I always thought that I was destined for something great. I never voiced it aloud, but something deep inside me always felt special, set apart, and reserved for a bright future.
When I was younger, I blended in with the crowd. There was nothing special about my appearance. In fact, some that were standing along side me were taller, stronger, brighter, more attractive and more productive. In a sea of faces just like mine, there was no outward characteristic that drew any eyes specifically to me. I was overlooked by the world. Ignored. Passed up. I would often see those around me chosen and I would wonder "why not me? When will my day come?"
Years and years went by, and most everyone I grew up with had gone on to do different things with their lives. Some built homes and supported families. Others built businesses and various successful ventures. There were even a few that kept company with criminals. I heard story after story of the fate of my friends and kin, and good or bad-- I was envious of their lives. I looked at how little I had accomplished in my life and it was devastating. I've always stood as tall as I could. I've always tried my hardest. Why am I not good enough to have a story of my own?
The years trickled by, and in more and more ways, I felt so alone. I was way out in the middle of nowhere-- drowning in a sea of loneliness and desperation. I had all but given up. So when those intimidators showed up to kick me when I was down, I let them have their way. They beat me and cut me down. I did not have the strength to fight back, so I accepted my fate at the hands of these evil doers. I fell to the ground with a thunderous roar. They didn't stop there. Once I was down they destroyed me limb by limb.
This was my lowest point in more ways than one. Lying there in a pile of rubble that once was "me", I cried. I cried and cried and cried. The pain was unbearable! The devastation! The disappointment! A lifetime wasted! I yelled out to the heavens and begged for forgiveness for the failure that was me. Then I blacked out from the excruciating sting in my heart.
When I awoke, something was happening...
It was hard to make out, but Someone was carrying me. There were crowds gathered on either side and some were yelling angrily and chanting obscenities and others were crying and praying aloud. I noticed the Man that was carrying me, He was covered in blood and He seemed to be in pain. He had His arms wrapped around me tight and He refused to let me go. I wondered to myself what was driving Him.... What internal force pushed Him to keep putting one foot in front of the other? That same driving force that is allowing Him to support the burden of my weight even with His body in such physical despair. I had never seen this Man, but I knew this Man. Something deep inside, a feeling I can't quite explain, revealed to me that this was the natural order of things...
I felt that this Man was always intended to relieve me of myself, and embrace me, and carry me.
When we reached our destination, I was laid upon the ground. The same hard hearts that had torn me apart, laid my Carrier upon me. His body was exhausted and it draped over me. Then, nail by nail, He and I became one. I felt His blood saturate me. It was a feeling like no other. His blood covered me and wrapped around my heart and soul.
Then, together, we were stood up to face the ugly world. His body was hanging on what was left of my branches. His physical strength was gone... But I could feel His spirit inside me. With His remaining strength, He called out to His Father:
"It is done".
And then that Man, that is like no other, breathed His last.
I was mourning for this carrier of mine, this lover of me, this savior of my heart...
Then suddenly, an old familiar feeling made its way back into my heart.
A feeling that the world had stripped from me over a lifetime of pain and loneliness.
A feeling that, I now know, came from this man all along...
I know that I AM special... I know that I AM set apart... And I know that I AM chosen...
My unique story unfolded in just the way it was supposed to.
After a lifetime of searching, I have realized my destiny...
See, I really was made for greatness...
I was made to bear Jesus for the world to see.
Me and my mom, my best friend.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
Chillz, They're Multiplyin'!
Just before I left church yesterday I started to feel achy all over my body. I ignored it like most of us mamas have to. But by last night, I had 101 fever. I felt HORRIBLE. I had chills, my chest was hurting and tight, I had body aches and a really bad headache. I always flatter myself to think that I am one tough cookie... But Nevie proved me wrong. A few hours later I would be up with her and she was running 103 temp. She wasn't as "pitiful" as me to say the least. She was eating popcorn and watching tv like it was no big deal. I made a mental note that I am actually NOT tough, but more of a big ole baby. I took her to the dr today at Laurel Pediatrics (where the BEST medical staff EVER are employed) and Ms. Nancy checked her for strep and flu. When those came back negative, they did a finger prick and determined that it was a viral infection. Figuring she and I have the same thing, I decided not to go to the dr myself. Instead, we came home to watch cartoons and wrap up under a blanket. Sometimes, on rainy days like today, it's nice to have an excuse to not go, go, go... I kind of wish it wasn't such a painful excuse......
Short post tonight, I know. But I did write something... You have to admit I'm doing a lil better...
Short post tonight, I know. But I did write something... You have to admit I'm doing a lil better...
Sunday, February 21, 2016
The Family Business
Yall have heard me talk about the donut shop... and I've complained to you about the curse/blessing that is Michael's work ethic. But you've only heard bits and pieces about something that is such a huge part of our lives. I wanted to take an opportunity to tell you a little bit about the family business.........
On September 12, 1955 a 19 year old young man from Chinendaga, Nicaragua 'leeegally' (<-- my best Trump impersonation) immigrated to America. His name was E.A. Garcia and his father sent him here to learn the American culture, the English language and to receive a higher education. He made his home in Laurel, Mississippi. He was a good man, a hard worker and enthusiastic about his future here in the states. Ten years after his arrival he had experienced college and worked here doing a number of jobs: selling furniture door to door, selling insurance and delivering newspapers. He lived very frugally with hopes of one day achieving the American Dream. In 1965 he walked in Commercial National Bank and asked for a loan to purchase, what would eventually become, the family business. Mr. Maddox, the banker, took a chance on a young entrepreneur and granted the loan. That business is none other than Shipley Donuts of Laurel. Thirty five years later, that young man from Nicaragua spoke fluent English, was married with 4 grown children and a beautiful farm, several rental properties, had built a thriving restaurant that had, not only paid off that initial loan, but also supported his family over the years. He had served far too many donuts to count and had became a pillar of our town. Then after decades of early mornings and late nights, he retired. His son, Michael, graduated from high school and took over the business. That is the very same Michael that I am now married to. Michael and I started dating during his senior year of high school and we were together when he made the decision to fore-go college and take over the family business. He had been working there since he was old enough to reach the rolling table and had been serving the people of Laurel for as long as he could remember, so for him, it wasn't a tough decision.
Michael has been managing "the shop" (that's what we call it) single handedly for 15 years now. For those that think taking over an already-established business doesn't involve sacrifcice, think again. Those of you that own a small business know that while getting established is huge feat, upholding a good reputation and keeping customers happy and coming back is an ongoing task. Some associate being a business owner with letting someone run your business for you while you take vacations and enjoy freedom and live the good life. But this is a HUGE misconception. In reality, owning a business is very confining and allows for very little freedom. Michael doesn't get a day off every week or every month or really ever at all. We are closed a cpl holidays every year and that is the only time my girls get to see their daddy in the morning light. They constantly beg him to stay home and cook breakfast (they think he is a better "breakfast cooker" than me) and he just can't...or won't... not sure which. If we get to take a family vacation, it's only because family members fill in and allow us to do so, and even then, it is hard for him to relax. I've often said, and wholeheartedly believe my husband is a workaholic. But I understand and appreciate his commitment to our customers. When you put out a handmade product everyday, there's no room for variations and inconsistencies that might accompany allowing different folks to fill in for you. So he just doesn't chance it. This is hard on our family, I won't sugar coat it. Time spent, or lack of, is literally the only thing Michael and I ever argue about. Our time together is so very limited and it makes me worry about the long term effects it will have on our girls. I have to remind myself that he is doing this for us.
My husband's alarm clock goes off at 3:00 in the morning, EVERY morning, seven days a week. He arrives at the shop alone and makes dough in a big ole mixer, then lets it sit for a bit. While that dough is sitting, he starts another batch. Soon, its time for him to roll it out, cut the donuts, place them on a screen in a proof box, then into the fryer to cook. Next, comes the glazer where piping hot, handmade treats are iced with delicious homemade icing. There's no conveyor belt that handles this entire process. That may be cool to watch, but that's not what's happening in our kitchen. Most all of the Shipley process is done by the same hands, every single day. And I think this attention to detail shows in the finished product. There are few treats that can compare to a good ole' Shipley Donut. We have regulars that are loyal to our store and come in every single day for the delicious donuts my husband makes. He takes his job as his dad's successor, serving the people of Laurel very, very seriously.
Since Michael has been running the shop, we have changed locations, created a unique and homemade lunch menu with the best chicken on a stick, hamburgers and onion rings in town... But some things never change....He has kept serving Laurel the fresh and delicious donuts they have come to expect from us. I work up front because I love, love, love meeting people and hearing their stories. The coolest part though, is we've started letting our kids follow in Michael's footsteps and work when they're out of school. We have so many plans and hopes and dreams to build upon this business that Mr. G. brought into this family FIFTY YEARS ago.
So there you have it! Next time you see me talking about "the shop" you'll know what I'm talking about!
On September 12, 1955 a 19 year old young man from Chinendaga, Nicaragua 'leeegally' (<-- my best Trump impersonation) immigrated to America. His name was E.A. Garcia and his father sent him here to learn the American culture, the English language and to receive a higher education. He made his home in Laurel, Mississippi. He was a good man, a hard worker and enthusiastic about his future here in the states. Ten years after his arrival he had experienced college and worked here doing a number of jobs: selling furniture door to door, selling insurance and delivering newspapers. He lived very frugally with hopes of one day achieving the American Dream. In 1965 he walked in Commercial National Bank and asked for a loan to purchase, what would eventually become, the family business. Mr. Maddox, the banker, took a chance on a young entrepreneur and granted the loan. That business is none other than Shipley Donuts of Laurel. Thirty five years later, that young man from Nicaragua spoke fluent English, was married with 4 grown children and a beautiful farm, several rental properties, had built a thriving restaurant that had, not only paid off that initial loan, but also supported his family over the years. He had served far too many donuts to count and had became a pillar of our town. Then after decades of early mornings and late nights, he retired. His son, Michael, graduated from high school and took over the business. That is the very same Michael that I am now married to. Michael and I started dating during his senior year of high school and we were together when he made the decision to fore-go college and take over the family business. He had been working there since he was old enough to reach the rolling table and had been serving the people of Laurel for as long as he could remember, so for him, it wasn't a tough decision.
Michael has been managing "the shop" (that's what we call it) single handedly for 15 years now. For those that think taking over an already-established business doesn't involve sacrifcice, think again. Those of you that own a small business know that while getting established is huge feat, upholding a good reputation and keeping customers happy and coming back is an ongoing task. Some associate being a business owner with letting someone run your business for you while you take vacations and enjoy freedom and live the good life. But this is a HUGE misconception. In reality, owning a business is very confining and allows for very little freedom. Michael doesn't get a day off every week or every month or really ever at all. We are closed a cpl holidays every year and that is the only time my girls get to see their daddy in the morning light. They constantly beg him to stay home and cook breakfast (they think he is a better "breakfast cooker" than me) and he just can't...or won't... not sure which. If we get to take a family vacation, it's only because family members fill in and allow us to do so, and even then, it is hard for him to relax. I've often said, and wholeheartedly believe my husband is a workaholic. But I understand and appreciate his commitment to our customers. When you put out a handmade product everyday, there's no room for variations and inconsistencies that might accompany allowing different folks to fill in for you. So he just doesn't chance it. This is hard on our family, I won't sugar coat it. Time spent, or lack of, is literally the only thing Michael and I ever argue about. Our time together is so very limited and it makes me worry about the long term effects it will have on our girls. I have to remind myself that he is doing this for us.
My husband's alarm clock goes off at 3:00 in the morning, EVERY morning, seven days a week. He arrives at the shop alone and makes dough in a big ole mixer, then lets it sit for a bit. While that dough is sitting, he starts another batch. Soon, its time for him to roll it out, cut the donuts, place them on a screen in a proof box, then into the fryer to cook. Next, comes the glazer where piping hot, handmade treats are iced with delicious homemade icing. There's no conveyor belt that handles this entire process. That may be cool to watch, but that's not what's happening in our kitchen. Most all of the Shipley process is done by the same hands, every single day. And I think this attention to detail shows in the finished product. There are few treats that can compare to a good ole' Shipley Donut. We have regulars that are loyal to our store and come in every single day for the delicious donuts my husband makes. He takes his job as his dad's successor, serving the people of Laurel very, very seriously.
Since Michael has been running the shop, we have changed locations, created a unique and homemade lunch menu with the best chicken on a stick, hamburgers and onion rings in town... But some things never change....He has kept serving Laurel the fresh and delicious donuts they have come to expect from us. I work up front because I love, love, love meeting people and hearing their stories. The coolest part though, is we've started letting our kids follow in Michael's footsteps and work when they're out of school. We have so many plans and hopes and dreams to build upon this business that Mr. G. brought into this family FIFTY YEARS ago.
So there you have it! Next time you see me talking about "the shop" you'll know what I'm talking about!
Saturday, February 20, 2016
No Quick Fix
Do you have a friend that's always there? One that you grew up with, made mistakes with, learned lessons with, laughed with, cried with, fought with and through it all you only got closer with. The one, that when life got in the way and you lost touch, you could still call after months of not talking and pick right back up where you left off. I have a few of those. Two of them are my buddies, Jennifer and Anna. We met when we were "grown ups" of thirteen years because our moms worked together. We became fast friends and were inseparable for the next several years. Then came weddings and school and jobs and kids-- and like it sometimes does, life pulled us apart. But through it all, we stayed in touch.
Yesterday, my phone rang and it was Jennifer. See, they lost their dad, Albert, about three months ago to (what started as) prostate cancer. It's been very hard on them because Albert was a wonderful person with a larger than life personality. We made small talk for a bit, then she broke down. "Nikki, it's just been the worst week. I miss him so much. I pick up the phone to call him, then I remember he's not there. It's just so hard.", she sobbed. I listened as she spoke. To make matters more painful, Yesterday her job in the medical field, (she sometimes floats from clinic to clinic) had landed her working an 8 hr shift in the very same oncology clinic where she sat with her dad just weeks earlier. She immediately got teary walking in the clinic. She said she could see him in every room... The vivid memories washed over her and suddenly she was listening as the dr recommended Hospice, with her sweet daddy sitting by her side-- full of hope and refusing to accept "no" for an answer. I continued to listen as she cried. My heart ached for her. She just kept asking "Why do I keep going down memory lane?", and it was killing me that I couldn't answer that question for her. She is hurting so badly. I am very, very worried about her.
Today, her little sister (and my other buddy), Anna, and I were texting. She is handling things a lot differently than her sister. Anna admitted that she refuses to let herself feel the loss of her dad. She has been keeping as busy as possible and is refusing to think or process what has happened. She, too, forgets he's gone and when the urge to call him or visit him invades her heart, she tricks herself into thinking he's sleeping or working. I read her words and I hurt for her. I worry that what she is doing isn't healthy and that she needs to grieve so that the healing process can begin. She said she is "scared" to face it. That breaks my heart. I am very, very worried about her too.
After talking with my sweet friends, I knew I had to come up with something to help them.
So I brainstormed ideas of how I could fix this:
I could send some scripture, after all, a little bit of Jesus makes everything better, right?
I could schedule a girls night to distract them.
I could take some donuts and we could all eat our feelings away.
I thought and thought and thought... But nothing I came up with seemed like enough.
Two sisters.
One significant loss.
Nothing I can do to help them.
Then I started thinking back to those first days without my mom. Much like Jennifer, I would have moments where the memory of my mom was so vivid that I could practically reach out and touch her. Restaurants and stores and familiar routes were filled with her in such a real way... and I, too, traveled up and down memory lane until it was paved with my teardrops. And similar to Anna, I would trick myself into forgetting she was gone. I would turn down her road refusing to accept reality. I would purposefully look for her sitting in that old rocking chair that we got her for Mother's Day. In my mind I was picking her up for some "great adventure" (that was actually just a trip to Wal-Mart or to Taylorsville).... In that moment, the sad reality was altered to something brighter. There was no new norm... She was still here and I was still me. And it felt good. Like both sisters, I wanted her back so badly. I would whirl into her yard and walk into her closet and bury my face in her clothes and breathe her in... and like the girls I, too, was in so much pain... and angry... and scared.. and confused...
And then it hit me..
Nobody ever fixed it for me.
They couldn't.
And I didn't expect them to.
But it sure was nice when they listened to me tell the same story about her for the hundredth time... and when they let me text at midnight because I was overwhelmed with memories... and when they called me on her birthday... and when they sent me flowers on the first Mother's Day without her... and when they let me cry 1,2,3,4 years later and squeezed me tight and prayed for me....
There is no set way to handle a loss.
There is no timeline to meet certain healing milestones.
There is no 12-step program to heal your heart.
Simply put, there is no quick fix.
We just have to lean on God and wait for time to do it's thing.
I can't fix this for Jennifer and Anna...
I can't take their pain away....
I can't offer some guaranteed comfort in the form of advice...
But I can be there.
And you know what? A girls night filled with donuts, scripture, tears, laughs, listening ears and offering up a shoulder made specifically for crying on-- might do just fine in the mean time.
Yesterday, my phone rang and it was Jennifer. See, they lost their dad, Albert, about three months ago to (what started as) prostate cancer. It's been very hard on them because Albert was a wonderful person with a larger than life personality. We made small talk for a bit, then she broke down. "Nikki, it's just been the worst week. I miss him so much. I pick up the phone to call him, then I remember he's not there. It's just so hard.", she sobbed. I listened as she spoke. To make matters more painful, Yesterday her job in the medical field, (she sometimes floats from clinic to clinic) had landed her working an 8 hr shift in the very same oncology clinic where she sat with her dad just weeks earlier. She immediately got teary walking in the clinic. She said she could see him in every room... The vivid memories washed over her and suddenly she was listening as the dr recommended Hospice, with her sweet daddy sitting by her side-- full of hope and refusing to accept "no" for an answer. I continued to listen as she cried. My heart ached for her. She just kept asking "Why do I keep going down memory lane?", and it was killing me that I couldn't answer that question for her. She is hurting so badly. I am very, very worried about her.
Today, her little sister (and my other buddy), Anna, and I were texting. She is handling things a lot differently than her sister. Anna admitted that she refuses to let herself feel the loss of her dad. She has been keeping as busy as possible and is refusing to think or process what has happened. She, too, forgets he's gone and when the urge to call him or visit him invades her heart, she tricks herself into thinking he's sleeping or working. I read her words and I hurt for her. I worry that what she is doing isn't healthy and that she needs to grieve so that the healing process can begin. She said she is "scared" to face it. That breaks my heart. I am very, very worried about her too.
After talking with my sweet friends, I knew I had to come up with something to help them.
So I brainstormed ideas of how I could fix this:
I could send some scripture, after all, a little bit of Jesus makes everything better, right?
I could schedule a girls night to distract them.
I could take some donuts and we could all eat our feelings away.
I thought and thought and thought... But nothing I came up with seemed like enough.
Two sisters.
One significant loss.
Nothing I can do to help them.
Then I started thinking back to those first days without my mom. Much like Jennifer, I would have moments where the memory of my mom was so vivid that I could practically reach out and touch her. Restaurants and stores and familiar routes were filled with her in such a real way... and I, too, traveled up and down memory lane until it was paved with my teardrops. And similar to Anna, I would trick myself into forgetting she was gone. I would turn down her road refusing to accept reality. I would purposefully look for her sitting in that old rocking chair that we got her for Mother's Day. In my mind I was picking her up for some "great adventure" (that was actually just a trip to Wal-Mart or to Taylorsville).... In that moment, the sad reality was altered to something brighter. There was no new norm... She was still here and I was still me. And it felt good. Like both sisters, I wanted her back so badly. I would whirl into her yard and walk into her closet and bury my face in her clothes and breathe her in... and like the girls I, too, was in so much pain... and angry... and scared.. and confused...
And then it hit me..
Nobody ever fixed it for me.
They couldn't.
And I didn't expect them to.
But it sure was nice when they listened to me tell the same story about her for the hundredth time... and when they let me text at midnight because I was overwhelmed with memories... and when they called me on her birthday... and when they sent me flowers on the first Mother's Day without her... and when they let me cry 1,2,3,4 years later and squeezed me tight and prayed for me....
There is no set way to handle a loss.
There is no timeline to meet certain healing milestones.
There is no 12-step program to heal your heart.
Simply put, there is no quick fix.
We just have to lean on God and wait for time to do it's thing.
I can't fix this for Jennifer and Anna...
I can't take their pain away....
I can't offer some guaranteed comfort in the form of advice...
But I can be there.
And you know what? A girls night filled with donuts, scripture, tears, laughs, listening ears and offering up a shoulder made specifically for crying on-- might do just fine in the mean time.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Four Years
Dear Mama,
I have walked around with the biggest lump in my throat for days now, thinking of you and missing you. Each day seemed to be a little worst than the last, leading up until today.
Saturday, I accidentally caught the last bit of one of your favorite movies, "Terms of Endearment", and it took me three straight hours to recover.
Sunday, the opening music cued up in church and the tears didn't stop rolling until the closing music ended.
While working at the donut shop this week, (where I typically dive into conversations with the customers), I've had to make myself talk and I've had to stop myself repeatedly from getting lost in my head..
But Mama, God has put the most amazing people in my path lately...
Yesterday I met the most wonderful little lady while working the drive thru window. And while her sweet tired eyes and her extra short hair gave it away, her warm smile and the strength she exuded refused to let her be labeled as a "victim" of the horrible disease you battled. I learned that she is on her fourth round of chemo battling ovarian cancer.
I told her how beautiful she was.
And she really was.
I told her I'd pray for her.
And I really did.
But what I didn't tell her is that after I handed her donuts, which is one of the few things she can still eat, I had to run to the back to keep from crying in front of the customers and staff. I saw YOU in her. I remember those days so vividly I can reach out and touch them. And as scary as they were-- I'd still take them in my arms and wrap them up so tight, if it meant I could just feel you one more time.
Today, I met Mandy, who is rapidly approaching the one year mark since her mom left and went to heaven. I could see the pain behind her teary eyes. I could feel it. My heart ached for her as she told me her story. I've never wished so badly that I was articulate and could say the right thing to take her pain away and make her smile. But I couldn't. All I could do was hug her and cry with her. I think it was a hug we both needed.
Then this morning, I got several texts from friends and family simply saying "I love you" or "thinking of you".
Last, I have to tell you about tonight. Tonight at church, my friend Christina handed me a journal to record all of my thoughts and prayers and feelings. The gift was something else... So thoughtful. It was something just so incredibly sweet... and it made me so happy... And so sad... And all the feelings from the last week conflicted with each other in that moment and just completely overwhelmed me.
I took the gift.
I hugged her.
Then I walked into my bible study class.
I knew it was coming, though I had been fighting it off ( fairly successfully) for days. I felt it building and building.
I had barely sat down before I started crying inconsolably. I was sobbing.
The girls in class didn't say a word.
They knew.
They just let me go.
After class I got plenty of tight hugs.
It's hard to remember what life was like with you here with me. Four years in your absence has almost stripped me of the memory of who I used to be. But God reminds me constantly that I'm not alone. He sends people to hug me, to talk to me, to laugh with me, to cry with me and to pray for me. And when they come, all I see is you... And Him... And I'm reminded that soon you and I will reunite and the pain that exists now will be no more.
Until that day,
I'll keep writing.
I love you mama.
Bushel and a peck,
Hug around the neck,
And all my broken heart.,
Love,
Nik
I have walked around with the biggest lump in my throat for days now, thinking of you and missing you. Each day seemed to be a little worst than the last, leading up until today.
Saturday, I accidentally caught the last bit of one of your favorite movies, "Terms of Endearment", and it took me three straight hours to recover.
Sunday, the opening music cued up in church and the tears didn't stop rolling until the closing music ended.
While working at the donut shop this week, (where I typically dive into conversations with the customers), I've had to make myself talk and I've had to stop myself repeatedly from getting lost in my head..
But Mama, God has put the most amazing people in my path lately...
Yesterday I met the most wonderful little lady while working the drive thru window. And while her sweet tired eyes and her extra short hair gave it away, her warm smile and the strength she exuded refused to let her be labeled as a "victim" of the horrible disease you battled. I learned that she is on her fourth round of chemo battling ovarian cancer.
I told her how beautiful she was.
And she really was.
I told her I'd pray for her.
And I really did.
But what I didn't tell her is that after I handed her donuts, which is one of the few things she can still eat, I had to run to the back to keep from crying in front of the customers and staff. I saw YOU in her. I remember those days so vividly I can reach out and touch them. And as scary as they were-- I'd still take them in my arms and wrap them up so tight, if it meant I could just feel you one more time.
Today, I met Mandy, who is rapidly approaching the one year mark since her mom left and went to heaven. I could see the pain behind her teary eyes. I could feel it. My heart ached for her as she told me her story. I've never wished so badly that I was articulate and could say the right thing to take her pain away and make her smile. But I couldn't. All I could do was hug her and cry with her. I think it was a hug we both needed.
Then this morning, I got several texts from friends and family simply saying "I love you" or "thinking of you".
Last, I have to tell you about tonight. Tonight at church, my friend Christina handed me a journal to record all of my thoughts and prayers and feelings. The gift was something else... So thoughtful. It was something just so incredibly sweet... and it made me so happy... And so sad... And all the feelings from the last week conflicted with each other in that moment and just completely overwhelmed me.
I took the gift.
I hugged her.
Then I walked into my bible study class.
I knew it was coming, though I had been fighting it off ( fairly successfully) for days. I felt it building and building.
I had barely sat down before I started crying inconsolably. I was sobbing.
The girls in class didn't say a word.
They knew.
They just let me go.
After class I got plenty of tight hugs.
It's hard to remember what life was like with you here with me. Four years in your absence has almost stripped me of the memory of who I used to be. But God reminds me constantly that I'm not alone. He sends people to hug me, to talk to me, to laugh with me, to cry with me and to pray for me. And when they come, all I see is you... And Him... And I'm reminded that soon you and I will reunite and the pain that exists now will be no more.
Until that day,
I'll keep writing.
I love you mama.
Bushel and a peck,
Hug around the neck,
And all my broken heart.,
Love,
Nik
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