Kim’s Top Ten Life Lessons

1.  Always wear a heavily padded bra, or even 2, when playing paintball.  If you don’t, you may end up with a mostly green and purple boob that looks like it has 2 nipples.  It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds.

2.  Don’t attmept a Class V rapid in an inflatable kayak your first time kayaking with your husband.  Just because the Class II and Class III rapid before it went well doesn’t mean the Class V will!  Another hint, if the name of the rapid ends with the word “Falls”, avoid it!  This one still isn’t funny, other than our complete idiocy.  Jason managed to pull me out just in time.

3.  When you’re running fast trying to avoid a tardy that will probably lead to after school detention, always watch where you’re going.  A pole, 2 black eyes, and a bloody nose taught me that one.  On the bright side, I got to skip that class entirely!

4.  When you pull your pants up in the woods, always check for yellow jackets first.  It’s not fun having one trapped in your pants, nor is it fun when you fall down trying to get your pants back off! (I’m sooooo glad this isn’t on video!!!!)

5.  Do not drive 50 on a freshly oiled gravel road.  Do not store tire chains behind the seat in your pickup.  Do not total your pickup and get hit in the head with tire chains.  It’s not a good combination!

6.  Do not go for an early morning walk in West Eagle Meadows (Eagle Cap Wilderness) alone.  Do not walk within 10 feet of a cougar before realizing it’s there.  Do not get followed by a cougar for over a mile, because you did not realized how far you had wandered away from camp.  But if you do, show your husband the cougar tracks on top of yours on the trail, because he probably won’t believe you until you do!  Or use the camera you’re holding to take a picture instead of using it to protect the back of your neck!  It seemed like a good option at the time. (I have a picture of the tracks on mine!)

7.  When the gym wall is about a foot behind the basket, do not try to block that girl’s lay-in, even if you know you can.  The faceplant into concrete a split second later really isn’t worth it (although I think the crowd would disagree!).  I hate you, Joseph gym!!!!

8.  An ice axe also makes an excellent weapon.  But, if you manage to somehow flip your pack just right when you take it off, you might end up using it on yourself!  Whatever.  Cool scar.

9.  Before you and your friend go catch-and-release fishing, make sure one of you is good at removing hooks quickly.  No, I have no idea why there are so many fish floating in Morgan Lake. And neither does Kelsey Schaures!

10.  When you drive 5 hours away for a hunting trip, make sure you bring your gun.  (Thank you, Dad, for driving back to get it…2 years in a row…)

See, pain and humiliation are hilarious!

Let me take this one step further. Not only do I not believe in safety, but I do not believe that life was ever created to be safe. I think part of where our culture has gone so wrong is that we are constantly in search of a false sense of security rather than truly living. I’m much more likely to die in a household accident or an auto accident than any other way, and yet I feel safe in my home and driving my car. Everyone takes HUGE risks all the time whether they realize it or not. Danger is an integral part of every life – animal, plant and human. We were made to live in a dangerous place. Life was never intended to be safe and easy, and when you spend your time trying to make it that way, you miss out on all life has to offer.

There is a fine line between this type of thinking and complete idiocy. Some activities are dangerous enough that no sane person would do them. My point is that a lot of things we consider dangerous are in fact safer than things we do all the time without thinking twice. And the truth is, a little danger is good for the soul. We were made to live in a dangerous place and to thrive there. We discovered new continents and conquered them. We lived off the land with little shelter and survived. Sure, we may live longer now, but do we live happier or are we really missing all that life was intended to be?

I’ll let you make your own decision on that, but I, for one, believe that we’re missing out and that our society suffers greatly as a result. I’ve seen much, much happier children in Guatemala living in sheet metal buildings with dirt floors, wearing holy pants and underwear, playing with nothing but the dirt and not knowing where their next meal will come from, than I have ever seen playing video games in America.

Live a little!!!

Oh, the simple days!  Here is an example of our conversations now, from just this very morning:

Me: “Owen, take your bowl into the kitchen and put it in the sink.”

Owen:  “Wait, I’m kicking an alien right now.”

Me:  “Stop kicking the alien, and go put your bowl in the sink.”

Owen:  “I can’t.  The alien turned me into a zombie.”

Me:  ”Bowl in the sink or time out.”

Owen:  Loud, exaggerated fake snoring.

Me:  “If you’re tired, you need to get in bed and take a nap.”

Owen:  “Noooooooooo!  I want to take my bowl to the sink!!!”

Naps are not his friend either.  

At least his excuses are creative and original.  He makes it really hard to keep a straight face!  A+ for personality, D for following directions!  I’m slightly concerned that he might become a rodeo clown someday, but I bet he’d be really darn good at it!

Here’s a couple more recent photos of Mr. Personality.

Being a stay-at-home mom requires a lot of sacrifice.  I would know.  I gave up my career, my car, and my nice house to do it.  I believe that giving my son this time is more important than any of those things, and I acted on that belief.  And while I have a bad day from time-to-time, there is not a single moment that I regret it.  I know many other moms who have made the same or a similar decision.  I’m also noticing that many of those moms are bitter about the life they lead and the things they have given up.   

If it weren’t for Ethan, I wouldn’t be surprised if I felt that way.  In America, we feel like we’re entitled to all sorts of things.  So many of those things we feel entitled to are blessings.  Time for ourselves for example.  What a wonderful blessing when we get it!  But not necessarily something we are entitled to.  A job that gives us a sense of fulfillment and purpose.  Once again, a blessing, not an entitlement. And if any job were able to give us this, certainly it should be motherhood!  Spending time with our kids.  Once again, a blessing, not an entitlement.  Their days are numbered.

So many of the things we spend our time complaining about are truly blessings.  When you lose one of those blessings, the ability to spend time with your child for example, it all starts to come into focus a little better, and you realize what a blurry lens you were looking through before.

Stay-at-home moms out there – treasure this time with your little ones.  Make it fun.  Be creative.  May your patience and wisdom grow each and every day!  Take on the challenges with a joyful attitude.  Wipe off that blurry lens, covered with the dirt and grime of daily struggles, and see your little blessings more clearly.  There is NO better job than this!!!  Stop playing the “could’ve” game.  Yeah, you probably could’ve, but you would’ve missed out on a much bigger blessing that God had in store for you – your children.  He has chosen you to watch over these little lives He created.  He has blessed you with the ability to be their primary caregiver.  Even though He created them, He has placed their care and their fate in your hands.   You are not persecuted.  You are blessed, cherished and entrusted with possibly the greatest task a person could ever be given by a loving Creator and God.  It really doesn’t get better than that, even on a bad day!  It can all be taken away in the blink of an eye.  Don’t waste it.  Don’t spend your time building up resentment.  Don’t lose sight of the treasures you have been blessed with.  Persevere.  His mercies are new every morning.  His faithfulness is great.  His love and His blessings have been poured out on you.

I want to hear a lot more moms bragging about their kids and the fun they’re having with them!!!!!!!!

Here we are, rather frustrated, trying to get Owen to sit still for a family picture. There is such beauty in the "bad" times!

It’s a time when Santa somehow makes it to the home of every single good girl and boy in the entire world, slips down their chimney (whether they have one or not), and leaves the exact present they dreamed of.  Children wholeheartedly accept this as absolute truth, which got me to thinking:  If a little child can so easily believe an absurd (no offense) story like Santa Clause, without too much effort from adults, then what does the story of Jesus’s birth, life on earth, and resurrection look like to a child?

The Bible tells us over and over to have faith like a child.  The magic of Santa has certainly worn off and disappeared for me.  OK, to be honest, it never really existed.  I was a non-Santa kid, but that’s beside the point.  Has the magic of the Gospel message worn off and disappeared from my life as well?  Has it become just a story that I know and believe intellectually, but no longer see and experience the way a child would?  Am I even capable of looking at it with the same awe, wonder, and unfailing belief that a child would? 

I don’t have all those answers yet, but this Christmas, my goal is to try to find that magic again.  I hope that, as I share the Christmas story with my son, I can see God through his eyes, and experience a piece of that child-like faith.  I want to live in complete amazement and delight with my Creator and Savior.  There is no better “magical” story than the Christmas story.   If you’re reading this, and you have young children, please take this moment in their lives to share the real Christmas story with them, so they have a chance to experience true child-like faith in God, uncomplicated by all or our adult concerns and logic.

The real magic of Christmas is and always has been Jesus.

Over the years, I’ve noticed something.  God’s plans start with “I’ll never…”.  As in, “When I grow up, I’ll never live in the Santiam Canyon.  It is the gloomiest, creepiest place in Oregon.”  Or, “I’ll never be a stay-at-home mom!”  Or, “I’ll never get married, and especially not young.  It just makes people miserable.”  Those were all good plans.  Really good ones, in my opinion.  But God overrode all of them.  I live in Lyons, the heart of the Santiam Canyon.  Not only am I a stay-at-home mom, but I am a stay-at-home mom with no car of my own.  And what age was I when I took the plunge into this crazy, wonderful thing called marriage?  19.  So much for never!

I’m pretty sure shaking up my order and my planning is God’s way of drawing me closer to him.  If it wasn’t for the earthquakes he’s wrecked on my plans, I could happily go through life thinking I had it all under control.  Which, of course, I don’t.  Not even close!  But that doesn’t stop me from thinking I do!  I could really convince myself that I was orchestrating everything just perfectly.  Because I am so smart and talented.  And I deserve a major pat on the back for all the wonderful things I accomplished all on my own. 

Oh wait, here comes another earthquake to bring me back down to reality.  I NEED God.  I’m not in control of anything.  His plan is better than mine, even when I don’t understand it!  I can’t do anything at all without him, in fact.  So when my world crumbles, as it inevitably will again, I know it’s God’s way of saying, “I love you, and I want you to be close to me!”.  After all, he knows how much I like adventure!

Everything is going according to plan.  Just not mine!  Thank goodness!

“Unredeemed” by Selah

Well what a perfect song, and what a perfect way to move forward with my blog:  REDEMPTION

I’ve heard redemption defined many ways.  To save from sinfulness.  To set free or rescue.  To recover ownership by paying a specified sum.  To make up for.  But for me, redemption is a number.  The number 18. 

 God revealed himself to me during my grief, and I chose to see his love and his faithfulness even in the darkest times.  But the hard fact still remains:  “Life breaks and falls apart”.  I was still shattered.  I was still broken.  God was with me in the ruin, but it was still a messy, broken-hearted place strangling in the overgrown vines of sadness and loss.  The revelation of his presence and his goodness brought comfort to this place, but I still had to walk through it.

The 18th of May splintered my world.  Putting it back together again took time.  Step-by-step, piece-by-piece, God worked painstakingly to rebuild.  A new me began to emerge from the ruins, softer, kinder, gentler, and more sure of her faith.  But even as that place of ruin began to drift into memory, the number 18 could shake my new foundation.  It lurked on calendar pages, street signs, cash registers and clocks.  When it showed its face, I was afraid.  The 18th was a bad day.  18 was a bad number, sinister and evil.  Nothing good could happen if the number 18 was around.  Or at least that’s what I chose, quite unwittingly, to believe.

That is until the 18th of August, 2007, when my son, Owen, was born perfectly healthy and screaming at the top of his lungs.  It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and with that sound, the number 18, the number of ruin, was totally and completely changed.  Its past transgressions were entirely erased.  It’s not only a good number;  It’s a great number!  It has been REDEEMED!

May 18, 2004

The day everything changed.  The memory of this day has been fragmented into a million places in my brain.  Some things I remember clearly.  Others are fuzzy at best.  And some, well some are so hidden that only the most random of things will trigger the memory at all.  The hum and flicker of flourescent lighting can pull me back into the doctor’s office.  A squeaky, uncooperative wheel on a shopping cart can pull me right back into the hospital.  When subjected to extreme stress and trauma, my brain seems to switch from being an HD video camera, to a Polaroid, capturing only still life images of chaos.

Snap.

I am sitting on a sparsely padded bench covered in Mauve vinyl with flourescent lights flickering overhead, staring at a bulletin board plastered with pictures of babies the doctor had delivered, waiting for my turn in the bathroom to pee in the cup.  I am 36 1/2 weeks pregnant with a little boy we named Ethan Arthur Nelmark.

Click.

I am laying on an exam table with my white shirt pulled up, huge belly fully exposed.  The doctor has a concerned and almost sad expression on his face.  He has been using the Doppler, searching for Ethan’s heartbeat for what could only have been an eternity, with no result.

Click.

I am at the hospital.  Jason is holding my hand tightly, eyes fixed on the ground, as I look expectantly toward the Ultrasound admitting window.  This had happened once before at around 4 months pregnant.  And after all, I’d just felt his foot on my rib cage, in the upper right corner, where he’d kicked quite the sore spot.

I do not remember the ultrasound.  I cannot tell you what the ultrasound technician said to us.  All I remember is that he liked the Oregon Ducks and I was an Oregon State Beavers fan.

I do not remember talking to the doctor or how we knew when we were supposed to return to the hospital for my labor to be induced.

Snap.

I am sitting in the passenger’s seat of our teal 1996 Chevy Cavalier, on the phone with my mom.  I can’t tell you a single word we said to each other.  The only thing I remember is the sound she made as she first started to cry.

Click.

I am on the hospital bed, in the delivery room.  Jason is next to me, one hand holding mine, and the other stroking my hair.  My mom is standing in the corner of the room.  The stretching and burning is so intense I want to scream, but I stay silent.  I shake my head from side to side, and the nurse tells me firmly to use the breathing techniques I’d been taught or I was going to hyperventilate.  I want to scream at her too, but again I remain silent, though I’m pretty sure I glared.  THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING.

Snap.

Ethan has been wrapped in a white blanket and laid on my chest. My arms are wrapped firmly around him, willing life into his limp body.  He is warm and snuggly.  I am honestly expecting him to open his eyes at any moment.  My eyes dart constantly to his chest, expecting to see it rise.  Any minute now he will wake up.  Come on, baby boy, you’re taking too long.  Mama’s here.  It’s ok now.  Just open your eyes.  Everything will be alright.

Snap.

I see the doctor’s face come into focus in front of me.  He says, “In situations like this, we rarely are able to determine the cause.  There’s a tiny possibility it could be something genetic.  Would you like us to do an autopsy?”

My thoughts race.  You want to cut open my baby!?  What the heck is your problem!?  Don’t you dare touch my baby, you psycho!

I look to my left, and my eyes meet Jason’s.  My thoughts are mirrored there.  I look back to the doctor, and say only, “No.” in a meek voice.

Ethan has changed from warm and snuggly to cool in my arms.  I hold him tighter, trying to keep the warmth in.

Click.

I am in the recovery room, the hospital gown wrapped uncomfortably around me.  I am fixated on the squeaky, uncooperative bassinet wheel as Ethan is taken from our room for good.

So many other things happened.  I know Jason’s family and many others were there.  I know Ethan spent the night in our room.  I know the funeral director came and offered to do the funeral for free.  I know I was given a Willow Tree Angel figurine and have since started a collection.  But memory is a funny thing.  It can be gracious enough to allow us to forget that which is too painful.  And yet forgetting is cruel in its own way.

May 22, 2004

The funeral.  Once again I remember little.  I know the funeral was done for free and our friends and family showed us amazing support both financially and emotionally.  And yet, only a few things stand out in my mind about this day.  One is the hug I received from my Grandma Myrna.  She had lost a baby to SIDS shortly after her first husband had passed away.  In her hug, I felt a kindredness.  I remember my former youth pastor’s wife, Brooke, who made quite a drive to be at the funeral.  She had a newborn baby at the time.  I wanted nothing more than to hold it, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.  I remember Jason’s father having a complete breakdown, and his mother and sister having to lead him away.  I remember Jason and I being at the grave as the casket was buried.  We wanted to be alone for this part.  The sun was shining as we arrived at the cemetery.  At the exact moment they started filling in the dirt, the first raindrop fell, and by the time they were finished the entire sky was dark gray and ominous.  So were out hearts.

Ummmm…I thought this was supposed to be about God in the midst of grief???

Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there!  There are so many little places that God met me in my grief.  I could never begin to cover them all.  But there are two occasions that my prayers were answered in such a miraculous way that they could not be ignored, and they have continued to serve as a solid foundation for my faith in other hardships.

The first was a few months after Ethan’s stillbirth.  At this time, I was really struggling with God.  Was he actually real?  How could he let something like this happen?  How could he claim to be good?  Was he punishing me?  How could I ever be ok with this?  Did babies go to heaven?  At times the sadness and pain was too much to bear.  I was desperate, and I needed something, or someone, to pull me out of this.  I couldn’t sleep.  I barely ate.  Even moving felt like a struggle.  I just wanted to scream!  There’s so much I could say about this dark time in my life, and yet, at the same time, there are no words to express the depth and the horror of it.  After a month of this, I finally said, OK, God, I’ll give you a chance.  It’s beyond all reason.  After what you’ve allowed in my life, I don’t know that there’s anyway I could ever trust you.  Here’s your one shot.

I flipped my Bible open to a random page, plunked my finger down and started reading…

He tends his flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart;

he gently leads those that have young.

Isaiah 40:11

I saw it then.  He had gathered Ethan in his arms.  He was carrying Ethan close to his heart.  At this thought, I felt an instant sense of peace wash over me, and I realized then that not only could I trust God, but that I HAD to trust God.  God was the hope.  God was the only thing worth hanging onto in all of this.  Am I still angry with him sometimes?  Yes.  But now I have a message of hope to speak to those angry emotions.  As Mary Beth would say, I choose to SEE.  I choose to see God welcoming Ethan into heaven, gathering him in his arms, the same way as he had gathered his own son, the Lamb of God, upon his return to heaven.  I choose to see Ethan safe in the arms of God, carried close to God’s heart.  He is happy and he is pain-free.  I choose to see God as good and trustworthy even in the hardest of times.  What Satan intended for harm, God will use for good.  His plan and his ways are so much bigger and better than mine.  Isaiah 40 goes on to make exactly that point.  I will always want Ethan with me, but I choose to surrender my desires and see myself as an important part of God’s ultimate and all-important plan.  Does that mean that my emotions always match the things I have just said?  Am I always happy about God’s plan?  Absolutely not!  But I make a choice everyday and in every circumstance to see.  I speak God’s truth to my emotions, and I learn to surrender my feelings to him, in all of his grace and goodness.

If God is not real, and if God is not good, then all of the suffering I have experienced is for nothing.  That thought is absolutely unbearable to me.  The pain I experience is not only for something, it is for the greatest thing.  It is for something worth suffering for.  It is for God and for his ultimate plan to destroy Satan and for those who believe to spend an eternity with him.  This is what I have been called to do, and I will continue to do it as faithfully as humanly possible until I can spend eternity with him…and with Ethan.  God really made the most of his “last chance”!

OK, so you’re a crazy person!

Oh just wait, it only gets better!  Let’s jump ahead to Ethan’s first birthday, the second time God met me in my grief in an undeniable, good, and gracious way.  At this time, I was working as a secretary/receptionist for a real estate firm.  I was happy there, but this day was just a struggle.  I don’t think I said more than 2 words to anyone all day.  I just threw myself into the data and tried not to think.  Afterall, it was very unprofessional to cry at work!  Looking back, I laugh at this!  Who cares about being professional at a $10/hour podunk job!?  Not a single person there would have minded if I bawled my eyes out!  But, I made it through the day tear free.  The night was a whole nother story!

It could really have only been described as a breakdown.  I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t stop crying.  And you know what I spent all this sleepless time doing?  Kneeling beside my bed, with my arms outstretched, begging God to let me hold Ethan just for a few seconds, just this one time.  I normally consider myself a very rational person, though some of you may find that hard to believe.  I knew what I was asking was impossible, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, from begging really.  My desire to hold my son was so great that my arms physically ached.  I was so overcome with sorrow that I had to try.  I had to ask for the impossible.  There was nothing else to do.

And God met me there.  In that place of despair and desperation, he granted me my impossible wish.  I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel arms slide in over mine, then pull away, leaving behind a heavy weight.  I knew I was holding Ethan.  He had gotten so heavy.  I was shocked.  I couldn’t believe he had grown so much in just a year.  I pulled him in close to me, and I could physically feel his head turn to look at my face.  I whispered, “I love you baby!”, and then those arms, God’s arms, reached back in and took his weight away.

I don’t know if it was just an illusion.  I don’t know if I completely imagined the whole thing.  But it was as real as anything has ever been to me.  Be it illusion, be it imagination, or be it God reaching through the veil between heaven and earth, it is the single greatest blessing I have ever been given, besides my husband and Owen.  That simple, kind, delusional event brought me a peace and a joy that I never could have imagined possible, right there in the midst of my darkest time.  God touched me.  He touched me in a way no one else could.  I will never forget it.

When I start doubting that God is good, I can go right back to that place.  In that place there is no doubt.  God is good.  All the time.  All the time.  God is good.

*Nearly all God’s jewels are crystalized tears*

~Mrs. Charles B. Cowman, Streams in the Desert 

May you also see God and see his goodness, even in the hardest things, as you walk through life today!

~Kim~

Watched Fireworks at Detroit Lake and in Mill City. LOVE to hear them echo through the Canyon.

Went to Parade in Mill City. Owen LOVES candy. He expects all cars to throw candy at him now.

Yesterday – family trip to the park and Slurpees.

Me – sick all weekend. Still sick.

To make a long story short, we found our house with all the doors wide open, all the lights left on, and all my dresser drawers open.  We found our beloved Penny dog dragging herself toward us unable to use her hind legs.  We also found everything of value still inside our house.  Before I left, Owen helped me turn off all the lights, I locked and checked the doors, and the dresser drawers had to be closed in order for me to get out of the tiny master bedroom. 

We searched for a long time before I finally realized what was missing.  Not our checks, or guns, or identity documents, or TV, or backpacking gear.  Several pairs of my underwear and a 2-year-old fifth of Peppermint Schnapps that I occasionally put in my hot chocolate during the Christmas season.  At that point, we called our landlord and the cops.

I took Pen Pen to the vet first thing Monday morning.  We thought her leg was broken, but instead her spine is damaged.  She is beginning to show some improvement.  There’s no way to know how extensive the damage is.  Only time will tell.  Her spine may just be so swollen that it’s causing the inability to use her legs, or there may be irreversible damage.  If her spinal cord is actually damaged, we may have to put her down.  We pick her up from the vet this afternoon, and the anti-imflamatory meds are helping so far.  Hopefully that will continue to be the case. 

The cops are questioning a few people.  Our neighbors saw a suspicious vehicle.  I think it would pretty much take a confession to have any chance of actually catching the person.  Jason and I have a bit of a hunch, and if we are correct, this was done more as a horrible practical joke by someone who wouldn’t have realized that Penny wasn’t tied up and would come after them.  That may just be wishful thinking on my part, though.  The cops have been coming by and patrolling the area often, and there is usually one of the Officers sitting at the mill at the bottom of our road doing paperwork.  That gives me a little more peace of mind.

The way the house was left, it’s like the person wanted us to know that he’d been in the house and left the dresser drawers wide open and most everything else untouched so we would discover what he had taken.  At least the expensive stuff wasn’t stolen I guess.  I think I might feel better if that had been the case, though.

Whatever happened, and whatever the intent, I refuse to be afraid or let this person get in my head.  I will not be intimidated or bullied.  I will, however, be prepared, and I should most definitely be considered armed and dangerous.  I am not scared.  I am unbelievably angry, and  I will instinctively and ferociously protect my home, my family, and my dogs with no regard for what that will cost you!