All things family-related. My husband and me, the children we made, the grandbebes that thrill us now. Our whole great big, loud, messy family. Love! *sigh…
I have these amazingly drop-dead gorgeous daughters. I can’t remember if I have ever mentioned it. ;)
Tara the firstborn.
Blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty. Sort of forever 19. First gift of grace I recognized as such.
Stephanie-the second.
With the gorgeous red hair I always wanted. And the blue-ish green eyes to make it ravishing.
Tredessa-the third.
This girl could run the nation. Instead she is hanging with The Studio 818 peeps in a very cool Denver architectural engineering firm.
Stormie-the baby.
She serves, she sings, she cooks, she designs.
Jovan the bonus (married to the only boy).
Well, I mean Rocky had his pick of pretty girls, but he chose the most gorgeous of them all! AND GUESS WHAT??!? Jovan and Rocky are pregnant with baby number THREE! Another girl???
Name meanings are cool. And sometimes also “used” rather superstitiously.
I have had people ask if I was afraid of what I’d done to Stormie by naming her that, as if it was some life-sentence to really bad weather or that I had cursed her to an uproarious and largely disastrous life. “Because in the Bible,” they’d explain,”a person’s named signified what kind of life they’d have prophetically.” Yes. That is true at times. But also, people were named by who they were and what they’d done – the way a person lived their life brought a name meaning.
My kids’ names have meanings. But not so much the ones a paperback book of baby names tell me they have. Because of how they live. They have given their own names meaning.
Tara Jean
Meaning: Firstborn. Tower of strength. The Joy of the Lord is her strength. Liquid joy. Youthful. Soft-hearted. City on a hill. Bright light. Shining star. Sunshine Bear. “God is gracious.” The earth is blessed. She has a voice.
Stephanie May
Meaning: “The crowned jewel.” The heir. Strong desire. A pearl. Proof. Merry days of spring. Industrious, ardent, savvy. Multi-prismed, reflective. Rainbow-bear. Breath. Life, against all hope. A song. The singer. The helper.
Tredessa Christine
Meaning: Unique. Exotic. Strong. Positionally central. Adventurer. “Harvester. Gatherer. Christ-bearer.” Of strength. Passionate. Deeply insightful. Princess warrior, regal. One who places things and people in their best place.
Rocky (David Allen the 2nd)
Meaning: From strength. Solid. Beloved son. Handsome outwardly, beautiful, inwardly. Worshipper, singer. Psalmist. The name-bearer, the prince. Unshakable. Initiator. Instigator. Revelator. Deep calling to deep.
Stormie Dae
Meaning: Light and hope. Of the brightness. Generous. Cleansing rain, holy gale. Servant-hearted. Humble. Gentle. Helper. Armor-bearer. Covers and contends. Empathizer. Insightful, she sees, hears. Skilled designer.
Now for me: mom
Meaning: the woman who got to carry these 5 in her womb while God worked His magic, knitting and creating and fashioning and making a plan; the woman who witnessed their arrival, mysterious and precarious, joyful and ecstatic. The woman who combed out tangles and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for them while they grew into the people they would become. The woman who thanks God for the ones He entrusted to her and is very pleased with how they have turned out.
I have these grainy-Polaroid-brilliant-colored memories of life at 1723 York Street in Des Moines. I know the idyllic childhood of my memories may be actually less glorious and so much more mundane and average. But if you have a good memory, it pays to hold onto to it, I think.
So when I tell my mom that I watch for that house to sell and that I have dreams about it and long for the barefoot summer evenings of catching fireflies and doing relays with neighbor kids there, when I tell her the watermelon in the backyard pieces of my heart make me want to go back there to remember the little-girl-me, I am always taken aback by her reaction.
She usually wrinkles her nose, shakes her head and says, “Oh, not me. I don’t like Des Moines.”
Shocks me I suppose because while I was having this fairly delightful, carefree (as least as carefree as I have ever been) childhood, my mom was being reminded of painful things she went through as a child. Even being married to the man she adored and having all the babies she ever wanted couldn’t make her forget.
She is writing her story in a book for me and oh, I love hearing her journey. But as a child of divorce before she was even two, there was much pain and shame. And her earliest memories and many of her childhood planned photos were in front of the Polk County Courthouse, where custody was often negotiated, in a time when men just simply were not the first choice.
My Grandma had pain.
Yet another trip to a mental hospital for my grandma when my mom and her sister were very young dealt a devastating blow to the 2 little girls ripped between homes and spaces. For so strong was the contentiousness over custody, my mom’s aunt delivered my mom and her sister to the Polk Count Juvenile Home to be left with cold strangers whose job it was to direct the children.
I recall her showing me the building when I was a little girl. And telling me a few things she remembered that seemed just awful. I won’t tell her stories here, for they are too sacred and terrible to share. But I remembered the cold desolation of it – that horrible place my mom never should have been. May it suffice when I say that those little girls, those sisters who huddled close, whose mommy was just suddenly gone were placed in an institution, not a “home.” There was no nurture, no talk and comfort. Just be good. Do not cry or else. And no one had the decency to call her dad to rescue her.
A couple of years ago she and I went on a quest to find a photo of the building for her book. My cousin Steve recently was able to find photos and old news articles. He sent a new piece to the puzzle today and there was an address. (see below)
The Des Moines Tribune, 1912
I google-mapped it and it was only 1.2 miles from that idyllic house of my heart and dreams. For me, my mom was providing a home, a safe place, a dog-in-the-yard and skipping to school in sunshine. But she was just blocks from her opposite.
The day after the landmark Supreme Court decision on the Affordable Care Act, Colorado’s fires are so bad that President Obama is in Colorado Springs to tour the damage. On Thursday evening, the federal government approved Governor Hickenlooper’s request for the state to be considered a major disaster area.
From where I write this in Estes Park, CO, smoke is blanketing the mountains, coming from the biggest fire of 8 current fires in the state, the High Park Fire just west of Fort Collins. This fire has burned almost 90,000 acres and destroyed over 250 homes.
It’s the Waldo Canyon Fire in Colorado Springs, however, that is drawing the most attention. It is only 15% contained, has caused over 32,000 people to be evacuated and has destroyed 350 homes. This “super fire” is so hot that it’s causing houses to catch fire from the inside due to the high temperatures alone. (Check out some incredible photos here.)
Ryan (who is now 4 years in the National Guard) got called into active duty the other night. He had a very short time to pack all his uniforms, get his stuff and head to Colorado Springs.
The fires in Colorado have been wild and out of control and the extreme heat and afternoon windy conditions, along with the serious not-enough-winter-snow drought makes our state bone-dry kindle for blazing disaster.
Colorado Springs Fire Explodes / Photo Credit: Elaine Moore
But Ryan has gone with his unit to bring order and serve and protect and do whatever needs done wherever it needs done. And we are proud of him and praying for him and know He is right in the middle of what God created him to be and do. For Ryan is a man of mercy and man of prayer. And in the midst of the chaos and confusion, Ryan will carry grace with him.
We love you, Ryan. You are in our hearts! So proud of you!
Some phone shots Ryan has sent us, his home away from home:
I limp into the house after a crazy-busy (truly miraculous, but wow-exhausting) week of Pastor’s and Ministry Leader’s Gatherings. I drop my computer bag and kick off my shoes.
Proof of Life:
Outside, I nearly trip over the giant Tonka Fire truck on the patio and the hose gets stuck on a tiny tikes car as I attempt to water my potted plants.
Tall glass of ice cold water. I plop onto the swing and swing in to be gently rocked….wait, what is that? Wet!
Hahaha. The grandbebes have been here. While I was gone, they came to swim. I missed the hugs and kisses. I missed the sound of their laughter. I missed a summer day with my favorite people in the universe.
But the proof of their recent presence remains, perfumes the air and makes me smile.
I am a daughter to a very important man, a holy man. He has been a pastor, boss, spiritual leader to hundreds, thousands of people. But he is my dad. Few share that honor. I first made him a dad. That is mine alone.
I don’t think anyone who knows me can doubt the power of the love between us. My dad is above all dads in my heart.
Happy day for me, because of the Father-of-Light, the Maker of Heaven and earth who adopted ME!
I am a daughter of the Most High.
Don’t you love how Jesus spoke to the persistent woman, the tired, worn out, woman who pushed through just to touch His clothing? I do.
“Daughter,” He said. I can hear it, “Daughter…” because she needed to know the Father’s love (and if you have seen Jesus, you have seen the Father). She needed to know, that even though she’d lost many resources because of her infirmities, maybe even her family and friends, that her Father, her real true Father (the One who’d fashioned her in the womb) – saw her, knew her name and would heal her disease.
His disciples thought for Jesus to try to see who had touched him was a ridiculous exercise in futility, but He continued to look around for her. He looked for her. He turned to look for her. He called her ‘daughter.’ And by His word (a word from the Word) she was whole – everything she was created to be, able and healthy to do all she was created to do.
I am contemplating the daughter thing. I am determined to be a daughter who pleases her Father. Or even just a daughter…
Happy Father’s Day to my sons:
Rocky, DP and Tristan, you guys are just amazing fathers and daddies. The proof is in the pudding. The grandbebes tell the story of children who are secure in the love of their fathers: Gavin, Guini and Gemma, Hunter, and Averi and Amelie – loved. Whole. It is beautiful.
And then – to the man who fathered my children. Happy Father’s Day, my lover and friend!
Tara wrote on FB today: As I sit here thinking about my Dad this morning it really occurred to me that he is one of my greatest heroes. He chose me not even knowing what the future might hold. He protects, he encourages, he provides wisdom, he always reminds me of… his love, he thinks I’m beautiful, he makes sure I’m safe, and he actually wants relationship with me!! Wow, sounds like a true father’s heart to me. Happy Father’s Day to you, Dad. I’m so honored that I was the one to make you a “Daddy” first!!
Today you will tend to all sorts of details of having the whole family over. You’ll make sure the grandbebes have toys and beverages and are safe in the pool with floaties. You’ll cook and fill the dishwasher and beam with joy, surrounded by your babies, the 5 we grew together, and the ones God sent to join us (and how we love them, too, don’t we??). You will have had this exhausting HF weekend and yet, you will not have wanted to trade the time and moments with the heritage God has given you. You love them. And they love you and honor you. And you are worthy of that honor. Happy day, babe!
