September 19, 2013

I hold this handmade book in my hands and smell deeply of the leather. It’s a good smell. I reread the inscription on the first page and hand the book to Evans and say, “Look.” Our eyes  landed on the precise, girlish handwriting of Reagon Rion. We read the note, he smiles, eyes glistening.

I remember the morning Rea brought me a beautifully wrapped box with super glittery ribbon. She laughed as sparkles were all over us just upon untying the ribbon. “My mom and I love glitter,” she said. I can see her smile now as all the class gathered around to see. She had heard me tell a story months prior of learning to journal when I was 11–their age–and how I now have over 100 volumes. I unwrapped the tissue–glitter still falling like rain–and gasped when I saw this book. “I made this for you with my Dad.” Her smile beamed from ear to ear.

“Oh, Reagon!” I just…I am..overwhelmed.” The gift of love, time, effort and thoughtfulness that she and her dad had shown to me through this gift took my heart by surprise. I was so touched. The students ooohhed and ahhhed over Rea’s handiwork. I think they were quite amazed as well. I held it gently as I told her she couldn’t have made me something more meaningful. “This will be a treasure forever.”

I knew that I’d write not daily, but on the occasion to be remembered…significant times, momentous events, ” God moments” to be documented and the like. I told her days later that I wanted the pages to last me a long time. She then explained they’d made it so I could add pages later if need be.

On that Christmas season morning at school in our 5th grade class room, I never dreamed it would be Reagon’s last Christmas with us here on earth. Our 5th grade class at Gloria Deo Academy was given the sweetest of gifts in Reagon that first semester of school. Rea weakened over the winter, her lungs struggling as she waited for her double lung transplant. Though her body struggled, her spirit was as much of a warrior as ever. Somehow, from her bed, the couch and sometimes the hospital, she not only kept up with my class assignments but managed to turn in ALL of the remaining history work weeks before the end of school. She’d even email during a hospital stay, “Mrs. George, what did you all do in class today?” We’d exchange girly squeals as only two pig owners could. I was jumping out of my skin the day she told me that for sure she was going to get a pig. She’d email me updates and finally pictures of Charlotte. Then I’d tell her a funny story about Olive or send her a picture.

Reagon changed me~for always. I know my heart will be fuller, more tender, more grateful and confident in the goodness of my God no matter what. This is what Reagon modeled for me. This is what she lived. This is the legacy she leaves and it will live forever. Her life pointed to Christ~the Author and Finisher of our faith.

…From the words of an old song~changed up a bit. “All who come behind her find her faithful. The fire of her devotion lights their way…the footprints that she leaves, leads them to believe.”

What a bright, shining beauty. Yesterday, she received her full and total healing. Yesterday, I am sure Jesus met her with loads of sparkles ’cause He knew she loves them. He probably–if I were to guess–wore purple in honor of her resurrected whole body. I know they laughed a lot because she was given, by God, a joy filled heart that always bubbled over.

Monday we will gather to celebrate her twelve years here with us. The celebration is at 11:00, but I am confident it will last a lifetime.

“Jesus, thank you for this precious ray of sunshine you gave us all in Reagon.”

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Eddie called this morning and asked if he could stop by and drop something at our gate on his way to his parents. “Sure, come on up for coffee.” He said he had to get on the road, but thanks anyway. A text message came about 20 minutes later; a note to check the gate. I walked up the drive to the front gate of White Dove Meadow. My heart feeling as if it hung heavy. A large plastic bag enclosed a manila folder. Eddie’s handwriting on the top left said, “For: Evans and Esther

Just something I was lucky enough to see….”

Curious, I opened it slowly expecting a picture of Lucy he must have caught in the weeks prior. “Presumption,” I thought to myself when my eyes fell on not a photograph but this typed account, on pretty paper, of a moment I will not ever forget…only from his perspective, there were things I could not see. Eddie’s paper read as follows:

“The herd is always together. That is how they survive. It’s how God meant for them to graze the earth. And, when it is a horse’s time to pass on, they will actually leave the herd and move away. I don’t know why. Maybe its just part of the herd instinct, or maybe they walk to God because He asked for only that horse and not the herd.

At the end of the day, Lucy walked to the back of the corral, the furthest distance away from people and x-ray machines and slings and comfort. She was so very tired, yet so strong. Esther joined her at the back or the corral and cradled her head as had done before many times. I watched and wept as we all did. Lucy put all her weight into Esther’s arms and her eye became very quiet and calm and comfortable. No wrinkles, no worries. As Esther pushed her back up to relieve some off the pressure of Lucy’s weight, she became very alert. Lucy stood up tall, ears perked straight up. She was facing the back of the corral. She took two looks deep into the pasture through the trees. Fred and Zara were there…her herd…she checking in for the last time. She made no call to them. Then immediately she was back into Esther’s arms and heart—Lucy was where she wanted to be, with her herd leader…at that moment, Lucy was ready…

Horses always seek out the strongest individual in the herd to lead. Safety, survival, strength, comfort. Lucy was cradled in the very herd instinct in Esther arms…a beautiful bond and a beautiful memory…

-Ed Kolwasky

It was good Eddie had to get on the road. I probably would have opened it upon receipt if he’d come to have coffee with us, and maybe I wouldn’t have had the moment I did sitting on the driveway, crying out my hurt…feeling loss and gratitude all mixed up together. Emma Schmidt told me once, “Es, it’s okay. Tears are a language to God.” How glad I am that they are words to Him.

Running in, as the candles were lit and feverishly flickering their waxed bodies down into the icing, Evans looked about anxiously mouthing the words, “Who’s birthday.” Not having been as quiet as he thought, he had to look down, almost to his knees, to hear the voice that squeaked in surprise (as if he CLEARLY should have known), “uhhh MER i CAUSE!” said the tiny Addison. She had a look of utter disbelief that he even had to ask.

We now have our favorite 4th of July story. Let the little whippersnappers set us straight. July 4th isn’t just about fireworks, friends and Hebrew National franks. We celebrate our beloved tri-striped flag for all it represents.

Do they know, I wondered, what, “When in the Course of Human Events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them to another and to assume among the Powers of the earth a separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and Nature’s God entitles them” means?

For now, they know we celebrate the birthday of our nation. One Nation under God. For now, they know it’s important enough to have a big celebration. Year after year, hopefully, all those knee-high-to-a grasshopper children will know the names, stories and history of our founding fathers.

Hopefully, they will know why those men (and, the women and families with them) felt so inclined to pledge their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor. The did. They did all that. The lost much so we could have the opportunity to have much. They had a vision for future generations. These men and their families were willing to make decisions which cost them deeply.

Upon their sacrifice of much we’ve stood and watched the history of the United States of America play out on a foundation laid through great courage and tremendous grit. We will always have much to improve upon and much to learn from–both our history’s successes and horrific and tragic mistakes. I hope we will have the same type of grit they possessed.

God.

Freedom.

Family.

A letter to a King. A Declaration of Independence…

A Constitution (A Supreme Law of the Land)…

The Bill of Rights…

These heart held beliefs and these documents represent far more than yellowing, archaic text. They are the cornerstones upon which our Nation was built. Under them were people with great courage, great faith in God and one another and a great willingness to do what they believed was right for their families and communities, regardless of the cost.

This is what we celebrate. This is what we have to teach the little people growing up; those who will one day be the men and women making the decisions for our counties, cities, states and Nation.

God bless America!

Land that [we] love

Stand beside her

And Guide her