• 31Jan

    I just want to say thanks to everyone who has taken the time to write comments on this blog.  I love to check and see if anyone has written anything.  In fact, I often check a couple of times a day.  And I love this blog.  Some of you may be aware of my paper fetish, . . no?  Well, let me explain . . or try to. 

    I’ve been keeping a journal since I was a pre-teen and struggling with a way to vent anger in a way that was not harmful to those around me.  My mother suggested writing everything down, I heard about my great grandmother keeping a journal since she was small (and she lived nearly a century–quite a few changes in her life such as cars, refrigerators, electricity, etc. ) and well, I decided that I liked the idea.  I’ve pretty much been writing ever since.  I haven’t had the chance to do a whole lot of it since I married Dan.  Adjusting to his schedule, kids, new responsibilities, . . those kinds of things just sort of take up your time.  Anyway, I have found that a blank piece of paper just calls for me to fill it.  Sometimes I get a new notebook or tablet and I can barely wait to use it.  It looks so fresh and pretty.  But a journal, a fresh new journal demands that I fill it.  I have on occasion filled pages of a journal at a shot just trying to get to the end.  It’s like reading a good book.  You just keep going because you can’t put it down.  You have to know how it all turns out.  Well, journal writing is sort of like that for me.  I just can’t put it down, I have to know how I’m going to end it.  I want to know where I will be when it ends.

    Dan didn’t understand this fetish very much.  He thought that anything you wrote down could eventually come back to haunt you.   While I do have to agree somewhat with his theory I have to admit that I wish a bit more of his thoughts would come back to haunt me.  It was a bit of an adjustment during our dating period.  My love of the written word was rarely satisfied as he just didn’t write . . anything.  My dad is kind of the same way.  He doesn’t bother writing unless he really has something worth writing about.  Again, not a bad philosophy to have, but again not quite the way I work.  I think I have every single letter he wrote to me in college stashed away somewhere.  Probably have most of Dan’s stuff too.  Their lack of writing meant that what they did write was a bit more valuable.

    Anyway, all that to say that this blog is great in that I always have a blank piece of paper just waiting for me to fill it up.  And even better yet, this talks/writes back.  =) 

    I have to admit that this fetish also makes me do strange things.  I often look at things like the directions for putting together Benjamin’s bassinet (way back when) and edit them.  I think I found over 30 misspellings and simple grammar errors in those directions.  Obviously a foreign made object . . or at least that was the joke between Dan and I.  I have caught myself on occasion wondering if Mrs. Marion (college Eng teacher) is doing the same thing to my blog.  Are you?  =)  I hated English.  Never felt like I did a good job.  Punctuation still evades me.  And I would rather write like I talk anyway.  Loved my teacher, though.  =)

    But I really must stop writing.  I’m not likely to reach the end tonight — of my grieving or the end of this page.  (Oh, and it’s so much easier to erase, rearrange, and rewrite things on a computer.  Paper just can’t keep up with that.)

  • 30Jan
    Categories: Grieving Comments: 4

    Speaking of passion for Dan . . just to clear up a common misconception . . not all those kids were Dan’s fault. 

    I miss him so

  • 30Jan

    Oh, God . . are you going to make this more painful yet?  Why this awful sick feeling?  What am I going to have to forgive?  He was my friend, my lover, my life . . .  I didn’t really mind living without some of the comforts of life as long as he was there.  He was what made the struggles of daily life worth while.  I invested my time, my body, my emotions into that man and there are those out there who can’t and couldn’t see him as more than some inanimate object to throw away.  I would defend him beyond my comfort zone. 


    Did in fact.  I remember actually telling a boss to take a hike in defense of him.  He was mouthing off about how Dan wasn’t taking good enough care of me and how he was being so young and immature . . and I got so mad I stormed out of his office, was ready to hand in my resignation on the spot. . .  I don’t do things like that.  Way to rash.  Not to mention I don’t normally fly off the handle like that.  Amazing the things I would have done and did do for Dan.  I’d still like to punch the guy . .

    Reminds me of another guy I’d like to punch.  Never actually met him, but if I had . . . He was one of the guys that Dan was working with on a particular job and he really made things miserable for Dan.  Dan mentioned me seeing him at one point and I bristled.  I really wanted the chance to break a couple of knuckles across his jaw.  The idea probably made Dan smile.  Petite little mamma bear slappin some big guy silly when Dan really didn’t need my protection.

    And I used to think I wasn’t passionate about anything.

    What a man.  I saw him get slapped down so many times . . the ones that hurt the worst were the Christians.  And yet he kept right on going with a smile on his face.  I could see the hurt, the pain, the disillusionment . . he had a big heart, some big ideas, and a vision that most people didn’t understand and therefore feared.  They told him in so many little ways that “he couldn’t do that, he’d never be able to get that done, that was impossible (a dangerous remark around Dan–he would insist on finding a way to do the impossible), he wasn’t good enough . . .   He often had a hard time trusting people because of that, but that didn’t stop him from being willing to give them the shirt off his back if they needed it.  There was so much I wanted to learn from him yet.  I know he had his flaws.  He wasn’t exactly the most practical minded person, he had his weaknesses, it was hard for him to admit that he was wrong, but he loved me and the kids to death.  Oh that’s a nasty cliché to use at this particular time.  You can forgive a guy a lot when you love him.  I’m just not sure I’m willing to forgive him for dying on me . . . not that it was his fault, I guess.  *sigh*

  • 28Jan
    Categories: Grieving Comments: 7

    Notice the use of the word “when”.

    “I will . . . watch to see what he will say unto me, and what I shall answer when I am reproved.”  Habakkuk 2:1

    Habakkuk just went through and grouched at the Lord for not doing things “right”.  It is an emotion, a feeling that he is expressing and he knows that the Lord is going to grouch right back. 

    I feel like that some days.  I just have to get the emotions off my chest, but I know that as soon as I voice what I’m feeling that the Lord is going to turn right around and remind me of what I already know.

    “You know I love you, Liisa.”

    “You know that my thoughts are bigger than your thoughts, and my ways better than your ways.”

    “You know I have a plan and a purpose for you.”

    “You know I will provide for all your needs.”

    “You know that Dan loved you.”

    I might know that He is going to reprove me, but I also know that He loves me enough to reprove me.  ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child’ and all that.  I guess the real question is what I am going to “answer when I am reproved”. 

    “Yes sir, Lord.  I will obey.  I will listen.  I will trust You.” 

    sounds good . . . now if I can just put feet to my mouth

    (actions to my words not feet in my mouth-giggle)  =)

  • 28Jan

    Josiah asked for a new daddy again tonight.  That’s the third time.  Sort of scary really.  They decided (he and Benjamin) that they wanted a new daddy to play with them because Mommy didn’t play with them too much. 

    So, does that mean that I’m failing, . . or that Dan is?  =)  Just for the record, that is a rhetorical question. 

    I told them that they needed to pray about it because a new daddy wasn’t something that I could just go out and buy for them.  =)  So, we’re praying about it.  Anyone who is praying for us could add that to your list.  Can’t say that I want one this year and that doesn’t mean that you should try to set me (us) up, but you can pray about it.  =)

  • 27Jan

    I made supper tonight. 

    That’s not really surprising.  With this many kids you have to make meals whether you feel like it or not.  I have been getting a bit spoiled in PA when it comes to making meals, but I have made a meal or two since Dan died and since Caleb was born.

    What was different was the fact that I made a real meal.  I made steak, baked potatoes and broccoli.  Yummy.  I did think when I pulled the steaks out of the freezer “How many do I need?  Dan won’t be eating any.”  That should have been a sign right there.  The meals I’ve been making have been things like Mac and Cheese, Hot dogs, Chicken Tenders . . stuff that I fed to the kids all the time in WV for lunches.

    My day went fairly smoothly.  The boys were still working on school work at supper time, but that was their problem.  I had accomplished quite a few things that I wanted to and was feeling calm and in control.  I got my clothes unpacked, worked on Abigail’s quilt a bit, Caleb wasn’t being too demanding, Payden was dressed, I gave the four youngest (Caleb excluded) haircuts and baths, the house wasn’t exceedingly messy . . things were going well.

    Then I started supper.  I looked at those steaks and thought, “I don’t make meals like this for the kids.  I make meals like this for Dan.  What happens if I burn those steaks?  Who will eat them?  What if I make too much food?  Who will eat the leftovers?  (Dan usually took them in his lunch.)”  So then I’m crying while cooking and of course, I get a bit distracted and do manage to burn the steaks a bit.  The boys decided that it was time to get their school work scored, Payden was playing with the dirty diapers in the bathroom trash, and the girls were making all kinds of noise and havoc.  One blessing was Caleb slept through the whole thing.  So, I’m cutting up the meat and crying some more because usually Dan and I split up prep time for a meal like this.  He would cut up the meat while I mashed the potatoes and put the condiments on them for the kids or the other way around.  More work for me this time.   I’m thinking, “Dan would be teasing me about burning the steaks (they weren’t really burnt that bad–the kids did eat them) and setting off the smoke alarm.  At least I didn’t do that.”  Then I sniff . . . what is that (faint) smell?  Probably from the meat. . . Need to get the potatoes, turn that brocoli off, butter, salt . . . and then there it went–the smoke alarm.  It must be a sensitive smoke alarm because I didn’t see anything to fuss about.  The boys made some comment about me setting off the “beeper” and I smiled while crying all the harder.  Dan would have said the same thing.  Sometimes having them act like their dad is not quite the blessing it’s made out to be.

    Anyway, supper got made and it actually all got eaten except for the bottom part of the broccoli that got burnt to the pan. (Burning broccoli is a terrible waste and should be considered a crime!  There’s never enough of that stuff to go around in our house as it is.)  I don’t think I will be making another meal like that any time soon, though.  It’s a simple meal to make, I think, but without Dan what’s the point?  The kids are fine with peanut butter and jelly.  Maybe when they get a bit older and are able to appreciate it more . .

    I don’t know . . this making supper stuff is really difficult for me.  Supper was the meal that was for Dan.  I didn’t really care what the kids wanted, what they liked, or anything like that.  I made something for Dan (and sometimes me) and the rest of them either ate it or went hungry.  Who do I make it for now?  Do I just pick a kid?  One each night maybe?

    Making supper?  Why is it that the silliest things just throw me off?  And why am I so sensitive?  I can be fine one moment, not even aware of any kind of turmoil, and the next thing I know I’m practically bawling my eyes out for no apparent reason.  I am not an emotional person.  I am even-keeled.  I don’t have highs and lows, much less highs and lows in the same five minutes.  Will I ever get my sanity back?

    Thankfully, You are my rock, my fortress, my stability, Lord.  My emotions might be fluxuating like the tides, but You never change.  How in the world, do people do this without you?  You make it “easy”.

    *phone call*

    Thank  you for the distraction, Lord.

  • 27Jan

    We arrived in MI and all the kids said “Hi” to Grandma and promptly went to reacquaint themselves with their toys that we had left here.  That gave Mom, Janet and I a chance to chat and relax.  Maranatha showed up after a bit, but she had found a tag so she just sat on a stool and sucked on her fingers and played with her tag.  Then, all of a sudden she perks up and says, “Daddy’s here!” 

    My heart kind of stopped and I looked around thinking that maybe I had misunderstood her . . “What, honey?”

    She jumped up and ran, “Daddy’s here!”  She stopped at the end table next to me and picked up a picture of our family that Janet had sitting out and started naming the family members starting with Daddy.  She was Daddy’s little girl.  My poor baby. 

    In some ways I feel like Daddy is here, too.  How, after all this time, can it still seem so unreal?

  • 26Jan
    Categories: Uncategorized Comments Off on Pages Update

    Sorry I wasn’t more specific.  On the left hand column there are some links.  One of the headers is called “Pages”.  Under it is a few things like “About, Contact Liisa, Praying for Liisa”.  Those are the pages that I added some stuff to and my map of those praying for me is there as well.  Please update my map if you haven’t already.

  • 26Jan

    Pardon the font

    A Keeper


    Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, work shirt and a hat; and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other.  It was the time for fixing things: a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep.


    It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy.  All that re-fixing, re-heating leftovers, renewing; I wanted just once to be wasteful.  Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there’d always be more.



    But when my mother died, and I was standing in that clear morning light in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn’t any more. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away…never to return. So… While we have it, it’s best we love it… And care for it… And fix it when it’s broken… And heal it when it’s sick.




    This is true: For marriage… And old cars… And children with bad report cards… Dogs and cats with bad hips… And aging parents… And grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep, like a best friend that moved away or a classmate we grew up with.


    There are just some things that make life important,



    like people we know who are special… And so, we keep them close!

  • 26Jan

    I have modified some of the “pages”. Check them out.