Not by Sight

Last week Big Cass informed me that Art Sunday was coming up. The idea for this day was to finger paint a canvas with a verse on it. My job was to come up with a verse. Immediately the L-rd brought to my mind "for we live by faith, not by sight." Now where is that verse found? B.C. (that's what Maas calls her) pulled out her trusty grey bible and turned to the back where all of the topics are layed out in an easy-to-reseach way. Faith. 2 Corinthians 5. And since context is king let's read a little more:

verses 1-11

We know that when the tent which houses us here on earth is torn down, we have a permanent building from G-d, a building not made by human hands, to house us in heaven. For in this tent, our earthly body, we groan with desire to have around us the home from heaven that will be ours. With this around us we will not be found naked. Yes, while we are in this body, we groan with the sense of being oppressed: it is not so much that we want to take something off, but rather to put something on over it; so that what must die may be swallowed up by the Life. Moreover, it is G-d who has prepared us for this very thing, and as a pledge he has given us his Spirit. So we are always confident - we know that so long as we are at home in the body, we are away from our home with the Lord; for we live by trust, not by what we see. We are confident, then, and would much prefer to leave our home in the body and come to our home with the L-rd. Therefore, whether at home or away from home, we try our utmost to please him; for we must all appear before the Messiah's court of judgment, where everyone will receive the good or bad consequences of what he did while he was in the body. So it is with the fear of the L-rd before us that we try to persuade people. Moreover, G-d knows us as we really are; and I hope that in your consciences you too know us as we really are. 

That whole section resonnates with me. Of course I long to be with Jesus and that's all the more reason to live this life according to his ways. I shared this with Tom Monday morning and he said, "This gives me hope." Hope is growing in us, in the middle of our sadness. G-d's word is new every day, it is meant for us at our various points, our different experiences.

I am thankful Big Cass is in our lives, helping Little Cass to appreciate art and creating. But I suppose more importantly I am waiting for the L-rd to open the door for BC to use her gifts to draw even more people to himself. As verse 11 says: So it is with the fear of the L-rd before us that we try to persuade people.

Happy Birthday, Buddy

I don't know what this day will look like for us. I spent a lot of time looking at photographs and watching videos. We have had so much fun, playing, learning, laughing. We don't know what G-d has in store for us, but our lives are so full because of Wyatt. Sometimes his little smile is what makes me cry, and sometimes I can smile right along with him. I hope these photographs bring you joy.


Such a joyful, tender-hearted and brave boy.

Click here to view these pictures larger

Grocery Shopping

Believe it or not I used to enjoy going to the grocery store. Wyatt and Cass would ride in a "cool cart", a fire truck or taxi or race car. I would give Wyatt the snack and he would be a good distributor of the food. When the food was gone they'd stand on the side of the cart, hanging on tightly and when I stopped to get something off the shelf they would jump down and scoop up imaginary trash and throw it in the basket. Sometimes Cass would miss an imaginary piece of trash and Wyatt the trash man would be sure to point it out to her. He'd ask for a piece of provolone whenever we neared the deli counter and when he saw the big display cakes on the counter he'd run over and look at the pictures of cakes in the book.

It's hard to say one part was his favorite, he seemed to enjoy every part of grocery shopping, but I know he loved riding the free horse at Hy-Vee a lot. They would take turns on who got to ride first and then climb up and push the button. He taught Cassie how to grab pretend arrows from their pretend quivers and then shoot the bad guys while riding the horse, sound effects and all. Even loading the groceries was fun because I would let them climb in through the back of the van. What a thrill.

Today Cass rode in a regular cart, her baby doll Lulu by her side. I don't like to push the big "cool" carts around, they're not very manageable and I prefer to talk to Cass while I'm shopping. Getting a firetruck and not having Wyatt in it would make shopping even harder. Cass got her free piece of cheese, "probolone", and I let her ride the horse twice since no one was waiting. She shot the Halloween spider balloon with her arrows.
I even miss him complaining about those gross Halloween decorations. There weren't many at this one, thankfully, but I'm sure he would be proud of Cassie shooting the spider balloon. Cassie and I talked about the coming rain as we rolled through the parking lot and when I opened the back of the van she climbed up and over the seat just like her big brother.

Love

I remember when we got pregnant with Wyatt I wondered where I would find more love in my life for another person. I loved Tom so deeply, was so amazed at our marriage and the joy I had just being with him that I marvelled at the idea of our joy increasing. But on November 4th it grew. And then seven months later we discovered we were pregant again and I once more wondered, will my emotional capacity increase just as it did with Tom and Wyatt? Of course when Cassidy arrived on February 13th my love increased and the pleasure of having two beautiful children made life perfect. When we found out we would have another child it was bittersweet; his arrival seemed the only joy we had after my aunt's unexpected leaving. It was a beautiful experience, having him arrive on Lauren's birthday. And my figurative heart grew with even more love.

It emptied as quickly as it filled. What happens to the love a mother has for her children when those children have vanished? How do you still love when you can't kiss or hug or squeeze those babies that grew inside, causing your heart to grow too?

I will tell you: just like a balloon, once full of air and then opened up and the air released my heart is now stretched out and filled with pain. Looking at pictures of our family, Wyatt and Cassidy holding our hands, my belly round with Zeke, I am not filled with love or joy, just pain and emptiness. And what will take away this pain?

There's a song taken from the Word that says: If I'm high upon the moutain, If I'm low down in the valley, I will give you praise.

How long must we stay in the valley?

He is faithful to His word.

Isaiah 61:1-3 The Spirit of Adonai ELOHIM is upon me, because ADONAI has anointed me to announce good news to the poor. He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted; to proclaim freedom to the captives, to let out into light those bound in the dark; to proclaim the year of the favor of ADONAI and the day of vengeance of our G-d; to comfort all who mourn, yes, provide for those in Tziyon who mourn, giving them garlands instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a cloak of praise instead of a heavy spirit, so that they will be called oaks of righteousness planted by ADONAI, in which he takes pride.

No Strong Words

I won't put a happy face on the last few days. Colorado was hard and I thought perhaps coming home would bring some comfort. It hasn't. Wyatt isn't here. Three months have passed without him coming into my room in the morning, or riding his bike on the driveway, or jumping on the bed, or playing in the bathtub, or listening to story after story before bedtime. Life is still vastly empty and sad. He didn't go fishing with Rachel and E.J. He didn't pick wildflowers with Mima and Pop. He didn't listen to Big Cassie's stories in the van. He didn't squeal with joy when he saw Maasen after being gone for two weeks.

It seems the only thing I can do to stop the pain is read. Sometimes it's too hard to focus enough, though, and I start thinking: Wyatt. He's gone. That voice gets louder and louder until I can't take it anymore and I try to read again. Or do the dishes. Or... there's nothing I can do to get rest it seems.

And somehow we're supposed to face tomorrow morning and remember the last time we held Zeke. Precious and horrible, all in the same breath.

Happy Birthday, Zeke

 This time last year we had our third child, Ezekiel John Blake. In typical Tblake fashion he came quickly and "easily" as some might say. He was a large baby, 9 pounds and 2 ounces, but his arrival was a joy to us. He came just in time, with thirty minutes to spare he was born on Aunt Lauren's birthday and during Sabbath. Though his time with us on this side of life was short, we look forward to the years of loving G-d together.

Last night Sam pulled out his guitar and led the nine of us (Little Cass joined us) in a time of worship. He played several of his new songs, songs that reflect the pain and struggle we are going through right now. Songs that echo the voice of David as he ran for his life from King Saul. And as we all sang our lungs out, praising the One who created Zeke, I felt that eternal moment come closer. This has happened before, during worship times at Kingdom Living. My heart shifts to the heavenly and I feel the overwhelming joy that will come when I sing with all of my children before the Holy of Holies.

Here in Colorado the sadness that comes from missing our boys has been compounded by the fact that they aren't here to enjoy it. The reason we are here is because Wyatt is gone, and observing Zeke's birthday is a strange mix of sadness, emptiness and longing, with only a hint of happiness. That week that he was with us was the happiest week of my life. Since he's been gone there's been a deep decline in joy. Without Wyatt this life seems unreal. So last night, singing about our G-d and King, I felt what will one day be real. One day I will not long for anything because the longings in my soul will be met by the One who put them there. I will dance and sing with tears of joy instead of this pain and sorrow. I wait for that day...

At 9:15 this morning Cassie was still quiet in her room. I laid in bed and waited. I waited to hear the thud of her feet on the floor, the quick little steps and then the door creaking open, and slamming closed. I'm not sure why she closes the door behind her. Perhaps it is to keep Yuma off of her rug. Perhaps it is out of habit, like on the rare occassion that she would get up before Wyatt.

I tell fear to leave, I trust that Cassie is ok.

I wrote this down in my journal a week ago, to remember in the hard times:
I believe G-d is good. He will provide for me emotionally, physically, mentally and financially. I trust these things are true. I believe they are true. G-d took Wyatt; it was not an accident. It was His timing and His way. I will see Wyatt again.

The clock turned 9:20, those five minutes lasting hours, and Cassie came out of her room and crawled into bed with me.

missing

i miss touching him. i felt the same way with ezekiel. my arms feel empty. and cassidy is so kind about letting me hold her and kiss her. she gives the tightest squeezes when she hugs, but her three year old body is so different from his. i miss his long skinny arms and knobby knees. i miss his gigantic feet. i miss his blue eyes. i miss his spikey buzz cut hair. i miss the wax in his ears. i miss cutting his fast-growing nails. i miss his bloody noses and boogers. i miss his mile-long eyelashes. i miss his belly sticking out after a big meal. i miss his muscley legs. i miss his sweet cheeks and big lips. i miss his belly button, a little bit of an outy. i really miss brushing his teeth. and even here cass has been so kind; she used to brush her teeth on her own while i brushed wyatt's. now she lets me brush her teeth if i ask her.

so much is missing. the house is quieter, tidier, more boring. no lego ships, no swords, no apple cores sitting around anymore. it feels so empty.

thank you

Mornings are filled with pain. When I wake up before Cassidy I lay in bed and think about Wyatt. I think about how he would come in our room in the morning and ask me (or Tom) to get up and get breakfast. Sometimes, if my arm was hanging out of the blanket he would kiss the palm of my hand and then rest his cheek in my hand. I suppose it's because I told him it was a lot easier to get up in the morning with a kiss than with a whine.

I can still feel those cheeks.

Yesterday I helped Cass change her clothes for bed. She was standing up and I was sitting down and as I leaned over to pull her underwear off of her little feet she leaned over and kissed my head. It was so reminiscent of Wyatt and his tender ways. While Cass is more outwardly affectionate, Wyatt took advantage of little opportunities to show genuine love.

He would thank people for the littlest gift with such appreciation. My sister Sarah pointed it out, he would say, "Thank you, Aunt Sarah." The tone of his voice, the sincerity in his words, the light in his eyes, he felt real gratitude.

It reminds me of a line from a poem I wrote in high school: Those who are thankful are never thankless. It's so redundant, so obvious. Reading it now I see how young I was in my writing, but it's true. Wyatt was as excited about his Buzz Lightyear underwear as he was about his giant bow and arrow launcher. The picture of him with Tom from his little booklet shows such a huge smile. You can see the package of underwear opened in front of him. That was before he opened the gun with the bullets and scope and bow and arrow launcher.

He appreciated so many things, the mundane things and the extraordinary things. He was so grateful that the words "Thank you" were never far from his lips. At such a hard time in our lives I'm seeing the importance of being thankful for the big and the little things. Sometimes it's really hard, but I'm trying.

I am asking the L-rd for joy. With both of our sons gone a large portion of our joy is missing, or rather, displaced. We know that where they are is abundant joy; they are laughing until they cry at their discoveries of the great Creator. On Earth, however, our pain is ever-present. Things that should be full of fun and happiness are shrouded in the absence of our boys. I will keep asking for joy. Beauty from ashes, and I mean it.

...

Cassidy and I joined Gigi, Papo, Abbie and Asher today for some play time at the pool, our second time this week. While we were at the pool on Monday there was a swim lesson going on with four little kids. They were probably 3 or 4 years old and three of the little kids were doing fine. One little boy was nervous about the water and ended up crying some, much to the disappointment of his mother who sat next to him. I could see a bit of Wyatt in that little boy. The panic and lack of trust he experienced was so overwhelming for me. I wanted to get out of the pool.

When the lesson was over the boy and his mother sat on a pool chair together. I could understand her frustration; I'm sure she just wanted to help her son by enrolling him in swim lessons but the situation was too much for him to relax and learn. She sat silently leaning against the back of the chair while he dangled his feet over the end. I walked by them on the way to get something for Cass and I could feel my spirit rising up in me. At that moment all I wanted was the opportunity to teach my son how to swim. I knew I would not get that chance with Wyatt, and perhaps that is why I couldn't let this situation pass me. I walked up to the little boy as his mother texted on her phone and I told him he did a good job. I encouraged him that he was brave and that next time he would get even further into the water. I walked away and cried. 

Today when we got to the pool I put Cassie in a swim vest and she got right in, swimming around by herself. Her experience with the water is so different from Wyatt's. He was more careful and uncertain of the pool, not straying much further from the steps by himself. Cass and I went out into the deep end and she wouldn't even let me hold her hands. She kicked and kicked and tried to use her arms to go faster. She kept her lips tightly closed so as not to swallow any water and even when it splashed in she simply spit it out. She bobbed around in the water, so content to be there by herself and enjoy the sun. 

As we floated in the cool water together, the sun shining above us, I thanked the L-rd for this moment. It would be more complete, more satisfying, if Wyatt was next to us, floating in his blue vest, his eyes sparkling like the water. I can see his smile, or more realistically his concern about the water. But in that moment I didn't think about that deficit, that emptiness. I thanked G-d for this minute of joy with my daughter.

As we swam back to the shallow end I looked over at the steps and saw the same group from Monday getting ready for another swimming lesson. I saw my little buddy sitting on the end in his Spiderman swimsuit. I caught his eye and gave him a big smile. I'm sure at the time of our exchange he was nervous about a stranger talking to him, but the encourager in me could not let him go home feeling like he had failed. I watched the instructor lead the kids through different exercises and the little boy didn't hesitate with any of the activities. In fact he did quite well, kicking and putting his face in. After his lesson he joined us in the little pool, and we shot each other with water zookas. Cass and I watched him curiously, as though we remembered what a boy splashing around looked like and yet couldn't quite get comfortable with it. I wish I could say something happened to me as I watched him in the pool, but it didn't fill any kind of hollowness inside. I am glad he got in the water and did such a good job, but I wanted to impress upon his mother the importance of every day with her son.

When we got back to Gigi and Papo's I helped Cassie take off her swimming suit. As I walked out the door to hang up her wet suit she said, "Wyatt. I wish Wyatt was here. And baby Zeke. They're not here." I reminded her we will see them in heaven, and until that time we will live here together. And hope for moments of joy. And hope.