The reality of my wedding’s arrival date of April 28, 2012, is becoming obvious! But so is another reality.

When I left the store with my wedding dress in hand, I sat down in my car, and almost pulled out my cell phone to tell the news. Almost.

Almost . . . because the one person I couldn’t wait to tell was my precious Grandma Street. I could just hear her expression, too. “Grandma, I just picked up my wedding dress!” “Did you?” she would say with her common voice inflection and drawn out syllables–a reply I’d often get if I’d done something new, fun, refreshing, or adventurous. I could always hear an incredulous smile in the way she said it.

The reality of my grandma’s absence is honestly still setting in. That she’s gone hasn’t completely sunk in yet. Grandpa’s absence, too, is overwhelmingly disheartening at times, but with Alzheimer’s stealing his mind so much before his October 13 death, the circumstances make the loss a little easier. After all, he’d not been “Grandpa” for months long before he passed.

But Grandma? Grandma died just 40 days after him on November 23. We weren’t ready for her passing. In fact, I’d just spoken to her via phone on November 20, the day before her massive stroke left her unresponsive and on a ventilator. She wasn’t supposed to be gone so soon. She was the “rock,” Grandpa’s caretaker for 20 years, a feat that wasn’t easy after he succumbed to a 23-feet fall onto concrete in 1991. For those 20 years she cared for him day-after-day when the health issues mounted.

In my opinion, Grandma seemed to have another 20 years of life!

Now, neither grandparent will watch me walk down the aisle in four months toward my groom. Grandpa died before Adam asked me to be his wife, but Grandma knew I was getting married. That’s one reason she would’ve loved to hear about me picking up my dress–because we talked about wedding details in those eight days between my engagement and her stroke. And she seemed to love those conversations.

The emotions and grief feel as if they will overtake me sometimes, with the smallest memory of either grandparent drawing tears to my eyes. I’ve been drawn lately to the book of Lamentations in the Old Testament, where the prophet Jeremiah laments the destruction of Jerusalem. For 3 ½ chapters, Jeremiah’s grief is evident in despairing detail. (“Jerusalem has sinned greatly and so has become unclean,” 1:8; “my eyes fail from weeping, I am in torment within,” 2:11; “I have been deprived of peace; I have forgotten what prosperity is” 3:17).

I felt depressed just reading his words. And the words have resonated within my spirit like I never expected.

Yet.

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord” (Lamentations 3:22-26, NIV).

In the grief, pain, and agony, Jeremiah experienced the hope and faithfulness of God’s presence and mercies. His heart probably still felt heavy and unsure about Jerusalem’s future.

Yet he believed God.

Yet he decided to wait for Him.

Yet he chose to see God’s goodness by hoping in Him.

I am called to do the same. Even when missing my grandparents seems unbearable or when I forget that, as believers in Jesus, they are in heaven and I will see them again someday. Even when I want to call my grandma on my way home from work to talk about my day or when I wish she’d call with a weather report like she so often did.

Even when I put that wedding dress on on April 28 and wish both could see me in it. Or when I discover I’m pregnant with my first child. Or when I forget what the smell of their house is like or miss the simple ways both grandparents made me laugh.

Yet I will hope in Him. Grandma and Grandpa would want me to live not just in the “yet” but past it.

Never have I known such a courageous “yet.”

April 23, 2011

My grandpa left this world for the beauty and glory of heaven on October 13, 2011. To say I loved my Grandpa James “Jim” Street is an understatement. Admired, adored, appreciated, loved . . . I don’t think I realized how much I loved him till he was no longer here. I definitely hadn’t considered how much I’d learned from him until his passing. Ever since the day, thoughts continue coming to mind.

Here’s a snapshot of who my grandpa was and what I’ve learned from him. If I become half the person he was, I’ll be thrilled.

Generosity. Whether buying our meals at restaurants, slipping us $20 or $50 as “gas money,” generous Christmas and birthday gifts, or helping us buy our first (or second or third) car, Grandpa (and Grandma) often gave generously, both to their grandkids and kids. And I’m pretty sure Grandpa has helped multiple family members, friends, and employees of his businesses in times of need. Recently, my mom commented that my grandpa has helped in instances we don’t even know details about.

A “good” man won’t make it to heaven. Many considered my grandpa a “good” man. And he was. I’d be first in line to tell anyone that. But that’s not why he’s now in heaven. He had a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. He gave his life to Christ in 1991 after he fell 23-feet onto concrete and lived. Before then, he’d been a faithful church-goer for years, again a “good man.” But those Sundays in the pews didn’t determine his eternal state. My mom asked Grandpa in July if he was “ready,” reminding him that his eternity didn’t depend on being “good.” He told her that, yes, he was “ready to go” because he knew Jesus as his Savior. How about you? If you don’t know if you’re going to heaven when death arrives, you can. Here is more information on how you can know God personally through His Son Jesus.

Lack of education doesn’t lead to lack of success. When he was in 10th grade, Grandpa’s father was tragically diagnosed with a brain tumor. He unexpectedly died weeks later. Because grandpa was one of six siblings (with a mom who was pregnant with her seventh baby) at the time, he was forced to quit school in order to help provide for his family and take care of his siblings. Even with no high school diploma, Grandpa worked hard to provide for his family. And, despite that lack of education, he spurred his kids and grandkids on to get a college education—even telling my mom that he’d pay for her education if she chose school instead of marriage at age 18. (She chose marriage!)

One can never have too much integrity. Grandpa was an honest man, a quality that is scarce today in some people (if you want my honest opinion!). For 30 years, he co-owned a construction company with his brother. Soon after his brother died, Grandpa co-owned Allen & Street Construction with my dad for seven years. Grandpa never cheated men out of their wages, nor customers out of labor and material costs. (For the record, my dad has operated in business the same way.) I know operating with honesty and integrity isn’t easy because I know others who haven’t. But Grandpa “did” integrity well, and he would tell stories of how honesty paid off. His example spoke loud and clear to me at a very young age, and I carry the knowledge today that you can never be too extreme when it comes to integrity.

Make family a priority. Grandpa was never too busy to spend time with his family. Never. Whether fishing trips, vacations, Sunday lunches after church, attending events when we were growing up, sitting on the front porch swing chatting on beautiful days, or phone calls after his grandkids moved out of town, we knew he loved us because he spent time with us. I knew we were his pride and joy, even until the day he died. While home for his funeral, I heard countless times from family members, “Your grandpa loved his grandkids.” Yes, he did.

Sometimes you just have to dance! In 1991, my parents, sisters, Grandma, Grandpa, and I traveled to Orlando, Florida, on vacation. My sis, Staci, was nine at the time and one afternoon at Sea World she was slightly pouty (probably because she didn’t get her way!). Grandpa danced a little jig in the park and her smile returned. It wasn’t uncommon to see Grandpa dance a step or two just to make somebody smile. Plus, he loved real, “honky tonk” country music (think Mel Tillis or Johnny Cash), which often set him into a short dance.

Humility and kindness. He had no high school diploma, yet he worked hard for what he earned. And he never thought he was too good to help someone in need or that he was better than anyone else. He also never lived beyond his means or forgot those who Jesus called “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40).

Don’t give up easily. Although his failing body no longer allowed for physical labor he still helped Dad a few years back with paperwork while in business together. Then, the wretched Alzheimer’s disease began to set in and take small pieces of him and he had to surrender that aspect, forcing him to officially retire. But the decision wasn’t easy, and it pained him to quit. He’d been working as a carpenter since he was a young teenager and quitting seemed foreign. The decision to do so was difficult and he didn’t quit easily.

“Every day you’re livin’ is a good day.” Many may not know this, but Grandpa spent the last 20 years of his life in constant pain. On November 8, 1991, at the age of 61, he fell 23 feet onto concrete. As one can imagine, that type of fall can be brutal on the body (assuming one even lives). When the pain became almost unbearable in the latter years of his life, he’d still say “every day you’re livin’ is a good day” when I would ask how he was doing.

Always make time for dessert! Grandpa Street loved sweets. Period. No other explanation needed.

He loved to work. He spent most of his life working. During his two-month stay at the nursing home before his death, he was given a box of pipes so he could sit and “work” while in his wheelchair. Because that’s all that was on hand (and because the disease sometimes left him confused), nursing home employees thought the pipes would suffice. But just weeks before he died, Grandpa matter-of-factly stated, “I’m a carpenter, not a plumber.”

The human body is resilient, especially if you’re not ready to pass on. Our family used to joke that Grandpa had nine lives! After the accident in 1991, he battled numerous aches and pains, hospital stays, surgeries, procedures, and health issues. We’d often get calls from Mom or Dad saying GP was hospitalized but not to worry. That’s because he always bounced back. His body just wouldn’t give up. So, when I got the call near midnight on October 13 that he’d died, I was in a slight state of shock. His body had finally given up, but it was still hard to believe.

These are just a few of the lessons I learned from my sweet grandpa. If you knew him, you were blessed. If you didn’t, I wish you could’ve met him. He was one of the men I admired most in my life and for years I called him “hero.” He was a hero to many, and I am honored to carry on his legacy.

2. Rife family vacation to Disney World and Naples

3. Children’s laughter

4. Kisses from my niece

5. A good night’s sleep after 17 hours in a car

What are you thankful for today?

Five things I’m thankful for today (in no particular order):

• my sweet family
• living just minutes away from my sis, her hubby, and my beautiful niece, who is starting to emulate the adults in her life. (My mama caught her praying on Saturday when she thought no one was looking.)
• discipling five Butler University students who love Jesus and want to have an impact on their campus, teams, and sorority
• lazy Saturdays
• the feeling of missing my man when he’s out of town for work and the anticipation of seeing him again

What are you thankful for today?

My mom organized a potluck birthday lunch, complete with balloons and birthday cake, and invited our immediate family (including my uncle, aunt, and a cousin), my grandpa’s siblings and their spouses, cousins, and a couple friends. Dad was there and Grandma, too. My sister, Staci, her husband, and her daughter, and I all drove down from Indianapolis.

We had some of Grandpa’s favorites: his sister’s homemade noodles, my grandma’s deviled eggs, watermelon, and bread. We sang “Happy Birthday” and took pictures. My niece, Camille, ran around the small activity room, playing and squealing like any active 17-month-old.

Grandpa, however, didn’t really know what was going on, or that he was one year older. Alzheimer’s disease is stealing him slowly every day, and that afternoon his awareness was minimal.

I miss my grandpa. Now, granted, I’ve not lived in the same city as him for years. But I miss calling him on the phone and simply talking about my day or just life, in general. I miss so many things. Hearing him tell me about the walk he took on a sunny afternoon. Or how tasty the watermelon was that he’d just cut up.

I [will] miss his call every March 15, accompanied by the song, “Happy Birthday,” which was usually off-key. (He called me this year but at someone’s reminder.) I miss his chocolate fudge he’s always made at Christmastime. And his fried potatoes that he’d cook with biscuits and gravy, a meal I often requested when I’d travel back home to Vincennes for a weekend visit.

I miss the physical strength of a man who now weighs less than me. I miss him telling me what the doctor said to him when I was born (his oldest grandchild). (“The birth of a baby, isn’t it a marvelous thing?”) And trips to an Amish restaurant in a nearby town. Mostly, I just miss my grandpa: the man who taught me how to drive in the local cemetery before I turned 16, the man I traveled to Florida with on a family vacation in 1991, the man who loved to fish on the Wabash River, the man who let me “do” his hair when I was little, the one who loved to talk about the St. Louis Cardinals, the one who has helped me buy each of my cars, the one who would sit and talk, telling memories from his years of growing up on a farm and without his dad, who died when he was just a sophomore in high school.

Gone is the man I’ve known and loved for 31 years. He is still here on this earth, but, then again, he’s not. This new “season” in our family is just flat out hard.

GP, as we like to call him, has had a saying for years. When I asked, “How are you doing, Grandpa?” his response would be “every day you’re living is a good day.” Just recently, even at the nursing home, he said that phrase to my mom. In the same visit he uttered those words, he called her “daughter” . . . and soon after, he was “gone.” Confused again. Somewhere else besides the present.

His life has been full and rich, one marked by hard work, health problems, and sacrifice. My GP placed his faith in Jesus in 1991, and he still talks about that day when God changed his life. He is my grandpa, a man whom I’ve respected, adored, and loved . . . and still respect, adore, and love, even though the latter years of his life had been tainted by this heart-wrenching .disease.

Every day he’s living is still a good one. All the while, though, I wait till Jesus takes him home to be with Him, where Alzheimer’s disease doesn’t exist.

Staci has her college degree in interior design, and Kristen did many DIY (“do-it-yourself,” for those of you not familiar with this now-popular acronym) projects as wedding decorations for her May ceremony. I do not do DIY–never have enjoyed it.

Till this spring. I made some crafty decorations for a friend’s baby shower in May and pleasantly surprised myself at a) how well the decorations turned out, and b) how much I enjoyed doing it. Then, a month later I visited Goodwill with the fam. I found this ugly, yet promising yellow stool for $1.50. I stared at it. I walked back and forth. I picked it up, then put it back down, contemplating whether the purchase was worth my time and money.

Poor thing. Wasn't it ugly?

I knew myself. I’d have great plans for that grotesque little stool and yet it’d sit in my room for months, just waiting for  me to transform it.

I left the store with the stool (who can pass up such a steal?!) much to Staci’s delight and my mom’s chagrin. She figured it might sit untouched too. I set that yellow eyesore in my apartment after I returned home and began to dream about its potential. For a few weeks it just sat, until I finally worked up the courage to start the transformation.

First, I ripped the trashy, black felt from underneath and sandpapered the bottom. Then, my sis headed to a craft store with me where we found some spray paint and discounted fabric. (Of course, I wasn’t about to choose fabric on my own–my sis is a decor lifesaver/guru.)

Spray paint on, after 4-5 separate occasions (but only one can of paint!). Soon, it was time to upholster so that disgusting yellow could disappear forever. This project was totally a family affair, as my dad stapled the fabric onto the stool. (I had to take advantage of his talented handyman skills!)

And done. I had a ottoman for my comfy, green chair settled in the corner of my room–only $18.50 later. I’m pretty proud of how it turned out and love using it everyday as I read, surf the Internet, or spend time with Jesus.

Beautiful, don't you think?!

Now, let’s see what other DIY projects I can create by perusing Pinterest, my new time-sucker. (Anyone have any ideas for dining room table centerpieces?)

I wasn’t supposed to meet you till months later, but since your little body wasn’t forming correctly, God took you home. Both our “hello” and “good-bye” occurred on the same day.

You made your entrance in an Indy-area hospital, and I drove two hours west the night before just so I could be near your mama, daddy, and the rest of our family. On August 13, I was routinely going about my day at home in Ohio. That’s when I got the call. Someone (either your daddy or your mommy–I can’t remember) told me that your heart had stopped beating. Instantly, I remembered how I saw them the week before, when they passed through Ohio on a trip east. Your mommy’s belly gave all indications that you were still growing.

But that wasn’t the case.

I went for a walk with my roommate, full of tears, and waited for more phone calls. When I returned home, I hastily packed a bag, and drove two hours so I could be with our family. My tears didn’t cease the entire trip.

The drive to the hospital the morning of August 14 was brutally sad, knowing your pending arrival wouldn’t be a happy occasion. Hours later, your mama birthed you, Cooper Allen Henderson, and I bravely held you. You comfortably fit in one hand. I loved the name your mama and daddy picked for you: “Cooper,” because your daddy loves baseball and the National Baseball Hall of Fame is in Cooperstown, New York, and “Allen” because that was your mommy’s last name when she first met your daddy. The name is fitting, and I bet you’ve enjoyed playing catch with Jesus many times already!

Oh, how I longed for circumstances to be different. That your Aunt Kristen wasn’t so far away in Scotland and could’ve met you. That we’d met in December like we were supposed to. That your little body had been growing with no genetic flaws. Saying hello and good-bye to you on the same day left a hole in each of our hearts. The days and months following were very, very difficult and painful.

This coming December you would’ve turned three. But you’re dancing with Jesus, who has restored your little body and given you ten fingers and ten toes. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, Little One. I wish you were here. Did you know you also have two younger sisters? Callie Marie arrived a few months after you, much like you did—too early and without a breath in this world. Then again, you’ve probably already met her, haven’t you? Give her a kiss from Aunt Trish, okay?

Your other sister’s name is Camille Liana, and she’s a little 16-month firecracker! She loves spending time with Mommy and Daddy and both sides of the family (especially grandparents and aunts and uncles who spoil her way too much!). Camille loves pointing at the moon, saying “turtle” and “no!” especially when she doesn’t get her way. She loves to play outside, Mickey Mouse, her Jesus Story Book Bible, and her dog, Charly. I tell her about you and Callie. She can’t wait to meet you both some day.

Cooper, you went to be with Jesus far too early, and we miss you every day. Don’t think for a moment that you’re far from our thoughts or hearts. Keep enjoying heaven and hold a place for us. We’ll look forward to seeing you soon.

I love you.

Aunt Tricia

I don’t know how I first came to that conclusion, but it was a new thought for me. For six years I served full-time with a well-known parachurch organization, and one of its main purposes was–and still is–to tell non-believers around the world how Jesus changes lives.

I became trained in “sharing the gospel,” as we Christians so often term it. So much so that I don’t think I ever realized just how deeply I, as a believer, needed the gospel in my everyday life, till later.

Think about it. How do we define “the gospel”? It’s the Good News, the story of redemption, reminding us that God sent His son Jesus Christ to bridge the gap between His perfect self and our sinful self. Without Jesus, we cannot know God or experience eternal life, which begins the moment we make the decision to follow Christ.

Aren’t we all in need of the gospel? The Bible says we are. Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” The good news: Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

God’s promise of eternal life isn’t just about the numbers; it’s about a quality of life (John 10:10). It’s not just about meeting Jesus somewhere out “there.” It’s also about living with Him right here—right now. The gospel is for those of us who can so often think “I’ve got this Christian thing down.” People like me who get lazy in spending time with the Lord consistently, or who try to justify our actions. (What she’s doing is much worse than me getting impatient with my relatives.) People like me who do a poor job of listening to a friend’s struggles, mentally excusing ourselves from the conversation because we’re too tired.

Why do we as Christians think God’s grace is just for the unsaved sinner? Doesn’t His gospel give us freedom to enjoy Him and “do life” in the power of His Spirit? And yet doesn’t the gospel remind us that we are saved and made holy and blameless before God? That He finds us valuable and worthy?

Twelve years ago this month I understood my need for the gospel for the first time and placed my faith in Christ–even though I’d heard it time and time again in my (then) 19 years. His gospel was “free for the taking” on that July day in 1999, but I really believe I’m just now seeing, as a life-long churchgoer and 12-year-old Christian, that His gospel is applicable just as much today.

I hope you realize you’re still in need of the gospel. After all, where would you be yesterday, today, or tomorrow without it?

As a former staff member who still respects the organization and its gospel-living, Christ-loving, and Spirit-filled leaders and staff, my respect and love for Cru still stands. Jesus changed my life through this ministry, and I am forever grateful.

I’ve read critical remarks about CCC removing “Christ” from its name on Facebook, via Glenn Beck (who is Mormon, not Christian), and on Fox News that simply aren’t true. (Liberal Huffington Post had a less-slanted story on its site than conservative Fox.) The assumptions of others as to why Campus Crusade for Christ is now Cru–and why “Christ” is no longer in the name–are just that: incorrect assumptions. An authentic explanation from the source can be found here: http://www.ccci.org/about-us/donor-relations/our-new-name/commitment-to-christ.htm.

When I was on staff with [now] Cru, specifically the sports ministry Athletes in Action, I saw firsthand that the ministry is made up of godly, yet humble, staff members who aren’t perfect and make mistakes too (myself included!!). Yet, these men and women (many of whom I respect and still consider my friends today) are on staff with Cru for one reason: to make the name of Jesus Christ known. The new name does not change the mission of this organization. As stated on the ministry’s site (full story in link above): “It is true that we care more about effectively proclaiming the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ than we do about having the word ‘Christ’ in our name. The only name that matters is Jesus and what matters most is connecting people to the name that gives life.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

I’m a proud, former staff member of Cru, and will support this parachurch ministry (made up of imperfect people who serve a perfect God) until my time on earth has ceased. There is no doubt in my heart of hearts that lives will continue to be changed for the sake of eternity, even with a new name.

The name is new. But the message is still the same.

What are your thoughts on the recent name change?

My first journal is a rather small, blue Mead notebook, with the first entry dated in March 1999 when I was just a sophomore in college. As the years have progressed, those boring-looking notebooks have turned into a variety of books that better illustrate my preference for classy and fun journals. And in the 12 years that have passed since my first journal, my entries have somewhat changed.

Back in the day, many of those entries were about boys: the latest crush, laments of why he didn’t like me, or ways I could get him to like me. The entries were also shorter and more infreqent. Within those thousands of pages I’ve fallen in love twice, endured four break-ups, place my faith in Christ, grieved the loss of both a niece and nephew, moved away for college, grown immensely in my walk with the Lord, raised support for full-time ministry, traveled to seven countries around the world, seen my two sisters get married, developed a heart for the lost, moved multiples times, and much more. I even have a journal I started writing in years ago that I will give my future husband some day. (That one’s not been written in since 2008–better get a move on there)!

If I were to lose my place of residence in a fire, those journals would be some of the possessions I’d try to save first. 

This past week I began a new journal with the start of a new month. It seemed fitting, especially since it took almost 14 months for me to fill the last book’s pages (a time frame that is way longer than the norm for me!).

The journal I just recorded in for the final time on June 30 is a special one to me. One of my best friends, Dee, gave me that journal as a gift for my 30th birthday. In keeping with the “30 theme” with birthday presents during that party, Dee included a list of 30 things I needed to experience with my niece, who was slated to be born just weeks after my March 15 birthday. (A few of those ideas have already been checked off in my niece Camille’s short little life.) The inclusion of that list–along with a note from Dee–on the first page of that journal brought me to tears when I received it. That’s how special this journal has been.

Just to give a little insight into what the pages in that journal hold (with some discretion, of course!), here is a list of some major life events that occurred while carrying around this journal almost every day (literally, in my purse) between April 2010 and June 2011:

• Camille was born just three days after my first entry
• Start of a new relationship
• Subsequent break-up of that relationship months later
• Journey through my battle with anxiety
• Series of 13 dreams within weeks, each with an international flare
• Grief and disappointment over a dream that didn’t come to fruition
• Missing friends in other parts of the country (and world)
• Changing of friendships with time, busyness, and distance
• Thoughts on a couple crushes
• End of one friendship
• Unexpectedly meeting an incredible man in Florida, not initially knowing he was incredible and canceling on him three times after our first date . . . only to realize later that I was a fool.
• Falling in love with that same man I met in Florida (who happens to live in Indy!)
• New roommate and apartment
• Turning 31!
• Acting as maid of honor in my youngest sister’s wedding
• Numerous quotes, sermon notes, Scripture, prayers, advice from others, and recollections of how God is changing me daily.

So much is included between the pages of these books and now I’m on to the next one–a journal from a fair trade store in Kansas City given to me by Kristen (my youngest sis) for my birthday. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens between the unlined pages of this handmade book.