Courageous Unprepared

Life is messy. If I had my way, I’d live in Hallmark land, where life is formulaic and predictable, quaint and decorated, with just the right amount of spontaneity to keep things interesting... or is that even true? I started this blog intending to publish one to three stories each week, but really, what was I thinking? That life would just change once I started writing? How silly!

I’ve spent the last two weeks practicing strength, trying to be brave, and struggling to find courage. When I say life has changed since 2020, I’m not talking only about Steve, Mason, and Josh moving to heaven. In 2022, I officially left teaching behind. We lost Steve’s mom and my mom to quick battles with cancer. My mom’s passing led to supporting my dad, both remotely and in person, with repeated trips to see him a few states away. That continued until last year, when my brother became his full-time caregiver. Now the trips continue, but in a different capacity. I just returned from the most recent one a few days ago.

Losses happen every day. A loved one, a job, a marriage. Keys, phones, stuff. Leaves on the trees in fall. A friend. A kiddo moving forward into adulthood. An identity. I willingly lost a little of my identity when I got married and a little more with each of our kids. When the accident happened, one of the losses that surfaced was my identity, leaving me not knowing who to be or how to do it. (More on that later.) The work to restore or rediscover it is ongoing, but last week it got hit hard. Suddenly, in my dad’s mind, my sister became a distant cousin, my brother became his friend, and I was completely unknown. I sure wish I’d been more prepared to be the one forgotten. This is not a story to evoke pity. It’s to illustrate that being strong, brave, and courageous is hard not just in extreme crisis, but sometimes in a moment we can’t anticipate.

I keep wondering when the last time was that my dad knew me, and whether either of us realized it was the last. That question sent my thoughts straight to a children’s book. Karen Kingsbury, one of my favorite Christian fiction authors, published a sweet book titled Let Me Hold You Longer in 2004. I didn’t know anything about it until I was browsing in a Christian bookstore. Buried behind several other titles sat Let Me Hold You Longer. It was only $5, which I thought was a ridiculous price, so I checked the other copies...$14.99. A pricing error. Had I been a little more righteously minded in the moment, I would have carried both copies to the register and hoped for the lower price, but I snagged that book like it was meant to be mine. I only glanced through it at the store. It was a children’s book by Karen Kingsbury, so I needed it. When I got home, I couldn’t read it without crying. Where most books focus on the firsts with little ones, this one focused on the lasts and how they sneak in unknowingly. We often miss them without any awareness. For a time, this little book changed my perspective, especially on my kids, but the busyness of life took over again. Let Me Hold You Longer is somewhere packed in a box. I think I need it now.

It’s impossible to know when we will have a “last,” outside of the big, undeniable landmarks. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could slow down enough to recognize the value in a moment as if it could be the last, to make sure each deposit we make into a life, and each one we receive from another, is worthy of a last? One day, I would like to have enough grace to tap into this small source of blessing. Let each moment of love, connection, partnership, service, growth, friendship, faith, and nurture (you get the idea) be a brick in our foundation, so that when the need for everyday strength, bravery, and courage arises, we will be ready.