Death as a Gift

Today was my son Sean’s belly button birthday. He was born December 14, 1977 around 9:40 am. I say around because I remember very vividly the events of that happy occasion. This is a story I never thought of writing about. Maybe this is the kind of tale that would be told to the grand kids. I’m not sure. I do know that yesterday Pastor John preached a wonderful sermon and towards the end he talked about a conversation between a mother and son regarding the young mans struggles with health. He told his Mom that maybe his diabetes was a gift from God. How beautiful, that this young man would be able to look at his affliction, a life changing illness, from Our Heavenly Father’s perspective.

I had never thought of my son’s death as a gift. I knew it was something huge that was given to me to endure, that was all. Unless you have personally experienced the loss of a child you will not be able to relate to this. As I write this, I pray my thoughts, words and heart pours forth from the Holy Spirit within and will not be anything of myself. Still, a broken hearted mother who misses her son each and every day. He was 23 years young when he died. But first let me tell you of his birth.

I was living with my parents at the time and still covered under their insurance until the end of the year. I remember my Mom mentioning we should hope the baby is born before the end of the year. I had no idea what I was having, boy or girl. I was hoping for a boy, to put it mildly. At nine months pregnant I was out shoveling snow and doing other things hoping to speed up the process. I had gained a lot of weight. People were always encouraging pregnant women to eat back then. “You’re eating for two, have some more!” Praise God we don’t do that to women anymore. It was hard for those of us who already struggled with understanding the concepts of moderation, size does matter and less is better.

The father of the baby was living with his mother at the time. He had been in a terrible motorcycle accident over the summer and was in a cast from his waist down. One leg was busted up pretty bad. We were not together when this happened and I guess recovering from surgery and the accident gave him a change of heart regarding the possibility of fatherhood. He was 24 and I was 19. The evening of December 13th I was over his Mom’s visiting. I began having pains that night once I was back home and the pains grew and became more frequent. I let my Mom know when she got home from work and we called and spoke to a nurse timing them and decided I should come in. It was a foggy night on the way to Oakwood hospital and my Mom was very nervous and anxious to get us there both safely and quickly. I had decided on natural childbirth but didn’t take any classes. I simply knew I didn’t want to be drugged up or given any of the others things I had heard about.

No need to go into great detail about all this. Eventually my water broke and I was in about 6 hours of hard labor. I felt my Mom was not following through with getting Mark down there so asked the nurse to please intervene and make sure he had been called and was on his way down. When I was moved to the delivery room the doctor stepped out for a minute to check on another delivery and while he was out the baby was born. A boy and I was overjoyed. My Mom was in the delivery room with me, Mark I assume was in the waiting room because I did see him later. I remember someone saying note the time and so that’s why I mention about. It was 9:40 give or take a minute or two. Years later Sean asked me what time he was born because he wanted to have his chart done. I shared this part of the story with him and he seemed to enjoy hearing it and said as long as it was within five minutes, it was good to know.

Mark and I had not agreed on a name. I wanted to name him Deidrick but he hated the name. The day I was to be released from the hospital, and they kept you there three days back then, someone came around with a form on a clip board. I was told I could not be released until I gave them a name so they could finish the paperwork. We had finally decided on Sean Michael and had previously signed the paternity papers stating that Mark Tomes was indeed the father.

Something else Pastor John shared in the sermon really struck my heart. And made me smile because I could totally relate to it. When we would arrive at family gatherings, everyone would be calling out to Sean and we were pretty much ignored for the first few minutes. But that’s to be expected and we were happy to watch everyone shower him with love. I am crying as I write this just thinking about the love I saw in our families for my son. He was and is dearly loved and missed by many.

Both his father and I like to write. Mark wrote poetry mainly whereas I have a poet’s heart and have written some over the years but I enjoy writing stories much more. Sean had a heart of gold. He had been tapping into his gift of writing. At 23 he had so many stories to tell from life lessons he had already lived through. Sean wrote poetry and I have one of his notebooks. Mark was fond of saying he grew up on the streets of hard knocks, and so had I. Our son however had been through more than us and in half the time. Life happens to us all. We go through things and we live and learn. Moving on and looking ahead is the key. Looking back and holding on to things in the past gets us no where. It simply keeps us prisoners, bound and chained, of no use to anyone, least of all our selves.

I was living with a friend at my sister Carolyn’s house. We rented two bedrooms. One was our bedroom and the other his office, our study. Sean wanted to move back to Tahoe and he moved into the study on a temporary basis. He got a job shortly afterward and soon after that found two potential roommates. Two young ladies and he was stoked. He was to move out May first. We spent about a month together and I thank God for this time with him. He had turned us onto this game, Age of the Empires, and we’d hang out in the study. We would go out on the deck and talk while we smoked a cigarette. Both of us had asthma but we both smoked. I treasure these talks. One day he talked about the wreckage he left behind back in Detroit. I could tell he was thinking of going back and trying to clean that up. I told him rather bluntly that if he went back to Detroit he would not get out of there alive. People wanted him dead and we both knew it.

Easter weekend my family got together in the City. I am very grateful for this. God is so Awesome. As a family we got together for two wonderful meals. Breakfast at Kate’s Kitchen and the Cliff House for brunch Easter Sunday. After the brunch we all went to a park in the City and fed the ducks, hung out and took pictures. It was a wonderful time, the entire weekend. At one point Sean was resting on a picnic table and you could say he looked dead to the world, laid out, so to speak. He and his friend Martin had partied hard while they were there. He still drank and smoked pot but was off the hard drugs. I was grateful for that.

I will not go into the details of his death. I wrote about that in detail previously. I will just say this. When he got his first paycheck he wanted to go out and buy a few drinks for a few friends. They went to Lakeside Casino. At one point during the night he popped in and gave me some money. Some he had borrowed from me and other money towards his rent with his new roommates that he wanted me to hang on to for him. He mentioned he wasn’t feeling too good so I told him to join us for dinner, pizza night and just stay in. But he decided to go back out. That morning he woke me up about 3:00 am, he was having an asthma attack. It was April 28th. He was dead within a half an hour.

I will not say much about what I went through after this. I will tell you about some of the things that went through my heart and mind. I was very angry with God for taking him and not me. I had been suicidal a number of times and would have welcomed death. God carried me through this time. At one point a phrase played over and over in my head. “It’s gonna be OK.” That was God, although I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t know the Lord then, just His name.

You’ve probably seen the email about some people come into your life for a season, for a reason. It’s possible, the man I was with at the time, that was his reason. Because once again, I wanted to die. But I thought about him finding me dead and after what we had been through, watching Sean die, well I just couldn’t do that to him.

When I wrote in detail about his death I titled it, “The worst thing that ever happened to me.” I thought about things like, what could be worse than this. These are a couple of things I came up with. Not knowing what has happened to your child. If they are alive or dead. Watching them be tortured or harmed and not being able to do anything for them, to help in any way. These are the kinds of thoughts I would have regarding my son’s death.

I was arrested for a DUI and got clean and sober in February of 2006. The DUI was my rock bottom but I was brought to my knees on June 17th of that same year. I decided then that my son’s death was not the worst thing that ever happened to me. It was the most heart breaking experience, to be sure. The worst thing was to be without hope, to want to die because I felt I had no other option. Jeremiah 29:11 says: For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I don’t know what the Lord’s plans are for me. I try to live one day at a time and not look back at painful things in my past. I am forgiven. I am saved by the blood of Christ who died on the cross for all of us sinners. I still sin, every day. I am far from perfect and I never will be. It’s not even a goal. My only goal in this life is to serve the Lord, to love Him with all my heart, mind, soul and strength.

I close this with prayer. I pray that you have the Lord in your life. If you do not, I pray you will turn to Him for comfort in your hour of need. And we all get to that place in our lives. He is standing right there knocking on your heart waiting for you to open the door. That is all it takes. Just let Him in. He does not go where he is not welcome. Welcome Him. Let His Love and Peace Embrace You. I pray this in Jesus Christ Our Savior’s Holy, Precious name. Amen

Christmas Memories

I have a lot of happy Christmas memories from years gone by. Surprisingly very few bad ones, I’m sure there were some, most likely I locked those away in the vault. That area in my brain where I store the painful experiences my heart chooses not to look at. Most of us have them. A friend told me once it’s sort of a safety mechanism. Realities we can not face or deal with we will simply lock away and not look at. I believe this is a gift from God. Something He gives, especially to children, for their protection.

I have a lot of wonderful memories from when I was young but I don’t remember how old I was. There was the year I began to doubt Santa Clause existed. After all we didn’t have a chimney, so how did he get into our house? My brother Jimmy told me of course there’s a Santa and he sat me down and explained how he got into our house. He took a little pill to make him so tiny he could get through a key hole. But what about the huge bag of toys??!! Well he sprinkled magic dust on it and it shrunk down too. Once he got inside he returned to his normal size, along with the presents and he would search through his bag for our gifts. He would leave the same way he got in, through the keyhole. My brother Jim saved Christmas that year and I believed in Santa Clause again. He could really tell a story.

I don’t remember if it was the next year or the one after that but one of my siblings took my sister Phyllis and I upstairs to the attic and showed us where all the Christmas gifts were hidden that our parents had bought. Santa Clause had had his day. The gig was up and that Christmas wasn’t as magical or special as the rest had been.

I guess we were considered a middle class family but there always seemed to be a lack of money. With nine kids I can’t imagine how our parents managed to make sure we had a nice Christmas, but we always did.

I remember my Mom had one friend who had a daughter named Bonnie. They were very poor and every year Mom would pick a few toys from our gifts to give to Bonnie and her Mom. We had plenty, Aunts and Uncles would always give us wonderful games and toys. Still, I resented having to give up one of my games or toys. Maybe I was a typical selfish child, I don’t know. I do know that as I got older I understood, and was grateful my Mom had such a generous caring heart. I believe our parents teach us how to love and care about others. At least, it was so in my family.

Christmas was a huge celebration in our family. It was a time for family and friends to gather on Morrell Street at the Theisen’s. Eat, drink and be merry; listen to Christmas music on the hi-fi, tell stories, laugh and just have a good old time. Mom made her special punch and bowl after bowl would flow through the night along with beer, wine and high balls. Someone always had too much to drink and there was always an argument and sometimes more than one but things never got too out of hand. Not to my recollection anyway.

I used to sneak sips of punch and as the years rolled by graduated to sneaking glasses of it. One year my brother Jim’s girlfriend Brenda poured a little pitcher of punch for me to enjoy at my leisure up in the attic. I thought that was way cool and I felt very adult enjoying my punch upstairs. I liked not having to sneak a sip here or there downstairs among the adults. I couldn’t wait to grow up and join them.

Then there was the year I was given my allowance for Christmas gifts and pulled a fast one so to speak. When we were young we did all our shopping at the dime store, I think it was officially called Kresge’s. I don’t remember how much money I had to work with but I know I wanted more, especially since I had my eye on a label maker I really wanted for myself. Now, this was back in the late sixties mind you, so it wasn’t a fancy hi-tech gizmo. It was hand held, with a fist grip you squeezed to make the imprints on the roll of thick plastic labels you loaded. My young mind imagined all the very cool labels I could make with such a great device. I wanted that label maker bad and I was hopeful I would find a way. After all, I rationalized; just think of all the really cool labels I could make for my friends and family. The problem was the amount of cash I had and the many gifts I needed to purchase, my parents, six sisters, two brothers and a couple of friends. I slowly went up and down each aisle looking and hoping I could solve my problem when I came to the hair care products. There it was, a huge multi pack of combs and brushes of different shapes and sizes. And what a bargain price! It was combs and brushes all around that year, carefully wrapped for each and every person. I even gave one to my Dad even though he always wore a brush cut and had no use for one. Most importantly, of course, I got the label maker for me, which I simply couldn’t live with out.

As the years go by, our priorities in life change. When I was in my teen years, I was spending whatever money I had on getting high. Junior high and high school, that was it. Partying, music and my friends. School and family obligations had become something I spent as little time on as I could possibly get away with. One Christmas I spent my gift allowance on getting high. Of course that was all well and good with me but what to do about the Christmas gifts I had to get. As it turned out, a group of girls I knew was headed down to Michigan and Schaffer to do some shopping. This was an area in Detroit that had a bunch of stores all close together. Montgomery Wards, Federals, The Gap, Dearborn Music, there were a bunch of stores down there. It was all about a five finger discount, stealing. I had no problem with that either, I was quite the thief in my youth and very talented. I’m not bragging but I never got caught and after I turned eighteen I stopped. Well, not right away, hard habit to break cold turkey, but eventually I did. No way did I want to chance getting caught as an adult and possibly going to jail or having a record. Looking back, I can’t believe how bold we were that night. We walked out of one store carrying big brown paper bags of stuff. Just right out the door with these bags full of clothes and all kinds of stuff. I managed to get gifts for everyone and it was a great Christmas.

I am working the steps of a twelve step program and we get to a certain point where we make amends for wreckage in our past, when ever we can. I’m not sure how I will deal with this but I will listen to my sponsor’s advice and take it from there. Step one of this step is to go to the Lord with it. Sincerely ask the Lord to forgive me for my sins. There is a saying in AA, one of many. More will be revealed. Early on, I wasn’t sure what this meant. As time went on it became all to clear. Sometimes out of the blue a memory will pop in my head, something I had completely forgotten about, something that was buried deep. So I’ll run it through my brain using the step four process. Who was involved, who if anyone, was hurt, what was my part in it and can I make amends, is it wreckage I can clean up? And most importantly, do I need to turn to the Lord in prayer and confess a sin. For me, that is the easy part. He is the one I can go to with anything, no matter how horrible, shocking or disgusting the sin may seem to me or someone else. He already knows and He has heard it all before. Praise you Father God. For embracing this woman time and time again, never turning away and accepting me for who and what I am. A broken and humble servant, trying to clean up my past and looking forward to a bright and hope filled future.

Devil's Night

Have you ever heard of this?

Growing up in Detroit, it was a night I looked forward to. October 30th, the night before Halloween. It was one night a year when we as kids could be mischievous. We would go out at night and commit acts of mischief. I don't think it was allowed, but it seemed to be a tradition of sorts. People kept their porch lights on and tried to keep an eye on their car, home, property. That is, if they were home. Mischievous acts consisted of writing something on a car or store window with a piece of soap, knocking over a garbage can and tossing some toilet paper up in a tree or decorating some bushes with it.

As I got into the teen years, the acts of mischief became more destructive. Writing on windows with a piece of wax, or throwing an egg at someone’s car knowing it could damage the paint job. The last year I went out on Devil's night it was with a large group. I don't know how many of us there were and it varied that night. We took up a collection and bought a couple dozen eggs, we had candle pieces and no doubt other weapons of destruction. We hit the alleys and streets and had some fun. It started out fun; I'd be lying if I said different. But as the night wore on, things took a turn. At one point we were chased by a gang. We thought it might have been the Bagley Boys. The notorious feared gang of our neighborhood. We ran, ducked, dived and hid, waiting until we knew they were gone and it was safe to come out from our hiding places. I remember thinking "I hope someone suggests we call it a night." No such luck. The fears were soothed, and the hype of the night was back on.

As we were walking down one alley, talking about a game plan, the sound of breaking glass stopped us in our tracks. Someone had thrown a rock and broke a window on a house. Too far in my opinion, it was something I didn't back, way too destructive. Who did it? What’s wrong with you? Within seconds the sound of the breaking glass was followed by laughter. Then came the sound of a homeowner throwing open his door and yelling. We took off running and heard a gunshot. I will never forget the fear of that moment. He shot at us! Was anyone hit? RUNNNNNN. For blocks we ran and in all different directions. Some of us hooked up soon afterward. I really cannot recall what was said exactly. I may have lied and said I sprained my foot and was heading home. You know, to save face, so my friends wouldn't call me a chicken. The dreaded insult of my youth. No, I don't remember what was said by who but I do know I went home and that was the last year I went out on Devil's night.

A couple of years later, Detroit made national news on Halloween.
Devil's night became a night to burn abandoned houses, apartment buildings and warehouses. It was horrible to see on the news. The following year, the city tried to be prepared and fire trucks were brought in from other areas. One of my friends lived next door to the fire department on Junction and it broke my heart to see three additional trucks parked in the driveway. Ready and waiting for the fires to start burning on Devil's night.

I learned an important life lesson that night. What starts out as a relatively innocent act of mischief can explode into very dangerous circumstances. Death could have very easily been the end result that night.

It’s that way with sin and God’s laws. I can lose my temper and swear up a storm. Walk right on by a person in need. Take a pen home from work and not even think twice about it. The flash of a lustful thought about a perfect stranger. All of these little things that I say and do can build and grow into worse and more frequent sinful deeds.

I have found that if I do not go to the Lord every night with my sins and honestly confess each and every one, I hurt. And the next day, it’s easier to sin, doesn’t cause me much grief at all. It gets worse, because it gets so much easier. Next thing I know, things have escalated out of control and I’m scrambling to get back to where I need to be. Trying to be Christ like, with a kind and caring heart, having only good intentions and lending a helping hand when ever I can.

Does Our Heavenly Father hurt? Does He feel pain and sorrow from watching His children sin? I truly believe He does. That it saddens Him deeply to watch some of the atrocities that happen every moment in the world we live in today.

I want to do my part. I strive to live a good clean life. It’s not easy for me. But I’m finding the harder I try the easier it gets. I just need to stay on the path I’m on. Stay in the word every day. Stay connected with brothers and sisters who have faith. And Pray. Keep a dialogue going with Jesus Christ my savior throughout my day. He knows what I’m going through. He knows what struggles I face. He has been here.

I am so grateful for the life I have today. My gratitude list is long and grows each day. I’m thankful for the challenges and struggles I face. I know I learn from them and can share my knowledge with others. Every trial I endure is for my own good and I pray I can glorify God when I get through it.

I do not want much from this life. I live to serve and pray I please Him in some small way each and every day. That’s all I want and that’s all I need … I’m satisfied.

Are you? Are you happy with the life you live? Or are you still trying to fill a space in your heart? A home full of possessions, the latest fashions, technology and all the other stuff we as humans chase … can not fill that emptiness within. Drugs, alcohol and a man or woman to curl up with at night can not fill that need we all have.

Is there something lacking in your life? Do you want to know what true happiness really feels like? Here is a recipe for a happy life, one worth living. Find a Christian church that teaches from the Bible. Read the Bible, it really is the greatest book ever written. Get connected with others. When you are ready, accept Jesus Christ as your Savior. You will be amazed at the positive changes which will take place in your life. Believe, Trust, Love and Follow Him. You will never regret turning your life over to Our Lord. Honest. I have no reason to lie to you. I am no one special, just a humble, grateful servant.

May God Our Heavenly Father Bless You and Yours.

When Autumn Sings

The last time I was in Michigan for the Fall Colors was 1991. I moved to California in September of 1992. Fall was my favorite time of year in Michigan. Unless you’ve experienced it, you have no idea how magical it can be.

The feel of the leaves underfoot as you walk through them on a path in the woods. The smell of the crisp autumn air, especially early in the morning when all is still and peaceful. The sound of a gentle breeze as it whirls through the trees and a few more leaves will be carried off with the wind and dance through the air before they land. And when the wind picks up speed and whips through you and all around you … it takes your breath away but only for a moment … leaves that were once laying on the ground are dancing through the air all around you. Sometimes they will land in your hair and you can’t help but smile as you hear it softly crackle.

Fall in Michigan is a special time of year and nothing can compare. If you are walking along a trail next to the Pinnebog River you have to stop and marvel at the reflection of a majestic Sugar Maple. The leaves will float along the river as it winds through the forest and out to Lake Huron. If you listen closely and your heart is filled with joy you can imagine them calling you to join them on their journey. The Oak and Maple leaves at different stages of their transformation … yellow to a deep rich gold, red to a wondrous maroon. And still you will find leaves of green all around among all this bounty, this treasure called Autumn, fall color in all its glory.

I Thank God for this gift, one that I have missed and long to see again.

I Choose Love

Today is August 28, 2009 and it is a Friday afternoon. I live in South Lake Tahoe, California and know how very Blessed I am to live in this Beautiful place. I Thank God Our Heavenly Father for allowing me to live here often.

Yesterday, our community and the world was shocked to learn that Jaycee Dugard is alive. She was abducted at age eleven while on her way to school one morning in 1991. The news media is in a frenzy; people are outraged and filled with hatred for those responsible for her abduction.

In other news.

This past Sunday, somewhere in Oklahoma, a Pastor was found brutally murdered in her church. A crime so horrific, no information could be released until further investigation.

In both cases, there is one condition driving everyone. The condition of our hearts.

Is my heart filled with love or hatred? Do I want to see redemption or persecution? Will I hope for more blood to be shed or pray forgiveness spreads?

I choose love, I pray for redemption and I hope forgiveness will pour forth. This is the kind of thing that will stop you in your tracks and make you think and feel. It will tilt your heart and fill your mind with thoughts spinning out of control. Now is the time to stop and pray. People of faith, those of us who have accepted Jesus Christ as Our Savior, know there are no accidents, that for every single thing that happens, there is a purpose. That the outcome of everything is already known by Him whom we serve. God is in complete control and “It All Belongs to Him.”

I am waiting on God. I will try to be patient as I watch and listen. I trust Him and Believe with all my Heart, Mind, Soul and all my Strength that His purpose will be revealed in His Time. And I will Pray. I will pray people who are filled with fear and driven by hate will be stilled. That those who want to throw buckets of fuel on a fire already out of control will be stopped. Prayer is powerful. Love is the Way. Christ is the Truth. The Bible is the Word of God and the only direction manual I need in this life.

I will protect myself with the “Full Armor of God.” I will Pray to be Filled with the Fruit of the Spirit. Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and

Self-Control.

What will you do?