his football career due to being a “late bloomer”, I know he appreciated the opportunity and I loved watching him.

Ty and our neighbor Jimmy Earl suited up for their Saturday game.  I’m not sure why they weren’t on the same team!

When we moved back to Nebraska when I was in 7^th grade, I was indoctrinated into college football mania. You see in Nebraska you bleed Cornhusker Red whether or not you ever spent a day in a class at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. If your address ends with a Nebraska zip code, you best be wearing red when you step out to the grocery store on a Saturday or people will stare at you like you’ve forgotten where you live.  My first vivid memory of watching a Nebraska football game on TV was Thanksgiving weekend, 1971. Back in the good ‘ole days of the Big Eight (when there really were the SAME eight teams FOREVER), Oklahoma and Nebraska always played Thanksgiving weekend. It was the end of regular season rivalry that put all the bragging rights on the table. It didn’t matter how your season had gone up to that point, because if you didn’t win the Oklahoma game, it was a failed season. So out at my aunt and uncle’s Woodcliff Lake cabin, the cousins and parents gathered for the big game. To this day, this game is considered a “Game of the Century” including Johnny Rogers’ 72 yard punt return for a touchdown. I remember my oldest cousin Steve leading the charge with his enthusiastic screams. We all joined in with much jumping and rejoicing, and we all grew up to pass this love of the game on to our children. Bowl games were a huge reason to gather together, and I remember back to the days when there were only about ten bowl games and zero had corporate sponsor names attached to them. Ty and Terri had this huge great room in their Omaha house at the end of the cul-de-sac in the early 90’s when Nebraska was vying year after year for a National Championship. We would gather with tons of our mutual friends for a watch party. Tradition was for every Nebraska score, the grown men would dog-pile in the middle of the room while all of our kids ran around screaming. My son Drew had lucky “Herbie the Husker” underwear that he insisted on wearing year after year until he outgrew them. When dear Coach Osborne finally won that first championship game against the Miami Hurricanes in the 1995 Orange Bowl, we went absolutely nuts, and some of the fathers even drove to Lincoln the next morning to welcome the victors home.

Starting my boys off young as Husker fans!

Herbie the Husker in the Citrus Bowl Parade here in Orlando!

I eventually had the thrill of going to many Nebraska football games in person. Memorial Stadium becomes the third largest city in Nebraska on game day with their capacity crowd of more than 90,000. The Cornhuskers hold the record for most consecutive sellouts and I doubt anyone will ever catch them. Season tickets are a prized possession and put in wills, handed down generation to generation. Red balloons are released on the first score of every home game, and the fans have a reputation for being among the nicest in the country. When my Kearney State College football team had an away game, we would hop in a car and make the two hour trek to Lincoln for the game. My first date with my future husband was a Nebraska game. I was at the final Big-8 game back in 1995 with Mike, Ty and Terri to witness the end of that era. And we returned from Florida in 2007 to bring our football-playing son back for a home game to celebrate his senior year of high school.

The final Big 8 home game at Nebraska’s Memorial Stadium!

As my sons grew up, only one of them pursued playing the game of football. Spencer got his start on the Kissimmee Kowboys Pop Warner team and then went on to play for his high school team, the Celebration Storm. Like many football parents, I made trips many miles away to remote towns like Lake Placid, Florida, population 1,900, for the Friday night games. I was definitely one of the more knowledgeable football moms in the stands and would often have to teach the other moms basic football rules as we watched our sons play. Spencer’s senior year was my favorite. By this time he was starting on both sides of the ball and was seeing action 99% of the game. Every time the announcer would call his name for a fumble recovery or tackle I proudly shouted, “That’s my son!” We also developed this tradition of meeting back at the house after the game. I would make a run through Taco Bell drive thru for massive amounts of food, and then meet him in front of our big screen TV to watch that week’s episode of our favorite show, “Friday Night Lights”. I continued having kids to watch on the field with Cameron playing pit in the marching band, and Ali performing at half time with the dance team. So many happy memories under our own Friday night lights at Celebration Stadium.

My son “56” heading out for the final coin toss of his “Celebration Storm” senior year.

As my boys left the nest for college I entered the world of “house divided” as they all three picked different schools to attend. Unlike Nebraska where there is only one team to cheer for on Saturday, the rivalries in Florida are rich in tradition, with the biggest being Florida State University and the University of Florida. It took me forever to keep these schools separate in my mind until I figure out “State” stands for Seminoles, and just “Florida” stands for Gators. But then when Spencer landed at FSU and Cameron two years later at UF, it became easy to remember. The past many years have been filled with amazing road trips to Doak Campbell stadium in Tallahassee rich with its tradition. To be a part of doing the “chop” in person around the concentric stadium of Doak is electrifying. A favorite game was Clemson vs FSU in 2010 when we won it with seconds to go with a field goal by golden shoes Dustin Hopkins. The Swamp in Gainesville is a perfect distance of just under two hours from home, and allows for plenty of tailgating time with friends pre-game. My favorite games at the Swamp have been the FSU vs UF rivalry games on Thanksgiving weekend. When both marching bands take the field at the same time for the national anthem it gives me chills every time. Spencer and Cameron have a six year streak of going to this game together, and they try not to rub in the bragging rights too hard, especially when one team is having a bad stretch. Now I have our oldest son Drew at University of Missouri getting his doctorate, which makes for another house-divided rivalry. But I love it—and watch the scores of all three teams, PLUS Nebraska on game days.

My Beautiful “Family Divided”

So here’s to the start of another season! Last week I attended the season opener of Florida State vs Ole Miss in Orlando. I had bought Spencer a ticket for his 27^th birthday and he flew in from New Orleans to join his momma at the game. It was the most two diverse halves of football I have ever witnessed. We were down at one point by 18 in the first half, and then went on to outscore them in the second half to win 45-34. But that’s what is so great about this game. It takes you high, and brings you low, and in the end you’ve had a good time high-fiving total strangers in a stadium filled with fanatics.

This year’s season opener in Orlando.  Thankfully by the 4th quarter the Noles were living up to the hype!

So thank you little brother, for introducing me to this great American pastime! I will always think of you when enjoying the game of football. And I’ll give you a big high-five when I join you in heaven for all the victories I’ve had to celebrate here on earth without you.   Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose…

So a few weeks ago my nephew Turner posted on Facebook, “Hey Parents! I have a writing prompt for you– If you could pen a letter to the “new parent” version of yourself, what would it read?” I promised him to stay tuned for my thoughts. And since right now my newsfeed is full of “back to school” and “off to college” posts, I thought what a better time to share some thoughts.

But then it dawned on me I didn’t have to create my own points. Exactly two years ago as my daughter hugged us good-bye in the parking lot across from her freshman dorm, she handed us a sealed letter. We waited until we drove the three hours home from West Palm Beach to Celebration before we opened it. Good thing we did because lots of tears ensued.

So from the pen of our youngest of four children, here is what she thinks we did “well” as parents…

Dear Mom and Dad,

 Congratulations! Just like all four of your children have been accepted to academies, you too have been accepted to the prestigious association of “empty nesters”. You have successfully raised four children and bravely prepared them to step in the “real world” with grace. In short, you have clearly done something right. You have raised us with such care and taught us to chase our dreams. I don’t know how you did it, but here are some things that I noticed might have helped you in this task called parenting…

1. You have raised me to first trust God. Not you, but an ever-loving Savior. This plan was fool proof. This God has given me such confidence and helped me live my life with zeal and complete freedom. I know He has bigger plans for me than I could ever imagine. You gave me a safe environment to grow in my faith and pushed me to turn to Him first. You are living examples of what disciples should look like. Thank you for teaching me to lean on the Rock.
2. You discouraged laziness. I remember summers when Dad would force me to call up a friend and make plans. Although I found it extremely uncomfortable at the time, it helped me become the person I am today. You two pushed me to get involved and stay busy. I love the discomfort I feel on unplanned days and I hope this drive pushes me to do amazing things. Thank you for teaching me that quitting was never an option.
3. You have lived with whimsy. I have always appreciated how atypical our family was. I laugh more in my own home than anywhere else. I have learned from you that being unique is the absolute best. The Darr’s live with a light and that is something to admire. Thank you for encouraging all of us in our crazy passions. Never for a second have you discouraged us from running bare foot towards our dreams. I will miss our spontaneous road trips to football games and randomly going to the Polynesian to get ice cream. I believe this town should feel privileged to have had the not-so-perfect Darr’s in their town. Thank you for allowing us to be a beautiful mess.
4. Being raised in Celebration was a dream. Many found it bothersome living in such a small town but I loved it all. I loved the big windows in my bedroom. I loved the sunshine and the afternoon rain on my tin roof. I loved being able to hear the Disney fireworks every night. I’ve memorized the sound of Mom’s footsteps to my door and the sound of Dad’s laugh from the living room. I’ll miss the sound of people coming and going. I’ve learned so much about life and love from the roommates. I’ll miss the hospitality 1011 Persimmon Street provided. You could make a party out of any occasion. I’ll miss being a NEV ride away from everything I’ve known and come to love. It was incredible making magic here. Thank you for allowing me to thrive in Celebration.
5. You loved. You have loved the boys and me with such unexplainable passion. I can’t even begin to tell you how it feels to have parents who are ALWAYS there. Whether a small football game performance or a national competition you were present. You are such proud parents and bring us up in conversation any time you can. At most times you believe in me more than I believe in myself. Your love is so Christ-like. I’ve never doubted it because I feel it in the way you say my name and the way you watch me dance. I feel it in the way you tear up after I make an accomplishment or realize that I’m hurt. I feel it in the way you have been so strong to watch four of your children leave. Thank you for your unconditional adoration.

 I don’t believe I say it enough but thank you. Thank you for the love, adventures, and laughter. If I had to describe growing up in one word it would be “beautiful”. Life is beautiful with you as parents. The world feels safer, delightful, and worth exploring. I hope watching your kid’s move away brings to light what an incredible job you’ve done. I pray that God blesses your remaining empty next years with marvelous adventures. Continue to love each other the way you deserve to be loved. Dad, don’t take Mom’s beauty for granted, she is powerfully lovely from head to toe. Mom, make sure you laugh at Dad for he is passionately hilarious. Here’s to you! The parents who encourage their kids to explore the world and always welcome them back home with open arms. I don’t deserve you as parents, I know that, and I thank God I was blessed with you.

See ya real soon, 

Ali Darr

Yes, I think she (and her three brothers) are pretty special. There are so many times as parents we doubt ourselves, and then you get to this milestone moment and receive a gift like this. And you say, “Wow! I guess we did pretty good!”

So there you go Turner, not from my lips, but from your cousin’s…

Moving the bike into safe keeping! These are Ali’s wheels to get to the beach!

First day of college for Drew, Spencer, Cameron and Ali… 

Or so the Cornhusker fight song goes! Now Nebraska is probably not on most people’s bucket list of places to visit, but it’s home to me and that’s why I keep going back. I just returned from my fifth trip home to Nebraska in 12 months, definitely a record since moving to Florida 16 years ago. This trip combined so many life events into one ten-day span; it made me reel with emotion. So when considering how to put this into a blog, I thought I would just share some precious “snapshots” and my related reflections on what home means to me…

My first morning in town, our family gathered at my dear Aunt Marge’s graveside to lay her to rest before attending her memorial service. The sun was shining as her eight grandsons served as pallbearers and moved her casket into place. My mind traveled back to ten months ago when my three sons served as pallbearers for their beloved Uncle Ty. As my cousin Steve opened it up for family members to pray, my father’s prayer touched me deeply. He had known Marge longer than any of us, friends since he married the second “Smith sister” in 1957. Her first husband, Don Peterson, was one of his closest friends, as well as his business partner and mentor in real estate. I remember how hard he took his sudden death from the plane accident over 30 years ago. As we started heading to our cars, my nephew Tyler and his new bride were heading over to visit my mom’s grave. My daughter and I joined them and placed a red rose from her sister’s casket on her marker. Three of the four Smith sisters are now together at home in heaven.

We gathered at the Fremont Golf Club following the memorial service. It was my Aunt Marge’s wish that a luncheon be held there for her friends. My Aunt Marge defined hospitality, and she would not have wanted paper plates and plastic tableware for her funeral lunch! The Fremont Golf Club is a special part of my family history. My brother and I spent many summers at the pool (the diving boards still look the same).  My children and their cousins remember grandma taking them to the same pool, and getting to buy treats at the concession stand during the hourly “rest break”.  My dad’s retirement party was held here the year before my mom passed away.  It’s no surprise how much I missed my mom this day, seeing so many of the friends her and Marge shared, and remembering all the happy times at this place.

Aunt Marge’s Farewell Luncheon!  Do you like my hat?  Given to me by Aunt Marge, and worn in her honor.

Aunt Marge lived the past 45 years on Lake Ventura in Fremont.  Her home has been the extended family’s gathering place every Easter, 4th of July, and Christmas for as long as I can remember. The 4th of July was always one of Aunt Marge’s favorite holidays, given her deep love of God and country. Her gooey baked beans and delicious southern potato salad defined comfort food at this holiday. So it was bittersweet this year as we carried on all of her 4th of July traditions without her physical presence. From the impressive Lake Ventura fireworks to making my obligatory trip around the lake on one ski, it was so wonderful to be back home for the 4th after a 16-year absence. This may be our final 4th at the lake, so I relished every moment and really gave thanks in my heart for the wonderful memoires I have. As I held my little grandniece Violet on our boat ride, I didn’t want it to end.

My niece Emily and son Drew at Aunt Marge’s 4th of July over 25 years ago.  Now they are both parents!

Enjoying snuggles with Emily’s daughter Violet this year!

A road trip ensued the next day to the state next door, Missouri, as my son and I drove to meet our newest member of the family, Parker Darr! Born exactly one month ago on June 4th, he was ready to meet his Nana and Uncle Spencer. As I could have predicted, Parker stole my heart, and the hours spent rocking him and playing with him flew by too quickly. He is one blessed little guy, with a mother and father that are so devoted to his care. With the year I’ve had, this by far tops the “happy” chart in my heart. Thank you Jesus the gift of grandchildren! I pray I can live up to the high standard my own mother set as a grandmother.

Uncle Spencer meets Parker Darr, my first grandchild!

Another special part of being home was visiting The Hope Center for Kids that my brother founded 17 years ago. This summer my daughter Ali has been on staff, working with the young children. It was so fun to have her introduce me to the little girls she has been serving! I am always filled with sisterly pride as I walk through the halls and see the many faces that Hope is impacting. As I sat in the Executive Director’s office, which used to be my brother’s office, I pondered whether I would ever be called back home to help carry his vision in some capacity? It would certainly be an honor.

Ali and some of her Hope Center friends…

Friday night brought the final celebration of my nephew Tyler and Jaclyn’s wedding festivities! We attended their destination wedding in Cancun the prior month, but now it was time to throw a party back home for their friends. Terri’s dear friends beautifully decorated the venue and after some toasting, the dancing began. It was so wonderful to see the bride and groom enjoying the many friends and family that gathered to honor their union. I’m so incredibly grateful to God that He provided both a joyous celebration in Cancun, followed by a fun night back in Omaha to celebrate this union.

Tyler and Jaclyn’s beautiful destination wedding in Mexico in June.  The Schenzel family photo!

Gpa and Gunn, with his grandson Tyler Donald and his bride at the Omaha reception.

My final night in Nebraska amazingly enough was the night of my 40 year class reunion. I thought I would go and probably chat with people for an hour or two. Four hours later I finally was heading out the door, after visiting with many classmates, some that dated back to Kindergarten at Clarmar School! It’s so funny how 40 years erases all of the cliques and hierarchies found in high school. I know we all were grateful to gather and reminisce about being the bicentennial class of 1976 from Fremont High and the friendships forged during those years!

Sweet reunion with my close high school friends, Abbe, Carolyn and Shanda!

A most precious and sacred part of my time back home, was visiting Ty and Terri’s graveside at Evergreen Cemetery. The beautiful headstone is now in place, and as I sat on the ground before it, I had myself a “Forest Gump and Jenny” session and told them how incredibly proud they would be of each of their four children. The tears flowed, and the reality still seems hard to grasp, and I would give anything to be sitting at their kitchen table, instead of in front of their headstone. How I miss them, the warmth of their friendship, their unconditional love and support.

Though I know my brother and sister are with Jesus, it is healing to visit their beautiful gravesite.

And now I’ve been back “home” in Florida for the week, and with it comes the reality of challenges I’m facing in my new single life. As I walked into my townhome with my suitcase last Sunday night, I was overcome with emotion. I don’t like coming home to an empty house.

In my little home church this morning, the subject of home came up. And my pastor’s wife made the statement, “I want Jesus to be at home in me…” Then driving home the Bethel song “Home” came on, and these lyrics caught my attention:

I’ve made for you a home
A place where love can grow and be found
Draw to me Jesus
I’ve made my heart a home
My love is Jesus
My love is You alone

And tears filled my eyes as God assured me that I WILL always have a home with Him. I must do my part to make my heart a home to His love, and He will provide the strength and comfort I need. I know it sounds so simple. But after the emotions of my trip home, it’s a message I needed to grasp.

So I had never heard of the concept of a “golden birthday” until I had a daughter. Girls are definitely more attune to find reasons to take an ordinary birthday and make it un-ordinary. So when Ali was 16 we celebrated her GOLDEN birthday because she was born on August 16^th. Which means I was totally ripped off, because being born on June 2^nd, means I was 2 and clueless when it was my golden birthday. (Plus the fact that I’m sure this special little tradition didn’t exist back in 1960.)

Hello World!

Good times at my first birthday party!

So with that said, I’ve decided to proclaim my 58^th birthday my PLATINUM birthday, because I was born in 1958! Why platinum you say? Well all my fellow dance moms out there KNOW that a Platinum award is much higher than a Gold award when it comes to dance competitions. (Maybe I should make this my double elite high platinum birthday?! Again—dance mom joke!)

But before I layout the wishes and hopes I have for my Platinum year, let me first bid farewell to a year that by far has been the most challenging of my life. I don’t want to make light of what these past 12 months have taught me. Rather, I would love nothing more than for some of you to tuck away one or two nuggets of insight that could help you down the road. So here’s some of what I’ve learned.

Lesson One—If you ask God to reveal the truth, He will, in His timing. And knowing the truth of a situation is truly better than the alternative of living in denial and/or suspicion. When I welcomed “57” one year ago, I knew my marriage was already in jeopardy. I just didn’t have all the facts to know how much jeopardy it was in. My desperate prayer was to know the truth. I asked our counselor, “What’s the point of working on making my marriage better if I don’t know the truth?” He wisely said, “Julie, one of two things will happen. Your marriage will get stronger, or the truth will be revealed.” That is exactly what happened, and even though it wasn’t the outcome I wanted, it allowed me to know what I had to do.

Lesson Two—When tragedy strikes, you reap what you have sown into your friendships. Just like Jesus had his 12 disciples, I have had a similar number of close friends that have walked through the valley with me this year of my divorce and brother and sister-in-law’s untimely death. What’s crazy is some of them I’ve known since birth (literally), and one of them is a new friend that came into my life just in the past year. I explain this amazing group of friends like a patchwork quilt. They each are made of a unique fabric with it’s own design. Some of them are just great listeners, they let me vent on the ugly days, and don’t judge me for it. Another is my spiritual mentor—she doesn’t let me stray from the Truth, and challenges me to look at things through eyes of grace. Then I have a few “let’s get it done” friends. Amazing—arranging for flights, paying for house renovations, housing my family back home… Oh how I’ve needed those “Martha” friends this year! And then there are the friends that are the worn fabric of the quilt, the friends that remember my brother when we were all growing up together.  I had childhood friends, sorority sisters and my children’s babysitter, drive from out of state to be with me at the memorial service. I’ve had countless hard days when I didn’t know how I was going to muster the strength to go to work, and then I get a text from a friend making sure I’m OK. What’s amazing to me is I don’t understand how I deserved such friends. But it’s obvious I had made investments without even realizing I was doing it, because I reaped an overflowing bounty of friendship love this year.

Sorority Sisters who helped lighten my load shortly after the accident…

Lesson Three—Life is not “up and to the right”, even when you are a follower of Christ. Somehow in our Western thinking we’ve come to believe that if I am a good person, and especially if I’m a good Christian, life should pretty much be moving in a positive direction at most times. I know I didn’t profess that out loud, but if I was totally honest with myself, it’s what I expected out of life. Yes there was the downward turn when I lost my mom to cancer in 2002. Yes there were a few challenging parenting situations, a few job disappointments. But overall it was “up and to the right”! Until this year… And now I REALLY know why the book of Job is in the Bible. Now I understand that God isn’t about making our life “pain free” but rather being there to help us THROUGH the pain. I love all the lyrics from “With You Now” by Ellie Holcomb, but especially these…

When you sing your sad song, I will learn the words and sing along.

And when you’re in the valley we will find the river winding through, I’ll hold onto you.

I’ve learned there is some pain that just cannot be erased. You can’t keep people you love from making wrong choices, you can’t rewind time and keep senseless accidents from happening, and you can’t wave a magic wand and take away the pain from a grieving niece or a despairing daughter. But you learn that you lean hard into the truth that God has NOT forgotten you and your loved ones. He does see every tear and He desperately wants to redeem the messes and the mistakes and make us more whole than we were before. But we must keep our focus on Him, and keep putting one foot in front of the other each day, even on those days when it takes all we can just to get out of bed.

Lesson Four—Sometimes church needs to take on a non-traditional form. Having been married to a music pastor most of my 30 year marriage, church has always been a big part of our family life. Back in our Assembly of God days we even went twice on Sundays, with three little boys in tow! But this year, I just couldn’t do traditional church. It honestly hurt too much to walk into that service and see the families, and feel so alone as a single woman, and hear the sermons about what it takes to build a strong marriage. Sometimes I would go in just for the worship and then bolt before the sermon. Please know I LOVE the church. But this year I needed a different type of church, and God has blessed me with a small home church led by an incredible couple that has walked through the fire in their marriage. We are sort of like the “island of misfit toys” in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. For the most part we are in a similar season of life, but have weathered some really heavy storms. And we dive into scripture and we go deep, and we REALLY look at how Jesus did life. I have learned to transcend from the “right and wrong” of my disappointments, to the “mercy and grace” that allows me to heal the hurt, and redefine relationships that needed redefined. I am so grateful God provided the perfect church solution for me in this season.

Our little Church meeting on the lake, enjoying God’s creation!

Lesson Five—God’s timing does not always make sense to our finite minds. As I write this, our family home has been on the market for over a year. I just don’t understand why it hasn’t sold. (And PLEASE don’t tell me because it’s priced too high—I hear that from my dad all the time!)   But I have to trust there is a reason to the timing that right now I don’t see. Memorial Day my dad took a bad fall and broke three ribs. Bam! The loss of my brother is magnified—I want to pick up the phone and tell him how dad’s doing. But it’s just me, and it honestly sucks to not have a sibling, or a husband to lean on. (Sorry Mom, I know you hate the word “sucks”.) My beloved Aunt Marge is dying and I want to scream—really God? I don’t WANT to bury another beloved family member this soon. Work has been so crazy, and though I love my job, there are days like today when I have to duck in a private room to have a little cry before I can face one more project. So as much as I’d like to take more control over the timing, I’ve learned more than ever this year, that’s just not going to happen. So I must keep trusting the One who’s got it under control.

My Beloved Aunt Marge in March at her Granddaughter’s Wedding

So enough lessons for one year, let’s focus on this Platinum birthday of mine. I’ll keep this short, but here are some of my wishes for this year:

• Become a grandmother, specifically a Nana (my chosen grandma name). And it’s about to happen–seriously any day! Baby Boy Darr will be making an entrance in Colombia, Missouri. And I will go visit in July! I am beyond excited to take on this new role!  And I love that God saw fit to make this happen now.
• Travel to Italy—Ali is studying abroad next year and I told her the only way she could go, is if I could come at the end of the semester and travel with her. I can’t wait to take in this beautiful country with her and make wonderful memories.
• Keep investing in friendships. Remember lesson two? Can’t ever stop—need to keep sowing good seed in both the old and the new friendships.
• Continue to seek healing for my heart. I feel I’ve only begun to process the pain of my divorce. I want to be intentional in seeking wise counsel to understand the depth of the hurt and learn from my mistakes. And I hope I can help others as they walk this tough road.
• Be as much a part of my children and nieces and nephews lives as humanly possible (though at the moment none of them live near me). They are my biggest joy, my hope for the future, and I’m so incredibly proud of each of them. When I am feeling sorry for myself, all I have to do is remember the blessing that each of them is to me.

Thanks for taking the time to share in my Platinum Birthday Blog! Let’s eat cake!

Julie’s Platinum Birthday!

Ali’s Golden Birthday!

May, the month I first became a mom, the month we celebrate Mother’s Day, and the month my sweet mother departed for heaven 14 years ago. I also am supposed to become a grandmother for the first time this May… but we will see if the little guy decides to make his appearance on time!

So in the spirit of honoring mothers and grandmothers, may I tell you a little about the one I was blessed with for 44 years?

Alice Harriet was the second born of the four “Smith Sisters”. She was born at home in California Junction, Iowa, an unincorporated town of less than 100 people. Whenever she would talk of her childhood, it was recollections of how poor they were, one pair of shoes each, and homemade dresses cut from patterns that her mother designed. Photographs were a luxury, but the few we have of her childhood I cherish, like this one of the sisters all in a row.

The Smith Sisters–Marjorie, Alice, Joan & Barbara Jo

Their father battled his demons, and their mother suffered because of it. But despite the challenges of their home life, all four girls graduated high school, married great men, and soon starting giving birth. (Case in point, my parents married on August 3^rd, and I was born on June 2^nd.) My mother truly was destined to be a mom. She came by it so naturally. My earliest memories are the birthday parties she would throw for me with crepe paper tacked to the dining room light fixture cascading down to all four corners of the table. My brother and I were sent off to school everyday after a hot breakfast, and came home to a home cooked family dinner at 6:00 every night.

The Early Days of Motherhood

It wasn’t until I was out of high school that I discovered not all parents attended their children’s school events. I seriously thought it was part of the “parental code of conduct” that came with the title! When I moved into my college dorm at Kearney State, my mother started scrubbing spots off the wall, and ended up scouring the entire place before she left. When my brother decided to attend Asbury College in Kentucky, we made the trek together to make sure mom could settle him into his dorm.

Settling Ty in at Asbury College in Kentucky

When my mom finally became a grandmother for the first time in 1987, she embraced that role with even more gusto than motherhood. Ask any of her eight grandchildren about their Grandma Schenzel and they will have memories to share; sleepovers in Fremont with the obligatory trip to the ½ Price Store for a new toy, homemade mac ‘n cheese, and the Christmas tree overflowing with gifts—because gift giving was definitely her top love language.

The Magical Trip to Disney with Grandma & Grandpa

But in 2001, our world changed drastically. When my mom went in for basic gallbladder surgery, my Dad and I were shaken to the core when the doctor came out and said, “I have no good news, “ in his broken English. He proceeded to tell us he had found cancer and it had already spread to her liver. The prognosis was dim, but God gave us a beautiful 18 months to journey with her, and during that time I had the privilege of witnessing the true character of my mother. She kept her sense of humor, she never was rude to her caregivers, and she kept giving despite the battle she was waging. One of my most special memories was when I traveled with my dad and her to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. While in the waiting room a dear stranger struck up a conversation with us, and we became fast friends, bonded by the commonality of the disease, our faith, and my mom’s sense of fashion. Sally mentioned that she loved my mom’s purse that she had bought recently. Later that night we saw Sally in our restaurant having dinner. My mom asked our waiter for a “to go” bag, dumped the entire contents of her designer purse into the bag, and proceeded to give it to her new friend. I was not surprised… my mother, ever the gift giver.

Mother’s Day 2001 with both of the “Schenzel” Moms…two of the very best

About four months after her death, it was the first anniversary of 9/11. It was the catalyst I needed to finally put my thoughts down on paper. I wrote pages and pages about the 18 months we were given, as I didn’t want to forget God’s faithfulness in all that had transpired. Here is an excerpt from that journaling about our final days together, including Mother’s Day…

“The next two weeks were full of company. Of course all three sisters came. Joan was your nurse, anticipating your every need and providing you the comfort that only a sister can. Marge was the cook, making her comfort food so we could all feel at home. Barbara Jo was the little sister who couldn’t bear to see her beloved Alice slipping away. I looked forward to coming over every day to be with you and give Dad a chance to get out of the house for a bit. I wish we could have talked more during those last days. Mother’s Day was the absolute hardest day of my life. I sent the kids to the pool with Dad so we could be alone. I just sat by your bed, holding your hand, and let the tears flow. I asked you what advice you had for me… “Keep being the wonderful wife and mother that you are,” is what you said. That’s my Mom, always by biggest fan. We told Ty it was time to come to Florida as the end was near. The last words I heard you speak were when you looked up as Ty entered your room after flying in that day. “Oh my God!” you said, and then again closed your eyes and drifted away. The next day, as your breathing slowed, Ty and I stood on one side of the bed and Dad on the other. We started telling you again how much we loved you and that it was OK to go. I told you of the beautiful crown that awaited you with lots of big jewels. I told you how your grandchildren would someday come to you again, and listed their names. And as you breathed your last breath, it was a sacred moment. The woman who had given birth to my brother and me had breathed her last… the perfect circle of love, just as it had started so many years ago.

Now as I watch the coverage of the anniversary of our nation’s tragedy, I can understand the grief I see on the faces. I have lived that grief these past several months. I know it is good to cry, I know it is good to remember the details of your loved one’s life. I know that none of us were ready for this to happen. But I also know the One who holds my life and who still holds yours Mom. Except now you are with Him face to face, while I still struggle down here with everyday life. I still am striving to make you proud. You are my wind beneath my wings, even more so now. I know you are interceding on your family’s behalf, for our protection, our well-being, and that we will all join you in heaven.

Our last Easter together, until we meet again…

I miss you so much Mom, it sometime feels like my heart will break. I get these waves of homesickness for you, just like I would when Dad and you would go on your vacations, or you would send me to Girl Scout camp. Except now I can’t count the days down until I see you again. I have to leave that in God’s hands. But I do know heaven is a much sweeter place to think about going to, because you are there. I think about how you now are realizing how much the Father loves you, and always did. And I thank God for allowing me to be your one and only daughter, and for the invaluable legacy you imprinted in my life. I am working to do the same in the lives of my children, and someday my grandchildren. I so wish you were still here to share life with us, but God knew best and I choose to trust Him.” 9/11/02

Now my dear brother and sister have joined my mother in heaven. I don’t claim to know how relationships work in heaven, but I will tell you if there is such a thing as a family reunion, the one with my mother and Ty and Terri no doubt topped the “joyful” scale. My brother was rocked to the core by my Mom’s death, and it makes me smile to think of them together again.

As for me, the one “left behind” for now, I will continue to cherish the wonderful role of being a mother to my four children, an aunt to my nieces and nephews, and now a grandmother (at last) to my grandson. I was taught to love well by one of the best.

The love of a mother, and grandmother…