A New Beginning: Life Without 422 MP

2019 is wrapping up. It certainly won't go down in history as one of my more favorite years. There have been many losses, sorrows, and regrets. The new year always brings a certain kind of excitement as if you get to start over. Start fresh. Embrace the blessings of the past and attempt to let go of the painful experiences.

Nothing stays the same for long, does it? Seasons of life change in an instant. The Baptist Rabbi always taught me that we cannot sit idle. We must continue to move. We must be willing to reinvent ourselves, keeping our purpose as a focus. We walk into 2020 not knowing how our slate will be written. Some things will be in our control, but some will not. There is one thing for sure. Life will throw us some curveballs, and we must be ready for it. None of our lives will be the same this time next year. Free will is going to play a part in our next 365 days.

Chris and I made the incredibly big decision to sell Mom and Dad's house. As we discussed this big step, Dad's words spoke loud and clear to me, "Don't live in the past. Take the past and make a way for your future. Go boldly without fear, for God is with you." Dad always told us that his story was not our story. God has a unique path for us all and we must listen intently to God to blaze the trail intended for us.

422 Mariner Point has many memories. It is not the home in which I grew up. However, it is the home in which I spent many hours - some wonderful and some painful. Mom and Dad are no longer there. I have struggled with the feeling that I am letting go of them if I let go of the house. However, their journey is not mine. Their physical house is not my home. They live inside my heart and soul where they continue to impact my life daily.

I went there this weekend to mentally say goodbye. I spent some time on the dock reflecting on all I have learned about life sitting with Dad there. I looked back at the house and saw the decaying items in the backyard that once were such an important part of my life....

The concrete picnic table.......where we celebrated my college graduation.
The bench.......where we took pictures of my children every Easter.
The gazebo......that Dad and I built when I was pregnant with Drew.
The roses.....that I worked diligently to keep alive so they could enjoy from the sunroom.
The bird feeders.....that we filled each day to ensure they had entertainment from the birds, squirrels, rabbits, ducks, and chipmunks.

In looking at them, they were all worn out. The concrete has chipped. The gazebo needs painting. The roses have died for winter. The bird feeders are mildewed and weathered. They have all served their purpose and been meaningful in making my memories. But it is all worn. Tired. Time to be renovated or replaced. Such is life. There is a time and season for everything. We must embrace the current season, but not continue to live there when life must go on. We must surrender to the reality that it is time for something different to happen there. It is time for something different to happen in my life now that my "caregiving season" has come to an end.

2020 will bring great things for 422 Mariner Point. A new family will move in and will be ready to make it their own. New memories will be made and laughter will abide. 422 Mariner Point will still remain in my heart and soul.....always. I trust that God has many blessings in store for all of us this upcoming year. I am following my Dad's advice to keep moving. Keep looking forward while honoring the past. I can't lie. It is not easy. In fact, it hurts like hell. But Dad always said life is not easy. God never promised it would be. As we walk into 2020, I will continue to choose joy. Why don't you join me?

Where is Home?

Life is a set of experiences that play out much like an old film reel - sequential frames that move from one scene to the next. My Dad always taught me that it is important to continue the film moving forward and not succumb to the temptation to put the film in reverse or stay on one frame for too long.

What are places? Here is what the Baptist Rabbi had to say in one of his written sermons:

"Places are so important to our becoming. Each place is different, setting limitations on our existence and calling forth responses to our unique stimuli. Places are little slices of the universe upon which we forge our development as human beings. A place may not be a utopian setting, but it is the providential rendering of grace to each of us. We cherish our places because they are inextricably woven into the fabric of our identity and awareness of life."

Places. There have been lots of places that I have called home over the years. A house in Jonesboro, two houses in Clinton, three houses in Knoxville all have been called "my home" over the past 48 years. But are they really homes or just places that form my personal concept of home?

We have all experienced those instances where a song plays on the radio or we walk into a space and it takes us back to a particular place in our life. Emotions momentarily return of happiness, loneliness, fear, sadness, or joy. Places can have great control over our lives as they are tied to emotions, experiences, and memories. But that is not home.

A place on 422 Mariner Point Drive has been significant in my life for approximately 25 years. It was a place where laughter erupted, wisdom was shared, holidays were celebrated, grandchildren were raised, and yes...tears were shed with intense pain. Over the past few months, we have cleaned out the prized possessions of a Christ-filled, faithful marriage and nuclear family of 4. As I walk in the house each time, I am bombarded with a flood of emotions, memories, and experiences that have been previous frames in my personal film reel. I hear Dad yelling, "Hello, Kel!" as he would do when he heard me come in the house. I see him sitting in his chair enjoying the backyard view. I visualize us sitting together talking about my day and happenings in the world. I hear Mom yelling, "Kelly, come here," as she often said when she heard the door open. I look outside and see the gazebo that Dad and I built when I was pregnant. I see the dock that he built with his friends which provided the space for us to have many life changing conversations. I notice the walls that we painted together and the shrubs that we trimmed as a team on many occasions. I see the ducks in the backyard and find myself yelling to Mom and Dad as I would do before we opened the back windows to feed them. In every room, there is a piece of my previous life film. The memories are abundant and overwhelming.

As my eyes fill with tears each time I walk through the door, I hear the words of my Dad reminding me that it is dangerous to  stay stagnant. It is unhealthy to live life in reverse. We must continue to push forward, creating new frames, building a healthy journey of life.....even though grief and pain at times accompany.

Places are not our homes. They are simply a temporary structure which occupy our experiences and memories. Places come and go. However, my home is constant. Home for me is in my heart. In my soul. In my very existence. With my family. With my closest friends. With my faith. For me, home is a constant, not constrained within 4 walls.

My brother and I had a choice to make with regards to the temporary place that we call our parents' home. Do we painfully move forward as Dad instructed, or do we put our film reel on pause or reverse? No one said the circle of life was easy. Life without them is brutal. Our decision to sell their "place" has not been made without much consideration. However, my prayer is that this "place" will be a structure for a new wonderful family who can continue to build their own life film. It is a beautiful place. Not only because of the view, but because of the love that was shared for many years there.

I will forever hold these memories as part of my home as I take the Baptist Rabbi's instructions to keep my life frames moving forward. May God bless this process and the future family who occupies this place that means so much to Chris and me.

Adult Orphan's Hiding Place

There is no Earthly love greater than that of a parent and a child. Until I had my own children, I never knew the depth of love between parent and their babies.

I am not the only one to walk the path of grief. We all will walk the journey at one point or another. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a wonderful family, a fabulous circle of friends, two amazing children, and an overall awesome support system. I am beyond blessed. I wanted to share some thoughts on my current journey in hopes that it might help someone else walking this path feel not so alone.

Nothing can prepare you for the loss of both your parents in less than 3 months time. I am now an adult orphan. That is the best way that I can describe it. The roles had been reversed for many years. I was the adult. I was the caregiver. I was the manager and decision maker. But in reality, it didn't matter. They were may parents, and they loved me unconditionally. They ALWAYS had my back and provided unconditional love. They always sacrificed for me. They always had my best interest in mind. I could trust them with anything. They were my safe place.

We went to the beach for Fall Break for the first time in several years last week. Mom and Dad always went with us previously. We entered the beach house, and for the first time, Scott and I occupied the main level master bedroom......the place that Mom and Dad always stayed. As I walked into the room, tears began to fill my eyes. That empty feeling of loneliness came over me that has often slapped me in the face over the past few months. As I unpacked my suitcase, I found a rock. The rock. That special rock that Dad and I made at one of his Parkinson's support group meetings. We were both given a rock and asked to draw a symbol on it that gave us peace. Dad was unable to write at this point, so I drew a cross on both of our rocks. I kept one and gave him one. Somehow, the rock with the cross ended up in my suitcase. How? I can't answer. But with tears streaming down my face, I laid the rock beside my bed. It made me feel as if Mom and Dad were with us all week.

Dad taught me enough about grief to know that what I am feeling is normal. I know I have to feel the pain. I would much rather avoid it, but I am trying to just feel it, cry it out, and move past it. Pain hits at the most random times, when you least expect it. It is a roller coaster of emotions - glad they aren't suffering, but missing/grieving small things you never realized were so meaningful and impactful. When dealing with grief, your circle becomes very small. You have the innate desire to surround yourself with your closest of friends whom you trust the most...the ones who will accept you for who you are at this very moment and support the sadness without judgement. Crowds are difficult. It is hard to pretend you are happy, when you aren't. It is exhausting.

You question many things. What if? What if I would have gotten Dad to the hospital a little faster? What if we wouldn't have moved Mom into assisted living? What if? What if? I keep reminding myself that is only Satan messing with me. But the questions still come.

I rationalize things. I am one of the lucky ones. I had parents that stayed together until I was 47 years old! I had the best. I am blessed. Why should I be sad? I just attended a funeral of a friend who lost her father at 22. How selfish of me to be sad with the blessing I have been given!

The truth is....I just miss them. I miss the comfort of having my parents. No matter how old we are, there is that special bond with our parents that can't be put into words. There is void that is unable to be filled - despite my wonderful support system. I want desperately to rush the process. Get it over with. Be done with grief. Just be happy with what I was afforded, which many people don't get to experience.

The other truth is...I just don't want them to be forgotten. They were amazing Christian humans who made the world a better place. They made me who I am. They played a key role in making Scott the husband and father that he is today and impacted my kids in ways that they can't even put into words. I want their legacy to continue to be known by all. They were much too influential to just be buried and forgotten.

For now, life is just flat out scary without them. I am now the one who occupies the downstairs master bedroom on vacation. My identity as a caregiver for them no longer exists. My prayer is that I can continue to walk through the grieving process and provide the same kind of comfort and love for my own kids and family as the Baptist Rabbi and his wife did for me.

For those who know me well, you know that music is one of my loves. I guess it is one of my love languages, as it brings me comfort and speaks to me in very personal ways. This particular song by Selah has been on constant replay mode recently for me as it summarizes my current relationship with grief. Maybe it will speak to someone else that is walking this journey as well...
People have said it gets easier with time. I guess only time will tell. For now, I will find comfort in my hiding place with the only One that can give ultimate peace.

"You are my hiding place.
You always fill my heart with songs of deliverance,
Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in YOU.
I will trust in YOU,
Let the weak say I am strong in the strength of the Lord."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_dR0H0tAYT8  (link to song - it is simply beautiful)

Stepping Forward

During the UT game, I picked up the phone to call Dad to see if he was as frustrated as we were. I caught myself, felt my heart drop to the ground, and set the phone back down.

I went to Walmart to pick up some items for our home. I found myself in the pharmacy section preparing to pick up Mom's weekly needs.....only to discover that I could keep pushing the buggy.

When the phone rings in the evening, I still jump to grab it....worrying that Mom has fallen or Dad has had a feeding tube issue. Upon the 2nd ring, I realize that I can take my time getting to the phone.

On a more humorous note, I think my family is having to readjust to me actually being at our house and a contributing member of the family again. Some days they would say they are glad to have me back....other days, I'm sure they keep their thoughts to themselves about me being around so much!

This whole grief thing is certainly a process. I can truly say that it is something that is not understood by people until you have lived it......unless you have sat on the front row of the funeral. It is a complex set of emotions intertwined into one hot mess!

Joy and pain.
Laughter and sadness.
Peace and discourse.
Loneliness and relationship-filled.
Hanging onto the past and embracing the future.
Blessed that it happened and sad that it is over.
All of these emotions......at the very same time. Swirling in a whirlwind.

Grief is not "moving on", it is simply "moving forward." We can't "move on" when our loved ones remain such a large part of our lives. The experiences that we have had with them define who we are, our actions, our beliefs, and our interactions. Death doesn't take that away. Grief doesn't require that we leave behind what once was. It requires that we take what we have experienced and use it for good in the days ahead. It is allowing our loved ones to continue to live in our daily actions and words. Healthy grief demands that we put one foot in front of the other, knowing that we must live through the pain in order to get to the other side. It is also acknowledging that grief is not a period of time. It is a new normal. However, it is a normal that can still have happiness, joy, and purpose.

I am blessed with precious friendships that check on me often about how I am doing. I am honestly good. This is a journey that is experienced by most. When we love big, we grieve big. It doesn't matter the circumstances behind the loss - young, old, sudden, slow. When we love, we hurt when that love can no longer take place in this physical world.

Grief is a new member of my family, but it is up to me how I choose to deal with it. As for me, I will choose to move forward living a life of joy, one slow step at a time....honoring the legacy of 2 lives well-lived.

**Below is the view from their final resting place. Dad always wanted to have a cabin on top of a mountain and live out his final days as a mountain man! For those who hiked with him, you know that all too well. He never had his mountain cabin, but he nailed the beautiful mountaintop view. Breathtaking!

Marie Dean: A Woman of Courage

Marie Dean: A Woman of Courage

Marie Dean – there are many words that could be used to describe her. One that immediately comes to the forefront is courage. Theodore Roosevelt once stated, “Courage is not having the strength to go on; it’s going on when you don’t have the strength.” Mom is one of the most courageous women that we know.

Unless you really took the time to peel back the covers, you wouldn’t truly understand the wonderful woman that she was as her life’s journey was filled with unexpected twists and turns. Her health problems began in her early thirties when my Dad was told he would be a widower and single father in a short time. She proved the doctors wrong time and time again! Over the years, she battled interstitial cystitis, Reynaud’s Disease, scoliosis, stenosis, arthritis, two horrible knees, mesh embedded in her intestines, multiple surgeries, and the list could go on and on. The need to be comfortable and out of pain is something no one understands unless they have been in that condition.  In her later years, her mobility was deeply affected by these issues. We would often hear her say, “If I stop moving, I will lose what I have and what I have is better than nothing.” She displayed courage and always put one foot in front of the other.

We have found many buried treasures in our parents’ house over the past 3 months.  One of the things we found was our Mother’s journal.  In her younger days, Mom was an outgoing, fun loving individual, full of life and spunk. But on the inside, she was often faking it, trying to fit in, dealing with a lack of confidence and self-esteem.  It wasn’t as easy as she made it seem. Unless you walked personally in her shoes, which none of us did, we will never fully understand the struggles and pain that she endured for many years. Through it all, our Mom was someone that put her loved ones, family, and friends before her own needs.  Our Mom was a woman who loved hard and would give anyone in need whatever she had to offer.  Our Mom was a devoted wife and parent.  In her younger years, our Mom was the life of the room. Our Mom was a woman that was proud to be a preacher’s wife and was devasted by the fact that she couldn’t physically care for him when he became ill with Parkinson’s.  Our Mom was someone that was accepting of her children and our journey and discoveries in life.  She loved hard and she loved unconditionally. 

Mom not only had our family, but she had 6 brothers and sisters that she loved dearly as well.  Her 4 brothers have passed on before her, but her two sisters remain.  Gail, her older sister who she admired and looked up to dearly; and Margie, her twin, someone that she shared life with in a way that few get to understand.  All three of them had a very special relationship that is seen by few. Mom’s last wishes were that her sisters knew that she loved them.  “I love you, I love you, I love you!” were her words for them.”  The love we saw and felt was so pure and so unfiltered, it made our hearts smile just to hear them speak together.  Mom loved her grandchildren.  Oh, how she was so proud of the 6 of them and one great grandchild.  We just wish they would have known her in her younger years before chronic illnesses invaded her full of life personality.

Since May, her courage was forced to flourish. She lost our father, moved into an Assisted Living Facility, had a knee replacement, went to rehab, and went back to the Assisted Living Facility. Never once did she complain. However, each day she would plead and beg the Lord to be with the love of her life, Sam, again. She missed him so much. Faithful, endless love. While we thought she was turning the corner to a more independent, mobile lifestyle, life’s journey took another unexpected turn.

People handle their last days in many ways. Some are scared. Some are reluctant. Some are in denial. As for our Mom, she embraced her transition with excitement. Her transition did not come without pain and tears, but she faced each day with courage. Mom knew where she was going and where things were headed.  She was going to heaven. The neurosurgeon said she’d be lucky live 2-3 days after the fall, which left her paralyzed from the neck down and impacted her breathing ability.  She made it 16 days.  About day 9, Chris had a very enlightening conversation.  Mom starting saying, “God, why are You not coming for me?  I’m ready!”  She would repeat this over and over.  Chris interrupted and said, “What is He telling you, Mom?”  She said, “He is telling me my body is not ready”.  Chris said, “Is He still coming?”  She said, “He will be here soon!”  Then she proceeded to say, “Chris, He died for my sins and for your sins!”  Then she proceeds to sing, “Jesus Loves Me, This I know”.  As you can imagine, the tears flowed uncontrollably….until in typical Marie fashion, she stopped and said, “What’s for breakfast?  I have to eat?”  

And at the end of her life, we think she clung to that survival instinct that got her through all her ailments, illnesses, and diseases. How else does someone live 16 days without food and water when the surgeon says she will be lucky to survive 2 days? Her outer body failed her, but her heart was strong.  Oh, how we wish we had her heart!

These past few months have been brutal, as we have both become “adult orphans” in a short amount of time. Our cousin, Ryan Foster, wrote these beautiful words that summarize the events of the past few months:

“Our parents’ generation is a shift that is ending. Slowly but surely, they are all finishing their work here on Earth, and they are heading home. Just a few left now, sweeping up, closing out the shop, and locking up in the evening after a long busy day. Like any other bright place that was open for business but is now closed, some parts of the world will be lonelier. We will miss them when they are gone and will remember them with longing and love. But they are going home where they are welcome, where there is peace and rest after troubles and long labor. My Aunt Marie has finished her shift. She has laid aside this world and has been reunited with Sam. What an amazing and joyful reunion!”

There is no doubt that she was met with a warm welcome by my Dad and an abundance of other loved ones. While our hearts will grieve in ways we could never imagine, we will hold on to the courage that Mom taught us to have to navigate this dark season. Thank you, Mom, for your unconditional love and faithfulness. We are blessed to call you our own. Until we meet again, you will live in our hearts and through our actions. Godspeed, our beautiful, courageous Mother.

P.S. We hope that there is a hair pick and hairspray in heaven! We are sure the angels already know that they better not get your hair wet! 

Come on Home! Come on Home!

Life has many seasons. This is one of the major things that the Baptist Rabbi taught me. He would say to me, "There are things that happen that will bring you to your knees and shake you to the core. Then there will be mountaintops where you see the beauty in this world. It is important to soak them both in - for they both have meaning in life."

People choose to handle situations differently. Some handle internally and some share their souls with those who will listen. There is no right or wrong; it is just how we individually process. I believe in sharing the human vulnerability and frailty, for we all experience it. We can all learn from each other. We can all support each other. After all, isn't that what a community of believers is called to do?

The past 2-3 months have been unbearable. I have heard people talk about pain and sorrow, but I have never experienced it to the degree that has slapped us in the face recently. For the past seven years, I have been blessed to be the major caregiver for Mom and Dad. This has created a special closeness between us that would not have existed otherwise. It certainly has not always been glorious and fun, but it is just what love does. For years, I have watched two Godly people suffer in ways that no human should have to suffer. There have been times that I just wanted to shout in anger to God and ask why! Then the gentle voice of the Baptist Rabbi would remind me that life is not fair. Bad things happen to good people. It is what it is. We don't always know the reason.

I have been blessed to say that losing Dad at the age of 46 was the hardest thing I have ever endured. Many people have had it much worse than me. Overall, I have been blessed beyond measure! However, I never dreamed that 2 months later I would be facing the same thing with my Mom. A tragic fall has left her paralyzed from the neck down. The injury to the spine is fatal, and she is in comfort care. No two deaths are the same. Dad was not able to talk during his final days. It was a one way conversation as I shared with him the impact that he had on my life and how lucky I was to be his daughter. Mom is currently in a neck brace, unable to move, but we have been gifted with conversation today.

What a blessing today has been! As we sat here this morning, she began saying in an excited voice, "Come on home! Come on home!" I asked her why she was saying that. She said, "Jesus is saying, come on home, come on home. I am going home, Kelly. I am going home." I asked her if she could see Jesus and she said, "Oh yes!" I asked her if she could see Daddy. She said she could and he had his arms open saying, "Come on home!" I asked her if she was happy to go home and she said, "Oh yes!!" I'm going home, Kelly! I get to spend forever with your Dad."Then she started impromptu singing, "Coming home, coming home, never more to roam. Open wide thine arms....Lord, I'm coming home." Words cannot describe the look of pure joy and happiness on her face. It was an experience that can't be put into words. There is no fear, dread, or worry. Just pure joy. She knows what her future holds and she is embracing the transition with excitement! She can't wait to join Dad in heaven!

Is there a reason for everything? I don't know. My Dad always taught me about the role of free will. Was Mom's fall "meant to be?" I don't know. I am frankly too exhausted to contemplate it. But this I know. Even in the midst of our darkest days, God shows himself to us if we will pay attention. When we think we can no longer breathe, He will give us a nugget of joy to embrace to see us through. I am honestly sadder than I have ever been in my life. However, after this morning, I know heaven is real. I know that Jesus is ready to take her to His eternal home with Dad. Selfishly, I cry. Selfishly, I want her here. Selfishly, I have no idea what life will be like without earthly parents in a few days. But this I know. God is present. God is good. God will see us all through this season of sorrow. God will make good from these ashes. There is sunshine on the other side. We just have to fight through the storm to make it to brighter days. In the meantime, my prayer is that I am observant enough to see God's hands through these trying times. He is alive and well and is eager to accept my wonderful Mother into his arms. What a joyous day that will be for her.

As for us left behind, we will cherish the impact that these two wonderful people had on the lives of many. I am among the lucky ones, indeed, to call them my own.

"Hurting brings my heart to You, a fortress in the storm. When what I wrap my heart around is gone. I give my life so easily to the Ruler of this world. When the One who loves me most will give me all. In all the things that cause me pain, You give me eyes to see. I do believe but help my unbelief..."

Words from Heaven

What a week. There is no amount of preparation that can adequately prepare you for the loss of a parent. This past week, we lost one of the most important people in my life. While we had approximately two weeks to prepare for this, words cannot describe the  range of emotions that have overtaken our bodies.

Planning Dad's Celebration of Life was extremely important to us. We wanted it to be everything that Dad had requested. This required a great deal of planning. I worked closely with Katrina, at FBC, on the program for the night. As we were looking at the rough draft, she indicated we needed to find a piece of scripture to go on the left hand side of the program. I told her that I would go home and consult with Chris and Mom, as Dad had many favorite verses.

Knowing that choosing just a few would be very difficult, I decided to have some fun. I found Mom's Bible on the table and brought it into the sunroom. Humorously, and almost sarcastically, I said, "I'm going to open up Mom's Bible, and we are going to let Dad and Jesus speak to us - giving us the perfect scripture for the program." We all giggled as I opened it up to Psalms, shut my eyes, and pointed at a particular position on the page. While we found a few things we liked, nothing "spoke" to us.

I vaguely remembered a friend of mine, Samantha Johnson, posting a Bible verse on my FB page. There were no words - just a reference to a verse. Again, I jokingly said, let's see what that verse says. Maybe He is speaking to us through FB! I looked on FB and saw, Numbers 6: 24-26. I opened up Mom's Bible to this verse. As I turned to the correct page, I saw that a cardboard picture of Jesus's hands were stuck in her Bible on this very page. Again, we all laughed that maybe Dad and Jesus were speaking to us. Maybe this insert was on this page for a reason!

Then I read the verse aloud to Mom and Chris:

"The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make his face to shine upon you,
And be gracious unto you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace."

I looked up, and Chris had tears in his eyes. He said, "That is exactly how Dad would end each service on Sunday morning. After the benediction, he would come down front, raise his hand, and bless the people of FBC. Then he would walk out to the organ playing." All of us sat in amazement - the perfect verse had been found! Dad found a way to communicate it to us from heaven.

And so it was....just like every Sunday morning when he was a preacher. At the end of the Celebration of Life, his dear friend, Ron Mouser, came to the podium and said,
"The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make his face to shine upon you,
And be gracious unto you;
the Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace."

The organ immediately boomed. I could feel Dad's spirit in the front of the church. And there was no doubt that my Dad was smiling from heaven, pleased with his final earthly service.

We began by making humor....because the pain was so prevalent. However, turning pain into humor was quickly replaced with awe and peace. Do I think that this was just a coincidence? Absolutely not. The Holy Spirit is alive and well. We just have to make sure that we slow down and pay attention to what He is saying. My attempt to joke and make light of the pain was quickly turned into a meaningful, peaceful experience where God's words spoke to all three of us.

As Moses was called to bless his people, God continues to bless us, even through painful times. My prayer is during these times, I can slow down enough to soak in His goodness. God bless!

Embracing the Pain

Celebration of Life Service - words from Kelly and Chris

Sam Dean was always a man of his word. If he said it, he meant it. He always spoke the truth. Sam Dean was always a planner. He made his wishes known. He said there would be no funeral, for this is not a sad occasion. He always said that he could not complain about his life - he had lived a life full of memories, accomplishments, and joy. He often said that he was more fortunate than most and he was abundantly blessed. He made us promise that we would do a celebration of a life well-lived and well-blessed.

He was also adamant about one more thing. There would be NO preaching. He said he had done enough of that and heard enough of that over his lifetime and he would not be having any preaching while celebrating his life! For those of you who know our Dad well, this comes as no surprise!

So today, we are here to honor his wishes! We will celebrate, maybe through some laughter and maybe through some tears, but the goal of tonight is to honor a great man who has touched the lives of many that will leave a lasting legacy for generations to come.

Our Dad was always more of a teacher than a preacher. We would be here for days if we talked about all the life lessons he has taught us both through his words and through his actions. Anyone who had a brief encounter with my Dad could instantly tell there was something special about him. Something genuine, sincere, and humble. He could be tough as nails, but it always came from his passions and with a compassionate heart. In the ICU, we had several nurses return to his room and cry with us because they had developed such an attachment to him. One nurse came back days later, kissed his head and said, "It has been an honor to take care of you, sir." The doctor who managed his care spent a great deal of time talking to us and eventually asked, "Do you care if I ask what he did for a living?" As we told him about our father, he replied, "I knew that there was something special and unique about him. I could just feel it in his presence." Even during our Dad's last days and last breaths, he still was impacting those around him. He wasn't even able to speak, but they felt it. What an amazing gift he had. He was always so humble, he never realized the significance of his impact or how well he was loved by so many. God gives each of us a gift that we are to use for the glory of Him. There is no doubt that he took this command seriously.

The last week he was home, I, Kelly,  had him walk to the mailbox with me. While we were walking, I said, "Don't you hate the times when you are surrounded by sadness and you know there is joy, but you have a hard time finding it?" He stopped, looked at me and said, "This is part of life. There are periods of happiness and periods of pain. There are times where it is appropriate to laugh and times where it is essential to cry. Both are equally important. Don't suppress the pain......bear through it and don't be afraid to feel it, for it is a part of life."

Our father loved hard. Our father always put other's needs before himself. He showed us all the true meaning of being a servant of the Lord. There are such mixed emotions on this night. Our family's heart has never hurt so deeply. But as the wise Sam Dean has taught us, we will all hold tight to each other as family and friends and feel the pain, knowing it is a part of life. We will remind each other to balance the pain with the promise that one of the greatest men we have ever known is in the hands of Jesus and celebrating  after hearing the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

Thank you, Dad, for loving hard and  teaching us to do the same - even though it sometimes causes pain.
Thank you, Dad, for seeing things in us that we could not see ourselves.
Thank you, Dad, for showing us your wisdom through your actions, not just your words.
Thank you, Dad, for loving so many unconditionally.
Thank you, Dad, for teaching us how to navigate this journey called life that is full of unfair events and free will.

Today, you are pain free, the tremors have disappeared, and your feeding tube has been removed. We envision you embracing your parents Bonnie and James and your siblings Irene, Mildred, and Thelma. We're sure the angels are surrounding you singing hymns of joy welcoming you into your eternal home. Tonight, as we celebrate stories of you, may we find joy as we embrace the pain of human frailty and loss.

God speed, our sweet Daddy. We will carry your spirit and life lessons in our heart forever. Let's let the celebration begin!

The Varying Colors of Easter

I remember the days well. Preparation for Easter was a big deal in the Dean household. Everyone had new clothes, fresh haircuts, and the Saturday night bath was extra long (with Solid Gold, Love Boat, and Fantasy Island playing in the background). Even into the college years,  Chris and I always woke up to a large Easter basket full of goodies. After rummaging through the treats, the morning became hectic as we all worked hard to look our best for church as Dad preached several times to a packed house. Easter was an exciting time.

As the circle of life unfolded, I quickly found myself being "the preparer of Easter." I now had 2 kids in which I was buying new outfits, paying for haircuts, and scrubbing extra hard on the Saturday night before Easter. As parents, we usually found ourselves out late on Saturday night shopping for Easter basket items, stressing out over the perfect item that would bring a smile to Mallory and Drew's face. The excitement over the basket almost equaled Christmas morning! Attending church, coloring eggs, hunting eggs, eating large meals, and taking pictures with family consumed the day. Easter was an exhausting, but fulfilling time.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself getting up earlier on Easter morning so I could go help my Mom and Dad get ready for church. While they couldn't attend church on a regular basis, they always made an effort to attend on Christmas Eve and Easter. The hustle and bustle of Easter was still there, but required an extra step to pull it off.  Being together as a family at church was just what we did at Easter.

This year, the color of Easter will change yet again. We will be at Mom and Dad's watching FBC Knoxville on TV. Mom and Dad will sing the hymns from their respective chairs, taking notice of all the people they know in the congregation.

What may seem sad gives reason for joy. You see, Easter will meet us at the Dean house in the morning. The reason for celebration remains the same no matter the circumstances. Sometimes simplicity brings about the greatest satisfaction.

I think we can all agree that Easter eggs are beautiful. The vibrant, bright colors bring joy. It is hard to pick one as your favorite because each has its unique beauty. So is life. Easter has many colors, depending on our unique stories, circumstances, and stages in life. However, there is individual beauty in each one if we take the time to focus less on us and more on the significance of the Risen Savior.

My prayer is that each of us takes time in our own personal journey to stop in the morning and breathe in the beauty of the true meaning of Easter. No matter the color of your Easter this year, God will meet you and rejoice with you. It is up to us to decide that we will find joy in each season's color. Rejoice for Christ has risen! Happy Easter!



**This picture of the Baptist Rabbi a few years ago on Easter at FBC. Yes, I am still trying to get him to cut his hair and beard.... :)

Two Chairs

The two rocking chairs were positioned side by side with a slight tilt toward each other in between the living and dining room at the Baptist Rabbi's home. Those two rocking chairs have been a part of our house for as long as I can remember. They are used when company comes to the house and conversations occur in the formal living room - away from the TV and other distractions. As my daughter, Mallory, entered the house on a rainy day, Dad escorted her into the living room and shut the french doors isolating them from the constant hustle around the Dean household. He wanted her all to himself. There was something to be said. An hour and a half later, Mallory came to meet me - tearful, overwhelmed, and blessed. The final "Goodbye" conversation occurred between Popman and his Mallory.

About a month ago, Dad had a rather significant heart attack that left his heart damaged with no possibility of further interventions. While laying in the ER, he claims he had a unique experience where his life flashed before him and he realized he had not said all that he wanted to say to the people he loved. Thus, the conversation with Mallory was arranged.

I was not privy to that conversation, nor should I have been. I will not ask specifics of what occurred because that is sacred between them. Mallory was given a special gift as her grandfather gave her his undivided attention expressing advice, feelings, and experiences. He was saying what he felt needed to be said.

Initially, I was overcome with sadness and grief, for no child wants to face the reality that their parents' time on Earth is coming to a close. Dealing with a damaged heart, Parkinsons, feeding tube, and permanent damage from Shingles, he certainly has his battle cut out for him. Talking has become a struggle for him, and I know he is growing weary. However, as I have reflected upon the significance of this conversation, I am now overwhelmed with gratitude and gratefulness. What a gift to be given a time of isolation with the Baptist Rabbi where he expressed his feelings and imparted life wisdom to my daughter. Many are not awarded this time to make peace and express unspoken feelings before their final rest.

I can only imagine some of the things that were said. At some point during the conversation, I bet he told her to love big, celebrate her uniqueness, fight hard, be kind, and don't get discouraged when life is not fair (although he would have said it in a much more profound, philosophical way!). I'm sure the words "I love you" were spoken. There is no doubt that she felt loved during this heartfelt time. I know that this will be a conversation that will shape her for a lifetime. Meanwhile, my humble Dad has no idea the impact that this conversation will have on her or the impact he has had on so many through his ministry and friendships.

Drew is next, followed by Chris's children. We may have one week or several years with what I consider to be the greatest man on Earth. God only knows. However, I am so thankful for many things:

• For him showing us the power of genuine conversations and unconditional love
• For him not being afraid to face tough emotions and hard words
• For him being vulnerable enough to share his innermost feelings while he is still able to speak
• For the 2 chairs that were used as the foundation to impart words that will shape the lives of my children during these uncertain times.

None of us know what tomorrow holds. However, I am witnessing my sweet father take advantage of every breath he has left on this Earth to continue to make positive impacts on people through his experiences, philosophies, and beliefs.  We all continue to learn from our Baptist Rabbi. May we all embrace the time that we have and use it for good. As for me, in the upcoming days when life may get hard, I will find solace in the 2 chairs......