Isaiah's Garden

Our Memorial Garden for our baby Isaiah!

"Not by Sight" -a Magpie Tale

"Not by Sight"
I do not believe what my eyes doth see
for I know my eyes deceiveth me
I walk by faith and not by sight
delivered only through His might

He walked this valley going on before
He knows every inch of this valley floor
defined not by circumstance
He carries me when I give Him the chance
He knows just where my feet should tread
I reach for His hand, He carries me instead

I do not believe what my eyes doth see
for I know my eyes deceiveth me
I walk by faith and not by sight
delivered only through His might

He gives me His vision it’s plain to see
His grace is more than sufficient for me
Seems there’d be good reason to grieve
but instead in Him I choose to believe
He knows my every hurt and pain
He delivers me, I know it seems insane

I do not believe what my eyes doth see
for I know my eyes deceiveth me
I walk by faith and not by sight
delivered only through His might

He is my Savior and my King,
Jesus is my everything
no matter what traps are waiting for me
Jesus rules my heart you see
The pain and heartache had to flee

because...
I did not believe what my eyes did see
for I know my eyes were deceiving me!
I walked by Faith and not by sight
delivered only through His might!

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

Current News

Well I have been posting a lot of creative writing lately and very little about me. So I just thought I would give an update...

Challenge #1 for the week of meeting 3 strangers and finding out something about them...has not gone anywhere just yet. I still am working up the courage to get this started. I know once I can get this started each one will become easier.

The summertime challenge #2 of, finding free fun...well I have thought about letter boxing....ever heard of it? From what I understand it is basically a scavenger hunt that requires geological locations to be plugged into a GPS...it takes you on hikes and adventures locally...and there is always some kind of trinket or something, in a box. You can also leave something in the box for the next person to find...kinda cool gotta check it out a bit more. I heard about this from Emily, Josh's girlfriend. Sounds like a pretty interesting idea and we, or actually Josh already owns a GPS so that should be a totally free memory making experience!

Today I ate the juiciest peach I've had in a very long time. It reminded me of a peach I had about 5 years ago from the Amherst Farmer's Market. So now I am inspired to check out some local Farmer's markets.

I have been feeling better and better every day! Even with Isaiah's due date looming about for the 4th of July. The Lord is miraculously bringing me from a very dark place and restoring my joy and hope for a happy future! I am starting to love my life again! Praise Jesus and please keep up the prayers for us...they truly help!

I am more and more in love with my boys everyday...if that was even possible and I am so thankful to the Lord for all the healing He is bringing to our family...slowly but surely...thank you Jesus!

Serenading Memories -a Magpie Tale

Another practice Magpie....time has already expired to be able to submit it but I thought I would do it just for the fun. Let me know what you think?

"Serenading Memories"
She traced her fingers along the carved edge of the dresser. She remembered as a little girl running her fingers along it. Feeling every groove and line etched into the scalloped edge. She remembered the white linen runner that once sat on top...and she wondered where it had gone and when it had been decided that it should no longer have it’s home there? Things changed constantly and yet she was unaware of when the changes had taken place. She had no idea if it was just a few months ago, that her mother had decided the runner no longer had its rightful place there, or if it was 15 years ago...perhaps it had been stained by something and so her mother had no choice but to discard it. It really wasn’t important, but at the same time it seemed to really matter to her right then. Well, if it was stained that was no reason to just throw it away! Maybe she had wanted it! Maybe it meant something to her! People didn’t have the right to take her childhood memories and just discard them like that!

The sun was rounding to the west side of the house now and peeking its slanted rays in through her mother’s bedroom window. She chuckled to herself...embarrassed by her own absurdity about the runner, as she stared, mesmerized, at the dust dancing upon the light...the light and the dust in their own serenade. It was as if they did this always, but there was only a certain time of day that one could actually peek into their world and catch them in the act. The rest of the time they were shielded from onlookers, invisible to the naked eye, in their own private world of restless joy, with sparks of unsettled turmoil folded in. And as darkness would settle in, so too would some of the dust settle, on any surface willing to catch it and let it rest there...welcoming more layers upon layers of it each nightfall, until something would come to stir it all up and the funnel of settled dust would playfully join in the continuing, ceaseless serenade.

She sighed loudly, startling herself with the sound of her own voice in an empty and silent house. ‘Hmm, funny?’ she thought about the word "house" that rolled into her mind so easily. She no longer referred to this as home. It was just a house. A building...made of wood and stone. 'Yeah,' she decided she would put it on the market. She would call her agent in the morning and get the paperwork started right away.

Her hands still lay rested on the edge of the dresser and for curiosity sake she opened the top drawer...it was nearly empty and slid forward weightlessly. It was empty, but for one thing in it... a tube of her mother’s lipstick rolled to the front of the drawer and just lay there staring at her, as if daring her to pick it up and remember and still leave it all behind. She wondered for a moment if she could risk picking it up...and allow all those settled memories to be stirred up and join the continuing, ceaseless serenade of her life?

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

The Runner -a Magpie Tale

Another Magpie muse just for practice and fun!

This one is called:
"The Runner"

It was an exceptionally dark April night. Rain was pelting down in cold, hard streams. She could feel the spray splash up, and hit the backs of her legs as she ran. Ahead she could see the blurry trail and smear of tail lights, brake lights and blinkers flashing....she was occasionally blinded by the oncoming headlights on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps she should just run across the street and try to hide away in an alley?

She knew it would only slow her down, if she dared to turn and look to see how close behind he was..but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help herself and turned to gauge the distance between them...ropey, wet, strings of her dark hair whipped across her eyes blocking her view for a moment. Using her free hand she cleared them away. In her other hand, she clutched her last memory of him. The last cheerful, carefree moments they had shared together.

She remembered how the laughter felt in her throat...and how his smile could turn her inside out. She remembered how it felt to have his fingers entwined in hers and the way the bell on the door of the thrift shop jingled as they entered...the smell of the old clothes and the possessions that were being revived to live another life...someone else’s life. Discarded and used up by their previous owner....or treasured even, but abandoned nonetheless, for some reason. Perhaps their former owner had died or moved away. She felt a kindred with all of the things in that shop...they...like her, were attempting at another go around...neatly displayed on the racks and shelves, sequenced by color or category. She remembered the shop keeper’s pleasant smile. She remembered how it felt, to finally know the feeling, of being loved by another human being....and more importantly how it felt to love another human being. 2 years prior she would never have been caught dead in a thrift shop let alone think to purchase something. Something that she would treasure, just because of the memory it held.

She had spent her younger years as a money hungry fashionista always accumulating the next best thing. Scooping up hordes of designer clothes, jewelry or shoes, as if they were free gumballs just sitting in a bowl for the taking. Without thought or reserve she would just whip out daddy’s credit card and take whatever it was she wanted. That is until, she met him. In an instant her life was changed forever. The shell of who she was, wasn’t even real to her anymore...her former self was more like a character from a book she’d read long ago. But now he was gone and here she was with these shoes clutched in her fingers...the only reminder she had of the times they had shared together. She didn’t even really care for the style of the shoes...the low heel did nothing to accentuate her legs, in fact they made her calves look bulky, rather than shapely. And yet she loved them. She knew if she would just drop them right there she could probably gain a little speed. Just the thought of letting them go made her clutch them even tighter.

Running with both hands moving and swinging differently, threw her balance off just enough for him to gain on her. She was running clumsily now, the debris on the pavement was slicing into the tender flesh of her bare feet. She did her best to readjust her stride, but she knew she couldn’t out run him. She would have to think of something and fast...the gap between them was closing in.

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

The Secret Keeper -a Magpie Tale

My attempt at another older Magpie...what fun!

This one I titled The Secret Keeper.

She is frozen...timeless. Well...timeless with the exception of the cut waves of her hair...hair just long enough to tickle at her jawline and lap over her ears...parted to the side...like thick frosting that was spread with the rhythm of a baker’s knife. Her features are not pretty or handsome but neither are they homely or offensive. She was just a plain looking woman. She held no captivating beauty amongst her whole. It was her mouth...her mouth captured your eye...left open as if in the middle of telling you something of dire importance...frozen...just hanging onto a note that was whistling from the back of her throat. What was it, that she needed to tell you? What was worth her last breath, what could leave such yearning on her lips....frozen there on her face...such beauty in her desire to tell you something...

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

Writer’s Block -a Magpie Tale

I thought I would try my hand at an older Magpie just for the practice! Let me know what you think?


words circle round
and round in my head
centrifugal motion
thoughts just can’t unthread
waiting for calm,
for resolution to appear
but they just keep circling
and then disappear
so many emotions,
how can it be?
a mind swimming with thoughts
but not a one can be free?

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

The Cleansing -a Magpie Tale

I came across a blog "Magpie Tales" It is a blog that offers those with a love of writing a chance to share their craft. The picture above is the muse they posted for inspiration. So I thought I would give it a shot...why not...right?

"The Cleansing"
sweeping across enamel canvas
erasing the color there
polishing white the portrait
the bristles gray and fair

rounding past the bend
pleasing the handler’s hold
gripping so easy the neck
the column brown and bold

painting minty strokes of suds
cleansing the palette fresh
splashing up its icy swirls
placed neatly in its creche

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell
All rights reserved

Finding Fun

The weather is supposed to be pretty great this week. So I made plans to go to the beach...or whatever...with the boys and their friends...maybe a round or two of mini-golf even.

Then I made the mistake of balancing my checkbook...ooookaayyy...beach is out, no $ for parking or gas or even food to pack the cooler with...if the beach is out then mini-golf is definitely out, as well...Hmm?

This is quite frustrating! Once I began working full time...I had the $ to do things with the kids, but very little, to no time at all, to spend with them...now that I am not working and have the time...I have no $ to do anything with them! Argh!

So what's a broke mom of teen boys to do? Summer vacation is here...the sun is brightly shining and there are no funds available to make the most of these summertime youth filled days?

No worries I am not looking for anyone to feel sorry for me...there is an upside; the mortgage is paid...well until the 1st anyway, the utilities are paid and even, over-paid at that! So things could be worse, but still...summertime is but a short window, to make, what quite possibly could be, the best memories ever as a family!

So it would seem that, through circumstance, I have another summer challenge to take on! Not looking forward to this one as much as the other. Ugh! So the challenge is: How to have fun with teen boys, with no $...and I mean no $!

I guess that will mean evenings of kick the can or manhunt...but what about the days? How do I keep them motivated enough...about what the days hold, in order to rally them up before noon each day, so that they don't sleep their summer days away? This my friends, is where I pose the challenge to you, to help me, come up with free and I mean totally free ideas that would interest teen boys?

When they were young it was a no-brainer. I'd go to the dump and bring home eclectic pottery, plates etc...the boys would spend hours smashing the glass and we'd do mosiac tile on anything and everything we could get our hands on...or we'd take drives to feed the ducks...or fill up the kiddie pool and get the sprinkler going...or have picnics on the front lawn...or get out their fishing poles and spend almost the entire day untangling them and about 1/2 hour fishing...or we'd go to the park...or take hikes and catch frogs...but what on earth, can you do to have fun with a teenage boy, that doesn't cost $?

Now for those of you who are screaming at their computers "tell them to get a job"...or..."let them make the money for the funny..." Or shaking your heads in frustrated disgust...let me just remind you, that this summer was originally scheduled, to hold its own set of memory making and maturation for this family, by way of a new baby. Sadly as most of you know our precious Isaiah passed away after only 10 days...

So I really want this summer to be a refuge and time of healing for us all...and while yes, a job might help them to organize their days and is still something we are working towards...at the same time...I want the fun stuff...the really fun stuff that make memories...I want that to be a totally separate blessing from life lessons and summertime maturation...just for this summer! So bring 'em on! What are your totally free, totally fun, totally memory making, ideas for totally bored teen boys and their totally desperate mom?!

Summer Challenge

Okay so I've decided to lighten my blog up a little. Once a week I would like to pose a self-challenge and then of course achieve it.

Have you ever been driving somewhere...anywhere and wondered about the people stopped at a light next to you? Where they were going? Where they were coming from? What kind of lives they have? What kind of heartache they might have endured? Perhaps they were on their way to a celebration of some sort? I have...often. Ever since I can remember I was always extremely curious about fellow travelers, or shoppers or patrons...the man on the bus in front of me...why was he traveling alone...where was he going...was he going to stay there...did he live there...where was he coming from? The woman at check out...why so many TV dinners...did she have children...were they boys or girls or both...was she married...did they really eat them in front of their TV...was she lonely?

I'd sit in coffee shops with my oldest son, Josh when he was between 8-11, or so, and we'd make up stories about the people there...the old man sitting at the counter reading his newspaper...sipping his black coffee and eating his toast between page turns...maybe he was really undercover CIA. Or the group of women...with their loud chatter...and seemingly innocent remarks to one another...all the while, measuring themselves against one another in order to establish their hierarchy...perhaps they were all part of some elaborate neighborhood drama. Or the interesting eclectic group, that just didn't appear to be likely friends or relatives...let alone that they would be eating pastries at the local diner together or making plans to pick up miscellaneous items, like foot cream, at the local Rite Aid together...maybe they were estranged family members forced to spend time together because a relative had passed away. Whatever their real stories were, I never really knew.

So this week I think my challenge will be...to introduce myself to 3 complete strangers in an attempt to find out a little bit more about them and then report back to you, after of course, receiving their permission to post my findings.

Do you think people will be receptive to this concept? After all we do live in a cyber world where actual face to face human contact is dwindling at cyber speed. What kinds of questions would you like me to ask? I would love your feedback on this idea...

Dear Isaiah, I wish my heart could accept and know, what my head knows...

Dear Isaiah,
I wish my heart could accept and know what my head knows. I know you are in the best place you could possibly be. I look around at your brothers, when they are struggling...and tortured by what this limiting earthly life holds...held hostage by their flesh....and my head knows, that you were spared all the turmoil of this earthly life and I thank the Lord for His mercies on you...that you were spared such long-suffering. That your 10 days, while you were with us, had such a happy ending for you...the best ending possible for you.

But we are left here to pick up the pieces of our broken hearts. Hearts, that don't know any better, than to cry out for, what they can not have. Hearts that crave and yearn for what they almost had...hearts...that just can't accept that a mother or father should be without their child or that brothers should know what it is like never to hold you or to teach you all the things they had planned to. Cote was going to teach you how to play basketball...Levi was going to teach you how to play the guitar...Chris was going to teach you how to be funny and how to have a good sense of humor and Josh was going to teach you about Jesus and how to love a Savior...his Savior...our Savior...your Savior...and you Isaiah, were going to teach us how to heal. You were already such an integral part of this family before you were even born...before you were even conceived! We all had plans with you...for you...dreamed up in our wistful hearts, they rolled off our faith-filled tongues...and in those moments as we shared the dreams we had for you, we were a family again. It had been so long since we had been a family.

Sometimes our hearts are deaf to what our minds know. Sometimes our hearts can not hear the truth, because they are screaming too loudly with the pain of your absence here. You had already taken root there in our hearts and had already begun to blossom there, before you were ever even conceived. I will never, ever, ever, forget the looks on Josh's and Cote's faces when we announced that we were going to try to have a baby. The total hope and excitement that settled into their eyes, like an old friend. I had not seen that look of hope, since before we were flooded from, and lost our home...and before their cousin Paige died...before our journey of the valley of dark shadows began.

Isaiah...I saw the marrow of joy spread quickly into their dried up bones...bringing new life and hope with it...at just the possible idea of you coming into their lives! I saw life and joy renewed in them. I saw and heard them planning for the future again, like the hopeful young men they should have been. I will also never forget the look of trepidation I saw in Levi's and Chris' eyes when I announced to them, about your possible conception...they were afraid to hope...afraid to believe...afraid to take a risk at loving you...cautiously holding out on hope until they started to see my belly growing big with you curled up inside...only then could they begin to allow themselves to believe that you wouldn't hurt them...that you wouldn't break their already fragile pieced, together hearts. They had already watched unbelievable things happen...such as, a fiercely strong child and warrior, like your cousin Paige, surrender her body and life. They could not come to terms with how such a thing like cancer could be allowed to eat away at a child...let alone that it would or could happen so close to their own hearts and safety. I'd pat my belly and think, without doubt, that your presence in their lives would, for certain, restore their faith and trust in the Lord...that once again they would see Him as the good and faithful God that He is...the One that they remembered from their innocent youth.

The enemy came in like a thief and stole your brothers' youth and innocence...and their hope and faith. Practically overnight they all went from happy, youthful energized young boys and men, to old hunched over men with the weight of the world on their shoulders...from being flooded out in the spring of '07 and displaced for an indeterminable amount of time...to their father being wrongfully terminated due to a corrupt administration in the summer of '07...to the death of their cousin, Paige in the fall of '07....to all of the bullying and threats your, still young, brothers...Chris and Levi...underwent due to your daddy's job loss. Chris and Levi endured repeated physical attacks and threats from criminals...young and old...people that didn't like your daddy, because he had arrested them or prosecuted them or their children...and a police department run by a corrupt administration that would do nothing to protect them...your brothers, Cote and Josh feeling helpless to protect their younger brothers...showing great restraint in order honor their parents...your daddy and I plead with them, to stay out of it and to let us handle it...let the Lord handle it and so they honored our wishes.

Your daddy found a new job...in a nearby small town which paid a lot less but the benefit of working for a great town and wonderful townspeople far outweighed the pay scale. The downside to this new job, was that your brothers', once stay-at-home mom, abandoned them...in their minds...forced to take on full time hours in a corporate setting with an over 2 hour commute each day. Meanwhile your daddy fought to get his old job back and to be vindicated. After 2 long years of trials and hearings...the arbitrator found totally in your daddy's favor! We could finally put that nightmare behind us.

A few weeks before your daddy's last hearing...the Lord had plucked your daddy and I out of great distress in our marriage. Those 2 years had taken it's toll on our relationship and the Lord miraculously healed us. Just plucking us up out of our circumstance and giving us a new marriage.

Your brothers' were all still struggling though...Chris wanted to drop out of school because the bullying had gotten out of control. We withdrew him the last half of his sophomore year and began homeschooling him. He re-enrolled in school in the beginning of his junior year but had already started down a slippery slope over that summer...in an attempt to stop the harassment and bullying...he had decided...'if you can't beat 'em join 'em.' The Lord convicted him in his heart and Chris, himself, recognized that this was not good, and asked to switch schools. So he went to live with his cousins, to go to school with them, in their community...but he missed his home and his family too much and this didn't last long...he begged to be taken out of school altogether and to be home-schooled again. But even this was not enough for him and he continues to struggle with the consequences of his actions.

Levi was struggling with behavior issues at school acting out and rebelling. He was totally depressed and struggling to just to stay awake in class because he wasn't sleeping at night. Freshman year brought a good change for Levi as far as rebelling and acting out but he still was suffering with his sleep. He was traumatized during the time we had spent at the hospital, he was homesick for your daddy and I, and was dealing with some separation anxiety...after we came home from the hospital without you, Isaiah. Levi asked to be home-schooled as well.

Cote had moved out for a year and there was no hope, as far as, we could see of him coming home anytime soon. But then weeks before we knew we were supposed to conceive you Isaiah...out of the blue Cote asked to come back home! He stays in his room all the time and comes out very seldom except to go to work or basketball or softball...He is afraid we will talk about you or Paige and he just wants to forget. The enemy has convinced him that it is better to be alone and then no one can remind him of all that he had hoped for and all that he has lost. The enemy has deceived Cote into believing that staying isolated is safe.

Josh was running...figuratively and literally...working lots of hours...going to school...struggling with life decisions...relationship decisions, the military, full time or part time school...full time or part time employment...running miles upon miles everyday...working out a lot. He was trying to run from his pain and into something constructive...trying to rebuild what had been ravaged and destroyed.

All I can do Isaiah is ask why? Why this way Lord? You see Isaiah I knew it wasn't necessarily you that would bring healing to our broken family...but it was the Lord that was going to bring healing through you. I knew before you were even conceived that you were going to be a healer of hearts. And so began my journey to find the perfect Hebrew name for you that meant such a thing. But from everything I could find as a Hebrew translation, for 'healer of hearts' there was no name that could be derived out of it...the translation was too long to consider as a name. Nothing was fitting and the more tenaciously that I searched, the more elusive a name for you became. So I stopped. Because I knew then, that the Lord was going to name you. And he did eventually! Right there on the battlefield...my 3rd day of being in the labor and delivery room...when the hordes of Drs, nurses and staff were relentlessly battering your daddy and I into trying to abort you. "You won't live" they told me..."Your wife will surely get an infection and die..." they told your daddy, "it's not a matter of 'if' your wife becomes gravely ill and faces certain death, it's a matter of 'when'..."

But your heart still beat within me Isaiah...it was beating strong and proud with life. Life given to you...to us...by the Creator himself! And I cried out to the Drs telling them so. Telling them that, "I would not take your life...that it was not my place or position to decide on life or death. That only the Lord could decide such things. I wouldn't assume that responsibility. For who was I?...certainly I was not God!" I fought them off through spiritual warfare and literally and physically by refusing "treatments." I elevated my legs and crossed them tight...bound to keep the Drs away from you and away from me...for in their eyes you did not exist as life, only as medical tissue that was eventually going to make me sick and face deathly circumstances...that if left untreated could become impossible for the Drs to treat effectively eventually. I do not judge them Isaiah...I can not. I can only know what the Lord was instructing me to do. He was instructing me to bring you into this world...just as He had instructed me/us to conceive you in the 1st place.

The thought of raising another child after 15 years...was laughable...but your daddy and I both knew...that the Lord had revealed to us, to conceive you...so we were obedient. That 3rd day in labor and delivery...3 days after my water broke...I was in out of sleep...praying incessantly...even while I slept, I prayed. And then the Lord gave me your name, right there, on the battle field, while I slept...'Isaiah Michael.' I remember in my half dream-like, nightmarish state... arguing with the Lord in my mind...I readily accepted the name Isaiah but the name Michael was the one I was struggling with...I gave the Lord different names like Timothy, Ethan, Matthew...but the Lord kept revealing...'Isaiah Michael' as your whole name. Finally, I surrendered that indeed we would be obedient and call you Isaiah Michael. I fell into the deepest sleep I had, had in days since our hellish, nightmare had begun. When I awoke I whispered to your daddy..."his name is Isaiah Michael and if you don't like it, you can take it up with God." Your daddy smiled and said "Hello Isaiah Michael."

But even before my water broke...before we could even know what lay ahead...your daddy kept saying that the Lord had revealed one phrase to him about your life and its impact..."Prepare the way of the Lord," he kept saying. "It means something from the Lord about the baby, but I just don't know what...?...Prepare the way of the Lord! Maybe he's going to be a little evangelist?" He'd say with a sparkle in his blue eyes. He said it all the time about you Isaiah. He'd whisper it to you, as you lay curled up inside my womb...He'd press his lips on my belly and whisper it you..."Prepare the way of the Lord!"

At first I couldn't understand why the name "Isaiah?" What was the significance? I knew the Lord was going to use you to be a healer of hearts? While you were in the NICU I read aloud to you from my "Promise Bible for Mothers." Remember Isaiah? How I would read it you? And then when I would notice that it was from the book Isaiah...how I would say to you..."that was a good one wasn't it Isaiah? You know the drill..." and I would smile and re-read it to you? You would always let me know somehow that you enjoyed it...either your numbers would improve or you would shift your head towards me slightly. (which you weren't supposed to do, because it would mess up your tube :) )

The more scriptures I read from the book of Isaiah, the more I started to take notice that they involved phrases like "setting the captives free...bringing comfort...the oil of joy for mourning...the opening of prison to those who are bound...ransomed ones, set free...obtain gladness and joy...sorrow and mourning shall flee...I even I, am He who comforts you...swallow death in victory...wipe away tears from off all faces..." But what I also noticed, Isaiah, was that not only were there many verses in the book of Isaiah about the Lord coming to save us from and bring us, all these things...but that...Isaiah the prophet, also prophesied that the Lord would come back a 2nd time to bring His judgment and wrath upon the oppressors of the world and gather His children, the righteous...freeing them from all that they had been oppressed from.

Isaiah also told us how to become one of the Lord's chosen...one of His children...His righteous. He prophesied that Jesus would come to us a 1st time as a man...like us...God in human form...that He would carry all of our heartache and sin and grief and pain and sickness, Himself. And He did...He carried it all to the tree...the pain, our pain...the suffering, our suffering...the sin, our sin and the sickness, our sickness. Isaiah told us that there would be one coming who..."would never forget us..." and that "even a mother can forget to have compassion on the child she carried within her womb but Jesus will not forget us because he has engraved us on the palms of His hands.* Isaiah the prophet came to prepare the way of the Lord. To warn the people...to warn us...and not only prepare us for Jesus' 1st coming...when the Lord would bring grace, redemption and salvation...but also for His 2nd coming, when Jesus would bring His judgment and wrath... upon all those who would not receive Him fully and agree to become His child, His righteous.

You see Isaiah the only way to be called His child, His righteous...is to believe that He did come to us as a man and that He did take all the pain, suffering, sin, sickness and heartache and nailed Himself...along with all of our garbage...to a cross...He did this for us...He should die, that we should live eternally with Him. We need to not only believe this Isaiah but accept it...accept Him into our hearts as ruler over our hearts. When we can do this we truly know peace from all suffering...even here on earth.

That last part is what seems impossible to me...but I just have to remember that it is not just a one time thing...I have to continually allow Him to Lord over my heart...I have to continually release all that my heart wants to hold on to and instead let Jesus live there. It is just hard sometimes to hear the Lord residing there because I am too busy trying to hear myself...I crank up my own volume and turn down the Lord's.

I truly believe all those days and nights when your daddy was whispering to you..."Prepare the way of the Lord"...that the Lord was giving your daddy your name. We just had our own volumes up too loud to hear Him. We were too busy making plans for you. Our plans were speaking too loudly for us to hear what the Lord was saying and doing. Oh Isaiah, I do not think that it was the Lord that caused all of this to happen...I do believe that we have an enemy that saw all the good that your life would bring to our family and that he was allowed to work his evil plans, but I also believe that the Lord will return to this earth and execute His wrath and vengeance upon the enemy. In the meantime, I also believe that the Lord can take what the enemy intended to use for evil and further destruction upon this family...and that He can turn it around for His glory.

I still believe that Jesus will use your short life and most definitely your death to bring healing to your brothers and to us. We have been in spiritual warfare for your brothers even before you were conceived...we knew then...and know even better now...that is/was only going to be achieved divinely through the Lord. We are in faith they will be delivered from their heartaches...but we just thought too, that somehow, your role was going to play out much differently...not through more heartache but through joy and pleasure. I was putting "God in a box." I do not know how He will incorporate all of this into our healing, but I know that His ultimate desire is that none should perish and that includes your brothers...even though at times, it seems hopeless...and that they've chosen other paths. I know that our good and faithful, Lord is using your death to prepare them for, the way of the Lord, in a more wholistic way, than we could ever imagine. God is a very efficient God and He does not waste one tear. He is storing them up and will return and free us all from the chains that bind us. I thank the Lord for using your death to remind me of that and to eagerly anticipate His return. In the meantime I must let Him Lord over my heart.

I miss you severely Isaiah...I love you deeply little boy...you are not mine but the Lord's just like your brothers are the Lord's as well. I'll remember you always my baby boy...the Lord's Isaiah!

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

The following Isaiah verses are only among a few that I read to Isaiah while he was in the NICU...

*Isaiah 49:15-16
15 "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!
16 See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.

Isaiah 57:1-2
1 The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.
2 Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death.

Isaiah 53:3-5
3 He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
4 Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 54:13,17
13 All your sons will be taught by the LORD, and great will be your children's peace.
17 no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me," declares the LORD.

Isaiah 26:3
3 You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you.

Isaiah 61:1-3
1 The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
2 to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn,
3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor.

Severe Thunderstorm Warning

We were due for severe thunderstorms but they never made it. All is quiet and though the storm came crashing along the coast...just a 50 minute drive east of us...we never got a drop or a rumble...just the calm, sweet, cool breeze that follows a storm. I just plopped into bed around midnight, upon my return from bringing the rest of Levi's friends home, after a night of them playing manhunt.

The curtains are billowing in and the fan is humming. The soft, mellow snoring coming from Kevin is like a lullaby, a familiar comfort that typically tolls bedtime for me. But tonight I am wide awake and am fairly certain that sleep is still a ways off for me. The boys are all still awake and up...Levi has 2 friends sleeping over...but even with 6 boys/young men here, it is surprisingly, amazingly quiet?

I know come morning I will get up to a kitchen filled with dishes from over night cooking and refrigerator attacks and to trash bins full, not to mention the dishes and trash I will find all over the living room, scattered among the 3 sweaty, smelly sleeping boys on the living room floor. I know as I descend the stairs in the morning, I won't find the cats vying for the gifts of sun halos that peek through windows making their slants of light and presence of shadows across the hardwood floors like usual. Instead the curtains will be drawn and the sprawled out mess of teenage boys will be vying for blankets to cover their heads as they realize that...the light of day is trying to peek between the fabric of the curtains...calling them to wake and rise and greet it. Of course the boys will resist the days' beckon as long as they can.

I know these moments won't be here forever and that once the sleep overs stop and the boys are all tucked away in their own homes, as men with children of their own...I will wish for nights...days...mornings, like these. And even though I know I won't sleep soundly tonight due to the repeated reminders of curfews, the ssshing not to wake Kevin, and the occasional, noisy, boyish laughter or crash echoing up from downstairs...I am okay with that...because...well...for one, in all honesty I know...I won't be doing it alone, I'm sure once I do fall asleep, I will poke and jab at Kevin until he gets up and puts some finality to the night time play...and two...it won't last forever...if I could capture time in a bottle...like the song says...this is one of those moments I would capture and keep forever. It isn't perfect, and my boys aren't perfect and I am not perfect but that is what, seems to me, to make the moment so perfect. So imperfectly, wonderfully perfect.

This is one of those moments I thank the Lord for making me a mother and for giving me my men, His men to raise up. Even with all the stress and the sleepless nights and the tired mornings and the laughter and the joy, and the pride, and the fighting, and the humility and the heartaches, I am so glad that the Lord has blessed me to walk this journey as a mother. I know no greater peace or distress, all rolled into one, than this. These boys/young men are much like that storm...rumbling and loud and sometimes destructive but awesome to watch as they grow and stretch out and pass through our lives causing an awesome raucous in their wake and yet they transform the air before us...leaving a cool, refreshing breeze as they pass through. They change our lives forever, we are never the same once we have children. Thank you Jesus...Praise You for Your wonderful creation and gift and blessing. Goodnight all.

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

Trainwreck

This blog entry is most likely not going to make a whole lot of sense. I have been a basket case the last few days...my thoughts are at times jumbled into a knot of emotions and at others, are vague and out of reach...but here goes...

Wow 2 milestone birthdays in 2 days...yesterday Josh turned 21 and today Levi turns 16. The oldest and the youngest reaching milestone birthdays within a day of each other has always been tough. Whether it was 5 & 10 or 15 & 10 or 16 & 21. One is stepping up into the unknown and one is stepping where his 3 older brothers have stepped before, while closing the gate behind him...and carefully treading past the hidden land mines that have been placed along the way...carrying any and all of his 3 older brothers' leftover baggage. Their mistakes or our mistakes just left strewn along that particular developmental path. He treks forward trying to forge his own way and identity in the world...while life constantly reminds him that it's all been done before. It is difficult to learn and grow with freedom when your parents, can anticipate those developmental hurdles that will inevitably surface, and to try to head them off...this is not always a good thing because what worked for one child does not necessarily work for another and may actually be detrimental to the development of another. Basically no 2 people are the same.

They say that hindsight is 20/20, but let's not forget that...sometimes ignorance is bliss. Josh, the oldest is always heading into the unknown. So yes, this indeed comes with its own set of responsibility and stressers, but at the same time he has the opportunity to pioneer the way for himself and his younger brothers while his parents anxiously watch, full of trepidation and excitement about what this next stage of his life will bring. Of course this also means that he has the unique and distinct opportunity as well, to have 2 unskilled parents watching his every move...ready with their cautious advice, rules and expectations. He also does not always have the benefit, like his younger brothers, of the safety net...to know where each step measures on the big scale of life. Being the oldest takes a certain kind of courage.

And for mothers, any one of their childrens' milestone birthdays, is in, and of itself a big, huge, enormous deal! But take the death of a newborn child in the last few months and 2 milestone birthdays within 1 day of each other and top it off with said birthdays being the oldest and the youngest children of the family, and you have a recipe for tears, nostalgia and one really emotionally messed up mother for 2 days...okay 2 weeks...whatever! And that's me that's where I've been. Saying bon-voyage and waving a tear-stained hankie at the years I will never see again with one hand and with the other waving my pompoms around frantically and with fearful, excited and wistful tears I welcome in the new journey that our family is about to embark on...all the while grieving that I "coulda, woulda, shoulda" have been able to relive those wonder years "if only" our sweet baby had lived...he was of course supposed to keep that gate from being closed just yet. We weren't ready. Maybe it because we had our children when we were so young and that is all I've known my whole adult life or maybe this just happens to every mom and dad. Regardless the birth and life of Isaiah was to come as a rescue to keep me/us from unnaturally holding on to the past by being able to let it go and and relive a totally new adventure. Not to mention that these 2 milestone birthdays were only a 10 day span from when Isaiah was supposed to have made his entrance into this world. His arrival would have lessened the blows somehow. But it is, what it is and so I don't have a choice but to stop trying to dig my heels in...to prevent this train from chugging along...it's going to keep on going whether I like it or not...whether I am okay with it or not. So "somehow" I better be okay with it. Well that "somehow" is not just some arbitrary happenstance, that "somehow" I know is the Lord. I have to just give it to Him and let Him handle my heart. I'm just not sure HOW to do that?

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

The Healing Tide

As I mentioned yesterday, I spent the day at the ocean. What I didn't mention was that I felt like a new woman, for a little while anyway. There is just something therapeutic about enjoying God's majestic creation! Watching the surf breathe in and out...knowing that it holds life within. I imagined all the mystery of the Lord's creation that was magnificently hidden in the belly of the ocean...not so unlike a pregnant woman. Hmmm...I had never thought of the ocean in the context of being pregnant before? What an odd analogy to have slipped into my thoughts? It was just one of those random thoughts...random but sufficient in humbling me...putting my experience into some kind of context.

I was just a speck in the midst of such a vast creation. My child dying was not so unusual...there have been others who have lived before me, who have experienced similar heartache, devastation and healing...worse even...and others who would come after me, that would too. I was not so unique. Pain, heartache and healing, are as timeless as the pregnant ocean that sat, like a kindred, by my side yesterday.

So I sat there in the moment, watching my sister-in-law play in the sand with her children...watching the life all around me as it happened. I didn't feel paralyzed while the rest of the world moved on. I was present, enjoying what my senses were experiencing in the present...the Lord's creation. I spent the day with my toes dug into the sand, letting the breezy, salt air cool my skin, as the sun bathed me with its thick warmth. I watched the tide sneak in...and the surf lap at the shore, that it was, slowly but surely, swallowing up...and I was sweetly hypnotized by the rhythmic curling up of the water, as it reached for me, only to pull itself back out to sea each and every time...yet still timidly inching its way closer.

It was inevitable that high tide would come...no matter the tugging and pushing that was taking place. It was inevitable there would be debris deposited on the shore when the water receded again. But the ocean was no worse for it, the gathering arms of the waves would pull the debris back into itself again, like a harvest. Smoothing out the rough stones as it did so. It was an ongoing process.

I could close my eyes and feel the arms of the Lord pulling me back to Him...He was smoothing out my roughness. I left my pain on the shores and all was well with my soul in those moments. The Lord was my ocean, timeless and mysterious...majestic and magnificent. He was pregnant with peace and giving birth to my healing.

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

Full memories, Emptying nest

Today was a beautiful New England day, and so I spent the day at the ocean with my sister-in-law, Melissa and her 2 children; my niece, Emeria, who is 9, and my nephew, Austin who is 8.

I rose bright and early for a Saturday morning...7:30am, showered, grabbed a beach towel and a bag of cherries for my lunch and headed out the door, while everyone in my household was still...well...I would say sleeping soundly...except there is nothing quiet about how my guys sleep...so I'll just say...while my family happily grunted and snored away still. There wasn't much to pack since it was just me. I threw my purple towel in the backseat and securely set my bag of cherries on the seat next to me.

Now as I've already explained I am attempting to stave off the empty nest that is inevitably closing in on me, so I was delighted to have my niece and nephew join us.

On my way to picking up my beach cohorts, I had a 20 minute drive down memory lane...not on purpose mind you...but just because my life is so different from what I'd been used to for so long. Once my boys became teens...they each...one by one...slipped on by, the days of wanting to go to the beach with their mother. I did the usual begging and pleading for them to go with me...but they all respectfully declined, in their own typical, non-committal ways...of a shoulder shrug, or, an "I dunna know..."and they'd quickly change the subject, which is their polite way of saying "absolutely not!" Well except for Cote who gives me an impish grin and looks me in the eye with his smiling eyes and says "absolutely not!" while nodding his head in a "yes" fashion...this still means..."N-O!" Sigh! So, it is not that I set out to travel down memory lane. It is just that, I miss the life I had with my boys so severely, that I can't help but notice the stark contrast of the quiet morning and the quiet hum of the silence in the car as I drive alone. I shut off the AC and roll down the windows so at least the traffic and the warm summer air blowing through, will break the silence. I remember all those years of screaming, fighting children in the back of the van and all I wanted then was a morning like this, quiet and peaceful. The grass is always greener I guess.

As I was driving I remembered those summer mornings, when there was no need to set an alarm clock because I knew the boys would be up bright and early. I thought about the chaos of those beach bound summer mornings when the boys were little...and the boys were my life...my whole life! And I in turn was their whole life too. Well...not just me...but their father too. We were their whole world!

I had learned the hard way not to tell the boys ahead of time when we had fun and exciting things planned for them...because they would get so excited about it the night before, that they wouldn't be able to fall asleep or they'd start fighting that night about who was bringing what toy or wearing which goggles. I had also learned the hard way...to shop and pack the coolers ahead of time. This way the coolers were usually all set, before I'd make the big "beach announcement."

The morning news that we were going to go to the beach that day would send electric currents up and down Josh's whole body. His whole face would break out into a grin and he would jump up and down clapping his hands or he would excitedly hit the top of his head and tug on his shirt. His voice too would suddenly amp up, to an usual high pitch and volume.
"Yay, really mumma? Really? We're going to the beach? Hear that guys?" he'd shout to his brothers, standing right next to him. "We're going to the beach! Thank you mumma, thank you...this is going to be such a fun day...I love you so much mumma!" But just as much as he exhibited such delight at the prospect of a beach day, he was also then stricken with the knowledge that he must quickly be the first to claim which towel and beach toys he wanted...this usually demanded a scolding from me that he not be greedy or selfish...a scolding I would hand out to all the boys repeatedly over the course of the morning.

Cote's reaction was much different than that of Josh's. Cote...as cool as a cucumber...at the exciting news...would slowly allow a slight smile to evolve across his face. His brow would furrow as if he was deep in thought...he'd swing his arms back and clap his hands in one swift movement and announce in a low 'jersey tone' of voice, "Yessss! I Love it! I betta get the bawls...Jawsh dohn't fawget the bawls..." Cote's idea of "getting" the balls, was to actually delegate the task to Josh and then oversee, that in fact, it got done or do it himself, if Josh wasn't willing to participate in being bossed around by his younger brother.

Then there was Chris' reaction to this, what should have been, good news...he'd walk around tiptoeing because his bathing suit felt funny...half crying and half shrieking that he couldn't wear it. We'd go through several suits until we found just the right one...the same with his shirt...and for years, his american flag, patterned bathing suit became 'the one and only, right bathing suit'...the summer that his cheeks could no longer squeeze into that suit...was indeed a sad summer, to say the least. His grandmother taking pity on him, made it into a pillow for him. That suit saved us from many frustrating summer mornings and afternoons! I didn't even bother with his sandals, I just let him carry those to the car. Plus we had to be sure to pack several sets of dry clothes and additional bathing suits for him just in case the dry clothes got wet or the bathing suit got too uncomfortable. Poor Chris...growing up with a severe sensory integration disorder...he just never felt quite right in his own skin. What he wore or touched...was always his biggest and constant concern. Plus to top it off...even though the idea of playing in the water delighted Chris, it also triggered his grave concern about his band-aids falling off. Chris worried often about his cuts or scrapes...even the ones that weren't visible to the naked eye. He was always updating us on their progress...we affectionately began calling this "the scab report" and so he had a very long and expensive, fascination with band-aids, that continues on, even today. We couldn't forget to pack the band-aids!

And of course Levi's reaction to this news was to run and claim his favorite pair of goggles and to start stuffing plastic grocery bags full of action figures...as if we were being evacuated and he'd never see them again. We'd sort through the collection he had decided he just couldn't leave behind...and let him pick 2...one for each hand. Then they'd all want action figures and so they'd all pick 2.

And so it would go...that Cote would organize and supervise the boys' attempt at loading the van...often times he'd get impatient with the way they were doing it and he'd tell them to go buckle in and he'd do it. He'd unload it, then reload it, the way he thought it should be done. Even to this day that boy can pack a suitcase or a car like nobody's business. (A little OCD perhaps?:)) The boys would argue over who was going to sit where...and who should be able to pick who sits where, who sat where last time and who gets the most car sick...and so on....

At last, with the van all loaded up with: the beach toys, the "bawls", the coolers, the beach chairs, the towels, the blankets, the goggles, the water shoes, the extra clothes, the band-aids and the action figures...we could finally set out on the road...headed towards the salty breeze of the ocean air...only to turn around a mile up the road to retrieve the sunblock we'd forgotten....which of course then led to someone needing to use the bathroom...and then another, and another, and of course another. Now finally...bladders relieved, seats chosen, boys buckled, sunblock packed...we headed towards the salty breeze of the ocean air...and once we got out onto Rt 101 past the Bedford intersection and I knew we were past the point of no return...I would announce to them, "Okay guys, here we go...we are now officially on the road to the beach!"
"Are you guys excited?!" I'd ask them.
The cheers and affirmation from the back of the van would silence their arguing for a moment...and then...yep...there it was...the bantering...the sound of music to a lonely mom headed towards an empty nest.

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

ADHD: adventure, debacle, hysteria, delight

Okay so I've already mentioned that I was literally confused as a child...traumatized by my own literal interpretations of the world around me. I was the only one who never saw the fork in the road and was convinced it was a conspiracy!

So how did I get around this language barrier? I studied...I studied people. I watched their facial expressions and studied their movements, always on the lookout for a telling sign, or a clue, any clue to signify that what they were saying, was or wasn't, really what they were saying.

I remember once when I was quite young, 4 or 5 or so...my mother laying face down on her bed, covering her face with her arms...and she was crying. My mother never cried! I remember climbing up onto my mother's bed and asking her why she was crying?
"I was fired..." she said and then garbled out a bunch of other words, but I don't know what else she was saying because the word "fired" was pounding in my ears!
"What does that mean?!" I had visuals of my mother being lit on fire and burned at the stake. Can you imagine the terror this could spark in a child, a mother who never cries...sobbing with the news that she was fired?! The sad thing is, you probably can't imagine...because...well...I was just a weird child. I had my own unique interpretation of this language that everyone else spoke...everyone but me that is. I was always a few moments behind everyone else...delayed by the interpretation process or because I had completely misinterpreted what was being said and was imagining some sort of imminent disaster...a child left up to the mercy of their own imagination...is not always a good thing! I had determined that my mother was going to be lit on fire?! I started to cry too. I remember my mother rolling over slightly and lifting her head from her arms, she gave me a curious look and asked me why I was crying?
"Oh mummy, I don't want them to fire you, I don't want you to die!" I threw myself onto her, hugging her for dear life, wondering when they were going to come and get her and take her away. I remember my mother laughing and wiping her face with her hands, as she explained to me what "fired" really meant. I remember still feeling a little frightened even after she had explained it...most likely from the adrenalin rush, but I also remember feeling happy and proud that I had made my mother feel better...now she was laughing instead of crying. Later, much later in life I found laughter to be key in coping with stress, as well as, being able to laugh at myself for my wild imagination!

I remember the morning my father died. We were at my memere's and pepere's house. All of us children had spent the night there. I remember watching Underdog on TV while I ate my raisin bran. I remember the telephone ringing. Memere and Pepere started to speak in french and their voices were getting louder and louder. I'd never heard them raises their voices ever! Soon after the phone call, I remember my mother coming to pick us up...but first she said she had something to tell us. She took us into the spare bedroom and told us that, "daddy had passed away." Bonnie and Kenny started to cry. Why were they crying? Passed away didn't sound scary? It sounded soothing...maybe it meant they had switched his hospital room or something? No, if that was all it meant than why were Bonnie and Kenny crying? My mind wasn't able to make sense of what I was hearing...the words, "passed away" plus the emotion I was witnessing. The two were not adding up.
"What does that mean?" I barely whispered. My mother was consoling us and saying things but I couldn't hear her. My mind was still trying to make sense of what "passed away" meant.
"What does that mean?!" I asked again a little louder this time. "Mumma, what does passed away mean?!" this time I was yelling. Demanding an answer, because my mind had started to do that thing again, of imagining the worst & scariest thing possible. But it wasn't just my imagination this time, this time it really was bad. It really did mean something scary. It meant he had died. Daddy had died.

But there were good "code" phrases too, such as "mailing a letter!" Growing up, "mailing letter" meant we were going for ice cream! This was one of the more fantastic type of misinterpretations until that is...we actually mailed a letter instead of getting ice cream! Then I was even more confused than ever.

I suppose my confusing childhood is why I remember my life so vividly. I was constantly sleuthing out the clues like a hound dog on the trail. Everything leading up to, whatever the incident was, and everything after, and everything in between! I suppose that is why I can describe a person's facial expressions and their movements in such detail and why I remember the most arbitrary things. They are lodged there in my memory recall just waiting to be called upon for assistance in translation.

Even still as an adult I struggle with my literal, visual brain and putting it all into the correct context. Once I remember sitting in a meeting with our SPED team discussing dressing up for the harvest parade, just biding our time until the BIG Boss Lady arrived. She was running late. Once she arrived she apologized and began pulling jewelery out of her purse and putting it on...explaining that she had not had the time to finish getting ready for the day. My eyes locked onto her brightly colored bracelets...watching them slide up and down her arms as she retrieved her notebook and pen. She was talking now and had started to say,
"...so you all should have read..."
I don't know what she said after that, because my mind had instantly attached to the word "read" and had put into the context of what I was seeing...her "bracelets" and to what we had just been talking about prior to her entrance into the meeting, "costumes." I instantly thought..."I didn't know we were supposed to wear red today? My eyes did a quick scan and realized no one was wearing red today, except for one person? I had learned as an adult, not to tune out for too long, in an attempt to translate...and entered my head back into what she was saying,
"...okay then...sooo...I assume everyone took time to read it?"
I chuckled out loud at my own ridiculousness. Once she said "read" with the "long E" sound, I understood what she was saying. I put it all into the correct context and could make sense of it. We were supposed to have read the new policies! The BIG Boss-lady, stopped talking and cocked her head to the side and with a helpless grin she asked "...what's so funny?" and despite herself she began chuckling too. My co-worker/direct supervisor, who knew me all too well, said "I'm sure you don't want to know...that's just Chris." and she began to chuckle too. But we all worked for Special Ed...I knew they would "get it"...so I explained and we all had a good laugh about it...and were jokingly told to wear red to the next meeting. It's not really one of those crack-me-up...laugh-so-hard kind of stories. It's just one of those, I can laugh at myself in a good-natured, I have ADHD, sort of way, stories. That's just me! Thanks Irene for getting me!

So yeah, that's just me! I have ADHD and that's okay because it has brought such thrilling mystery and adventure, instead of what could have been the most boring and humdrum of memories, into my life.

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

Hurry mommy! Hurry! There's not going to be any good snow left to play in.
"Aw...why did everybody have to lose my mittens? Everybody always loses all my stuff!"
My mom hurriedly rifles through the clothes in the dryer and pulls out two mismatched socks and places them securely on my hands.
"Well they're not mittens but they'll do." she says as she tucks them securely under my coat sleeve. They feel funny, but the urgency to play in the snow is stronger than the irritating "mittens," and before I know it, the swish of my snow pants carries me like melody to the back door. My boots are heavy, my hat is itchy and I am hardly able to move my arms and legs. The realities of these burdens are whisked away on winter's icy cool breath, and I run as fast as my winter clad feet will carry me... "Watch me mommy, watch me!"...I call back as I run out to meet my sister and brothers in the freshly fallen snow. I look back over my shoulder a few times to make sure she is watching...and faithful as ever, she is. She waves and smiles, assuring me of her watchful presence.

Playing in the cold, wet snow soon becomes tiresome. The socks have become wet and heavy and have begun to droop, exposing my wrists which have begun to sting and have become red and raw. I have lost my hat, which I pulled off forever ago because it was itchy. My ears have become tingly numb and movement under the weight of my wet snow suit has become near impossible.

I slowly trudge back towards the house, which seems to have moved further off into the distance while I was busy playing. The warm glow of the lights in the window beckon to me. I assume the shadowed figure of my mother in the doorway, means that she has stood loyally by and watched me play the whole time. As I enter the house the warm glow feels magical and my mother helps me off with my soggy snow clothes. The tingling in my fingers begins to fade as the warmth of my mother's hands covers them. The smell of spices and seasonings waft out from the kitchen, the dryer is rumbling and the monotonous drone of the television fills the house with the news of the day. I sit at the breakfast bar swinging my feet, sipping my hot chocolate as I watch my mother move effortlessly through the kitchen...putting the finishing touches on dinner. She tucks a wisp of blond hair behind her ear and stirs something bubbling in a pot on the stove. I think she looks like a movie star.

As a child I never stopped to think how my mother could watch me from the doorway, tend to the laundry and cook a delicious dinner all at the same time. These things were just there and done. It did not occur to me, that even for an instant my mother would turn her attention away from me to keep our home running smoothly, not to mention having hot chocolate ready and waiting for me?! How did she do it all so easily?

The bubbling and sizzling of the boiling spaghetti overflowing onto the burner of my stove jerks me back to the present. The boys come charging in from outside. Christopher is upset that he can't get his boots off and Levi is pushing his way through the cluster of shedding snow clothes. I quickly remove the spaghetti from the burner and wipe up the mess. Levi pushes by Christopher one too many times and Christopher pushes back while screaming. Levi tumbles on to the dog who is trying to sneak outside past the boys as they come in. Haley, the dog jumps back knocking Josh down, who was bent over trying to untie his wet laced boots and Cote, who grabbed Haley's collar to prevent her from going outside, has now found himself pinned between the wall and the shocked dog. I rush over to untangle the mess of the Maxwell boys and save poor Haley from the middle of it all. "CALGON?!"

I yell for everybody to freeze and after letting the dog outside, I help them one by one...youngest to oldest...remove and hang up their wet clothes and boots. I send Josh back outside to retrieve his forgotten hat and the poor dog. Chris and Levi and are now running around in their underwear, their bodies all red from the cold still.

I sigh at my feelings of inadequacy. I constantly attempt to create those wonderful memories and feelings for my children that my mother created for me and yet can never quite accomplish it the way she did. But then I am reminded that most of the time, I am not in the house cooking while the boys are playing in the snow...most of the time...when I don't have time for deep contemplation to measure myself against her...those are the times when I am right there on the sled with the boys or helping them to build snow jumps. Those are the nights we have boxed mac & cheese and hot dogs...those are the nights I receive the most accolades for my culinary skills! I may not be my mother but that's okay because I'm their mother! I love my boys!

This was written Feb 11th, 1999
Josh was 9
Cote was 8
Chris was 6
Levi was 4

© Copyright 2010 Christine Maxwell

Welcome!

I have thought often about starting a blog but was recently inspired, by my niece, to actually do it. Thanks Nika!

I'm just me! I don't lead an exciting life or travel or anything. I find randomness to be particularly humorous to me...not sure why...I just do!

Currently I am in a melancholic contemplative state, due to the recent loss of my child. I'm really not sure what my blog will contain...perhaps some old journal entries of the boys’ yesteryears...my feeble attempt at trying to stave off the inevitable empty nest I am headed for. I'm sure I'll include letters I've written to my dear Isaiah, to share my journey of pain and healing...a continuous journey I'm told. I will most likely share some of my own childhood memories, as well. I was literally confused as a child...traumatized by my own literal interpretations of the world around me. I was the only one who never saw the fork in the road! I was convinced it was a conspiracy! I like to cook and eat Gluten Free so you can bet I will include some of my favorite recipes too.