Will, Sept 2013

September was an all-about-Will month. (Let's be honest: The previous 11 months were all about Will, too.) I still think parents deserve the presents on their kid's first birthday. A you-kept-him-alive gift! Besides birthday planning and celebrating, we set up a fire pit at the property for all of the bon fires we're dreaming of having there with family and friends (pictures to come), we had our wonderful and talented friend and photographer Katie take more family pictures, and Will got (even) more mobile than he was before. He's not walking. Yet. But, believe me, he gets around.



Just because he can't walk doesn't mean he can't climb.
I'm going to submit this for the Mommy-of-the-year award.

 

If three shots and a finger prick at your one-year appointment
 aren't grounds for a milkshake, I don't know what is.

 

 

Well placed

I've been praying for a woman I know who has breast cancer. Last week, she found out it spread to her brain. I've also been praying for a woman I know who has rectal cancer. In a short period of time, it has come back three times.

We all know people who are suffering. Maybe we are those people. No one has a trump card in the conversation about suffering. I've been hesitant to write this post because God forbid (seriously) that I think I can write about suffering. I know plenty of people who can. My mother was one of them. Christ--He actually does hold the trump card on suffering. No one has suffered like Him.

I've watched suffering, I've prayed for suffering to end, and frankly, many times, I've had faith crises over ongoing suffering in the lives of people I know. Carolyn James wrote a book I love entitled When Life and Beliefs Collide, and that's exactly how I'd describe a faith crisis: when what you think you know about God is challenged by what God does. This post is not about suffering. It's about those very faith crises that are often the result--in my own life at least--and the ways the Lord has brought me through them.

As a Christian, I treasure Romans 8:28 with all my heart. It's where God promises to work all things out for my good. Wow. What a promise. If I'm honest (and I'm trying to be), my definition of good and God's definition of good aren't always the same, and that's where the crisis starts.

Around the same time I found out I was pregnant, mom got put on Hospice care. Her body was too weak to continue treatment, and untreated brain cancer certainly qualifies for end-of-life care. She had a couple of MRIs scheduled while she was off the treatment. In anticipation of the first one, I remember literally crying to Ryan: I trust God, but I wish I knew what I was trusting Him for!

I knew from Scripture that God could heal. I knew He could make lame, too (Deuteronomy 32:39). I needed somewhere to confidently place my hope and my expectations. I know God is good, but what if His good and my good don't match up this time? I know God is loving, but sometimes the loving thing to do is to burn off the dross. I trust God, but that doesn't mean He isn't going to make me or my loved ones suffer. According to Scripture, quite the opposite is actually true. "For those whom the Lord loves He disciplines, and He scourges every son whom He receives" (Hebrews 12:6). And even more: "it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him" (emphasis mine, Philippians 1:29). Granted to suffer?

I trusted God, but I wanted to know what I was trusting Him for.

The way this physical world works, the likelihood that mom's cancer had grown was high. Untreated cancer typically grows. I wanted to know: How could I sleep the night before, much more, walk into her doctor's appointment with her, knowing I was about to be told the cancer had grown? that she had less time than she had the last time we were there? It was like willingly walking into doom. It's one thing to know something bad is true. It's another thing to willingly sit in a room and be told the awful truth you're already living out. 

Before that appointment, God showed me Psalm 25:3: "No one whose hope is in You will ever be put to shame..." (and other passages like it: Psalm 34:5, Isaiah 49:23). And this is how the Holy Spirit has applied it to my heart since: I can't put God in a box and foretell how He is going to make Romans 8:28 true in any given situation. In fact, I should be thankful He's so much greater than my ability to figure Him out. In His love, He knows my feeble mind needs somewhere to securely land. Simple as it sounds, this thought brought me profound comfort then, and now: Per Psalm 25, I don't know how the situation at hand will turn out, but I know if I place my hope and faith in Christ, He will prove them well placed.

We received a miracle that day, and mom's MRI showed no obvious cancer growth. Untreated cancer, but no growth. That's actually not the point of this post, but to God be the glory. I walked out unashamed.

Here's the point of this post: Mom's sickness did ultimately end in death. She didn't get the healing I asked for. She got more. She got Him. My faith and hope were proven well placed on both occasions--the miracle of no tumor growth and the better miracle of eternity in heaven. I am unashamed at having trusted Christ with her.

And that's the other point about faith crises that I actually love. God perseveres His saints. "He will also keep you firm to the end, so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Cor. 1:8).

If our faith is well placed, it's because He does the placing.

Yes, we have a part, but the mysterious, wonderful truth is that even our part is enabled by Him: "Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose" (Philippians 2:12&13).

The Christians who are still Christians after immense suffering are evidence that God perseveres us. I became a Christian when I was a child, but I have since thought if I wasn't a Christian as an adult, this truth would probably have convinced my analytical, commitment-afraid mind: Surrender your life to Christ because once you do, He keeps you until the end. You're engraved on His hands (Isaiah 49:16). The arrangement between you and Him is permanent. Christ, the Groom, will betroth Himself to you, His bride, in a marriage that will never end--no matter what struggles you face. Talk about confidence in the middle of a faith crisis.

At the beginning of this post, I mentioned two women I am praying for. Two women, who in my opinion, have already met their suffering quota for life on this earth. And not just them, but their families, too. As an onlooker, I call to mind what the Lord taught me with mom. I pray that His nearness during the trouble would be sweeter even than the trouble is bitter. And I pray that He'd persevere His saints who are suffering because sometimes, that's the best indicator of God in the aftermath of suffering anyway: that His saints still believe. And I pray that the hope of the one suffering, and of those carrying her burdens in prayer, would prove well placed, because, after all, He has given us His word on that.



About three months before the miracle of heaven for mom



Did someone say CAKE?!

Happy first birthday, Will!

 

You should feel so privileged--we started celebrating your birthday back in August when Grandpa Steve and GG Evey came to visit, and we were still celebrating on Tuesday, when Mimi came with a cupcake and presents! And that's not to mention your party last weekend! Grandma Jan flew all the way from California for that, and of course your Raleigh family didn't miss it. You loved your cake, especially after daddy smashed your hand in it. It's as if you needed permission, but once the deed was done, you dove right in, and the pictures prove it. Thanks to your many fans, you're now the owner of a monogrammed backpack, a lunchbox, a toy truck, even a silver piggy bank, among lots of other things.

 

We sure love you, buddy, and we're proud to be your parents! One is gonna be fun! 

 

P.S. Make sure you give Grandma Jan a big hug next time you see her. If it wasn't for her last week, we could not have pulled off your party.  Let's just say you don't often play by yourself...

 

We LOVE you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Florida sun, post 3

(See post 1 and post 2)

Two things can get in the way of sunbathing on a vacation: scorched skin and rain. On those two occasions, the Hardisons loaded the car for a different family outing: shopping. Antique shopping. Or, more accurately, Mom went antique shopping, and we went with her.

The treasure troves are a dime a dozen down there, and only now does it hit me to wonder why: "You can't take it with you when you go," and the retirees who fled the snow for the south Florida coast--and never went back--are perfect examples. Their left-behinds became her rough, and a diamond or two she always found. 

If you've ever eaten a meal at the Hardison house, you've heard the story of mom's sterling silver flatware. Maybe multiple times. I can't remember why mom was looking for silver flatware that particular year. She already had a set at home. I bet she saw a picture in a Southern Living of a beautifully mismatched place setting and got inspired. (Same thing happened to me just last week.)

I can hear mom tell the story:

"I'm looking for sterling silver flatware. Any chance you have any?"

[Store owner, peering over her square half glasses] "As a matter of fact, I just got a set the other day. But, you probably won't be interested because there's an initial engraved on each piece."

[Mom, excited] "That doesn't bother me. It'll add to the charm of my set. What's the initial, anyway?"

"H."

Now I know for certain mom believed that set of "H" sterling silver flatware was a gift straight from the Lord that day. A find that good had to be divine.

As fun as it was to troll the shelves of other people's stuff, finding treasures always left mom in the quandary each year of how to get her treasures home. A set of flatware is one thing. An oil painting is another. One year, we drove the two days home with a canvas oil painting strapped to the inside roof of the car. The Camry. Mom bribed me with a new purse and Drew with a signed baseball card not to complain about it. (For any family members who have forgotten which picture I'm talking about, it's the one with the three-legged dog hanging over the yellow printed chair in the den.)

Thanks to those retired, relocated, at-rest Floridians, mom and dad's home is filled with beautiful antiques, and almost every piece has a story. When mom was couch-ridden the last few years, she always said how much she loved her house. I know looking at all of her things brought back memories, like the story of the divine flatware.

The day after antiquing (and stamp and coin collecting for Drew and me--I must mention that), we always ended up back in the sun, not to lose our tans of course. And eventually, those two wonderful, highly anticipated Florida weeks would come to a close, the only things drawing me home, my kitty and the chance to show off my tan.

Last, but most important, before closing the door on that shag carpet for the next 340-some days until we opened it again, we managed to find time for stuff like this:

 

and this:

and this:

And I'm so glad we did. Because that right there is what vacation is all about.

Sun. Fun. Togetherness.

Oh childhood summers, sweet is your lingering scent, happy are your lasting memories.

Florida sun, post 2

(See my first post about Florida.)
Our Florida vacations consisted of alternating days between the pool and the beach. We were oblivious to the harms of baking in the sun and thrilled with the benefits: relaxation and a tan. If it was sunny out, we'd be laying out. We read books, applied sunscreen to each other, and on pool days, Drew and I perfected handstands and swimming strokes, begging for an audience from mom and dad. An underwater thermometer hung by a string off the ladder at the deep end, an odd fascination to us.

One year in particular, I remember mom joining us late at the pool. She was at the condo with a splitting headache and nausea. We didn't know it at the time, but how dare a brain tumor show up on a family vacation.

Beach days were a little more of a production because we had to drive there. We hoped to find a parking spot on the beach side of the road so we wouldn't have to cross the busy lanes of traffic on foot, but after we discovered the underground tunnel, I secretly hoped for an across-the-street spot instead. We staked out our spot, dug our chairs into the sand, lathered up, grabbed our books, and all four Hardisons sat on the beach, soaking in the sun, lost in our own fiction, only looking up when the sound of a plane overhead announced with a trailing sign two-for-one beers at the beach-front restaurant that night. Drew and I pretended we didn't know what beers were.

Lunch on the beach was always nabs and a Coke. There is of course no other beach lunch. Finally, in the late afternoon, Dad would get up from his chair--a sign that it was time to go--and we'd load our stuff and ourselves into the hot car, sitting still to avoid feeling the hot stickiness of our skin any more than we had to, Drew and I each claiming first dibs on the shower when we got home.

Some days we'd find time for fishing in the canal between sunbathing. One day I insisted on fishing with Vienna Sausages, even though Drew and Dad laughingly told me fish didn't eat sausage. Turns out they were right. None bit. But with Dad's bait at the end of our lines, Drew and I did catch a blowfish or two in that canal.

After dinner some nights we'd drive around, on the hunt for the Florida smell. Only if your last name is Hardison do you know about the Florida smell. It was a mix of peppers and Christmas trees, and it was only in certain spots. When we found it, Dad would drive slow, we'd roll down the windows, turn down the radio, and breathe it in. Sometimes just driving down the road, not looking for it, one of us would yell "Florida smell," which elicited the same response from everyone in the car, like kids filing in line during a fire drill. We rolled down our windows, went silent, and smelled. We never knew the source of the smell. Maybe it would have ruined it if we did. It was probably a bush or flower or something. It was a smell Dad remembered from his childhood, and now it's one I remember from mine.

The sun, fishing, the Florida smell, and more sun. There's one big part of our Florida vacations I haven't mentioned, and Mom is the star. It was the reason she looked forward to this vacation every year. That's post #3.

Drew and me "working out" at the gym in our complex.
Strike a pose, Susan.