"Honk If You're Happy"

I read this story the other day here and it touched me deeply. There were words throughout that caused my eyes to fill with tears.

There was a cardboard sign with these words, "Honk if you're happy" painted on it. The sign was posted on a stretch of a Canadian Highway. A cynical man who saw that sign on a regular basis, started to honk when he passed the sign. He first honked because of a certain little girl in the seat next to him. Then . . . he just started honking whether she was present or not because he found that when he honked, his happiness increased, if just but a little.

Ironic, don't you think? That if he was not happy, the honking could actually bring happiness on?

The driver was curious so he found a house, knocked, and asked the man at the door if he knew anything about that cardboard sign.

The man, one who sat next to his terminal wife, day in and day out, each day bringing her closer to death, knew the origins of the sign.

He painted that sign and nailed it to a tree.

He wanted a bit of light in the darkness. It was a gift to his dying wife. The honks from the highway could be heard by wife as she lay in bed.

Those honks, brought light . . . happiness to her . . . and to him.

Why did that sign mean so much to him?

"I just wanted people in their cars not to take this moment for granted. This special, never-again-to-be-repeated moment with the ones they care for the most should be savored and they should be aware of the happiness in the moment."

Is he too counting without realizing it? Is he too counting all of those little gifts that mean so much?

People have found it necessary to point out all the good in my life. It is frustrating but I do understand why they do it. Even though the good doesn't always take away the pain, I understand.

I don't need a highlighter ran across my blessings from another. I am hyper-aware of all the blessings in my life.

I am more aware now then I ever was before.

And it makes me wonder: How can gratitude be birthed from deep grief and searing pain?

I know bitterness exists. I know there are bitter people in this world. But I also know that there is always a choice.

I believe that it is innate when we have lost huge, that we notice all those small, wonderful moments that consume memory, that the wonderfulness of them birth big.

For me, I have become hyper-aware of all the good, of all those small moments that consume me large. I am hyper-aware and I feel a profound weight and I have to share.

Even in the midst of loss, of deep pain, of darkness, there are always blessings waiting to be found and taken notice of. There is always a little string of light waiting for an eye to open.

And so, like the cardboard-painting-sign-man, I want to honk. I want to paint my words that cause others to take pause and take notice, that life is full of moments and those moments are what memories are born from. 

I count. I started counting after my loss. It was reflexive. Even if I would have never read the words on her blog or read the words in her book, I would have taken notice.

And so I am counting . . .

I made my own cardboard sign, decorated it and I'm counting all of those honks in my life.

Counting all those blessing, all the way to 1,000, possibly . . . hopefully . . . more.

10. Little voices


19. Sweatshirts all old and frayed


32. Skilled hands


40. Friends who travel in the snow to visit


73. The "big part" of a grocery cart


80. Tiny shirts hanging to dry

85. Giggles from children playing



88. Little girl rocking in little rocking chair



90. Slippers for cold feet











Stephanie

What is Christmas All About?

Christmas is . . . hard for me this year.

It is hard trying to find any bit of Christmas spirit. There is none.

It is hard to go Christmas shopping, or put up Christmas decorations.

Okay. That last one I didn't do. My husband put the tree up a couple of weeks ago and just yesterday, my daughter and him put on some of the ornaments. I sat by and watched.

There is no spirit in me for Christmas and that is definitely foreign to me. Like I have said before, I used to always LOVE Christmas.

Their have been some say that I need to do certain "Christmas" things for my daughter. To be quite honest, I am really getting sick of hearing that.

I don't have to do anything.

I know that sounds really defiant and bratty but it's the truth.

Christmas for me this year isn't full of the usual splendor and good cheer that it has in years past.

It just doesn't. 

Do those people who tell me what I "need" to do realize that they are ripping the scab off my still-fresh wound? Don't they realize it hurts more to step into the light of "here, everything is wonderful" when it really isn't at all? It never was. Don't they realize it hurts to pretend? It hurts to be among those who have never hurt this way?

I have been thinking a lot about Christmas. Not like I used to, mind you. But I have been thinking a lot about it.

I think, that for all these years, I have approached Christmas all wrong.

A few months ago, I was dreading this season. Now I am counting down the days when it will be over. I looked towards to December and saw nothing but black. I still do see a lot of black in spite of all the twinkling lights.

About a month ago at church, my minister preached about Jesus' birth and the circumstances surrounding it. He talked about a terrifying King and the beauty that was absent. He talked about the terror and darkness that surrounded the One True Kings birth and I felt . . . relieved.

Relieved to know that I am not the only one who does not see Christmas as that which we have made it. A lot of masked cheer and too much consumerism veiled in good intent.

We look back to His birth and we have made something of it that it wasn't. We have made it seem like everyone was waiting on pins and needles for His arrival and all the world was right.

It wasn't! He arrived in a barn with only the animals as a witness! There were no bells ringing signifying new life. Let alone a birth of a King. There was no write up in the local paper declaring His weight or naming the proud parents. He arrived in the midst of pain and darkness.

So much darkness! He arrived at a time when a ferocious King feared anyone who would steal his crown. He killed family members who threatened to take it! He killed innocent male babies and children because his fear overwhelmed (Matthew 2:16).

It was not a Hallmark movie set. It was awful.

It was dark.

Just like this Christmas is for me.

For all these years, I have thought all the wrong things about Christmas.

It isn't about Santa Claus, trees, twinkling lights, dishes or gifts.

It is about a ray of Light who dared to enter the darkness.

It isn't about the gifts we buy, the foods we make, and all the pretty things we decorate our homes and packages with.

It is about darkness and how an innocent, pure baby broke through and created a way of Light for Life.

I'm not saying Christmas Trees, decorations and shopping are wrong or bad, I just don't want Christ to be an after thought or use Him as an excuse. I want Him to be the reason. I want Him and what He did to dwell in me and motivate me.

I want to give to those who are in true need. In need of food. In need of water. In need of shelter. In need of the Light.

If this is what I have received from the darkness, I will take it.

It is Truth that comes down and pierces the darkness with Light.




Stephanie

In the Dark, There is Light

The other day, my husband and I were driving to pick up our daughter from pre-school.

The sky behind us was clear. The sky ahead of us . . . dark and blanketed with clouds.

For months now, I have been praying for pleasant, peaceful dreams. For dreams where I hold my Emmy and Vivi again.

They have not come.

Instead, I have nightmares. I have had dreams where I am surrounded by dying babies. I am pregnant but without the promise of life. I give birth time and time again but there is no baby to hold. I have even had multiple dreams where Emmerson and Vivienne have accused me of killing them. Of not doing everything I could to save them.

I just want a peaceful rest. I just want to know that I can close my eyes and see them, feel them, hold them once more.

I want something to rest peacefully and beautifully on my soul.

We are driving toward a dark sky. I look behind me, in confusion, because I cannot remember the sky looking that dark when we left our home.

Sure enough, the sky behind us is clear and beautiful.

I turn back around in my seat. I sigh a satisfied sigh. The dark sky is fitting. At least something agrees with me that not everything twinkles like the Christmas lights. I give that sigh and sink into my seat. The weight of grief and sadness and missing has been wanting to settle in for that long winters nap. I have been fighting it. I am already enough of a scrooge this season, I don't need that weight to compound it.

I sigh and I look up and over to the South. What I see takes my breath away and causes me to smile.

Truly smile! From the inside out.

I tell my husband to pull over. I need to really see this. I need to not be moving. I need to be still and witness this.

In the mist of the clouds is a small hole where light is shining through. And I see four tiny hands pulling apart the clouds and letting their smiles shine. Twinkle.

It is Emmerson and Vivienne. From the depths of my soul, from everything I trust to be true, I know it is them.

It is them and they are telling me hello. They are letting me know that they are good and well. They are letting me know that even though it is dark now, it won't always be. They are letting me know that they love me.

They are letting me know that Light will always find a way through. 

They found a way to speak to their mothers heart. And I smile. From the inside out.

I tell them, with a smile and a whispered thanks, "I love you both, so deeply".

Stephanie