Tarnished Hope

Our mischievous Ben has a new fun place to play- he climbs onto the bathroom counter and gets into anything he can.  Yesterday morning as I put him on the ground once again, and surveyed what he had been playing with, this is the mess I saw.

In the last four years, we've used the word 'Hope' a lot, and have reminders all over, including this ornament that I never put away with the Christmas things.  I'd honestly forgotten it was there and overlooked it daily.  After Ben 'rearranged' things, I saw it there, covered by other random things of our lives, with much of the glitter rubbed off and looking a little tarnished.

It immediately struck me how much that is like real hope.  We can get so buried by things that our hope is dulled.  Maybe we even miss seeing it altogether.  It can get buried due to time, feeling unplugged, sweating the small stuff, or just rubbing against rough things over and over.  It happens, just like with the ornament.

Then one day, someone rearranges things a bit.  You may not have even wanted them to.  But there it is, peeking through the mess, reminding you that hope is never lost.  God is still there.  He still has a plan. 

Look in your own mess.  Can you still see hope?  If not, keep looking.  It's there.

The Sisters

All my life I've seen my mom and her sisters as a strong trio of women, who would stand by each other no matter what.  Through the years they've had their disagreements, their differences, and times of wishing other things for each other.  They've put many miles between them, and sometimes gone long periods without being face to face.  But they've always shown unconditional love, and truly tried to support each other through all the good and bad of life.

When Austin went missing, they were both here right away.  When we celebrated his birthday and launch of Finder's Hope the next year, they were there.  They've shown me the same love and support that they show each other.

On one particular occasion, I was actually upset by their display of love and support.  All I could think was that I no longer had my brother to share life with, wouldn't have his support and love many years from now.  It didn't seem fair as I looked at them thinking that together they could conquer anything.  But on that same occasion, they shared with the group about their 4th sister, the one no longer there.  JoAnn was the youngest of the four, and the next to youngest of the six kids (did I not mention they also have two brothers?) and was lost tragically in an accident as a teenager.

I realized, that though she's not with them conquering the world, she's always in their heart and on their mind.  They never forget that they aren't three but four.  All they've been through, including losing her, combined with their faith, is so much of what makes them strong.

I may not have a sister, or any sibling to support me the way they do for each other.  But I do have them and I do have Austin with me in heart and memory, even if not here himself.  Like they have grown in strength from all their losses, here's praying that so may I.  That I may one day be able to conquer the world too.

4 Years of Missing Austin

A new home, a new baby, a child growing up, ten tball seasons, Michael finding his funny stage voice, so many holidays, a new president, a much loved uncle dying, family get-togethers, the iPad....

Austin has been gone for four years today. Exactly four hears ago this morning, he made choices that would impact us all forever. He took a cab to a pawn shop and bought a shotgun. He went to Walmart and bought ammo and a duffel bag, then back to get the gun. He walked off, never to be seen or heard from again.

Those things listed above? Just a few of the many things he's missed that our family or our world has had happen. What have we missed? Just him. Having him be a part of it all. We miss the son, brother, uncle. We miss what was and what might have been.

Today it seems we're no closer to finding him, but we still will keep hope. We will remember him today, sad for all he's missed but happy and grateful for all we did share.

Birthdays, holidays, his laugh, smiles full of dimples, help with our tech needs, days fishing with family, running through the woods, his easygoing nature, food cooked with love, laughing together at things we couldn't change, watching him with my son, love for our family....

Those are the things we'll focus on today. Not what is missed, but what wasn't.

Love you Austin.


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Saying Goodbye

We aren't very good at saying goodbye, or even knowing when it's time to.  Our family is facing that right now with my Grandmother, and at this very moment critical decisions are being made.  Just a few nights ago she had two strokes, and the night after a seizure.  She is responsive and has made it very clear, both through a living will years ago, and comments in the past few days, that she wants to be allowed to die naturally.

But right now she can breathe on her own, pump blood on her own, but is having difficulty swallowing.  Due to that, the doctors wanted to place a feeding tube to give nutrition and medication, and though she didn't want to, agreed to it with the promise that it wouldn't stay long.  After just a few hours, she pulled it out on her own and doesn't want it back in.  But her children, my mom and her siblings, are having a hard time agreeing to that.  After all, she could regain all needed functions with therapy, or at least have a good shot at it.

But she is exhausted and ready.  Her wishes must be honored.  I can't help but think that if she could see past the exhaustion and depression that comes with a seizure, she'd want to live more life.  Austin was exhausted, but we didn't get to take part in the decision for him.  We didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.  We wouldn't have said goodbye though, we would have stopped him.  I hope my mom and my aunts and uncles and other family gathered around her can find a way to say goodbye when the choice has been made.

Goodbye's are awful, but I've learned that they're better than never getting a goodbye.

If There Were No Valleys

I'd like to write a post about how much better today was than yesterday, some lesson about how a new day brought a new perspective.  In a way that was true, as Michael actually went 12 hours in a deep sleep with no shower or vomiting (shower= even better than meds when he's sick).  We thought he was turning the corner on this episode.  I even got a few hours sleep, even if it was in a chair.  But that's a lot better than the night before.

Instead, a new day brought news of my grandmother suffering two strokes in the night.  And my mom, who has been watching the boys while I focus on Michael, needed to go be with her.  But to add to the struggle, her car needed work that she can't really afford, leaving means taking yet another unpaid day (or more) off work, and of course there was the matter of figuring out how to get my boys taken care of.  I reached out to friends to help solve the matter of the boys, and as I knew they would, faithful friends took that burden away.  There was still the puzzle to figure out of who would take them when, and what they needed, and where they needed to be, but there's no question of them being taken care of and loved on.  My mom's car/financial situation didn't magically resolve itself, and as I write the work still isn't done and she hasn't been able to leave yet.  But God will provide, I do believe that.  

Reaching out and asking for help isn't in my comfort zone.  It's a phobia to tell the truth.  But I know that I can't do it alone, and I miss out on so much when I don't get pushed out of what's easy.  With our search for Austin and our battle with Michael's illness, I spend more time asking for help than I'd ever choose to.

But I can tell you this... if I didn't face these valleys I'd never know the full gratitude of love and friendship.  I would miss the chance to be encouraged by a text, phone call or email that just checks in.  I'd miss a cup of coffee being delivered that wasn't even asked for but much needed, that warmed more than just my hands.  My kids would miss the chance to know that they can count on others too, that this life is meant to be lived together.  They might grow up thinking church is a place we go, instead of the people who live it.

I'm not crazy, if given the chance I'd skip the valleys.  But since we're here, might as well look around and enjoy the view.  I couldn't ask for more.

Room 533

It's a rough week in our house, with Michael in the hospital as a result of a CVS episode that is kicking his butt.  We've battled this for a very long time, with the first episodes just before we met.  At the time we knew so little, and had no idea how many years, hospitalizations and tests he would endure.  Like just about anything else, I think our whole family battles it.

the good stuff

I've become as much of an expert on his treatment and illness as possible, his voice and his reminder when he's pushing himself too hard. Our kids know that Dad gets sick a lot and his hot baths and our frequent quick escapes from dinners out are part of their routine.  My mom picks up the slack when he needs to rest, and especially when he's in the hospital.  As tough as it is for us, it's unimaginable for him.  And when we're in the midst of it, I can't even believe the world keeps moving outside our hospital window, keeps going without us.

It's so much like our search for Austin, where we spent the early days not seeing how the world could keep moving, how we would keep moving.  But we each did our part.  In both, some days feel like giving up is the way to go.

But we have to keep battling, have to keep finding real hope in each day.  I sometimes wonder what God has planned for us, when we have so many situations where hope can be hard to find, with so many days of exhaustion and heartache from it all.  Some days are overwhelming.  Today is one of them.

But I still know where my hope lies, not in the outcome but in God being there no matter.  Knowing that God can use even us, even this.  That is hope. 

Tonight I just needed the reminder.

Little Brother Complex

I was officially diagnosed years ago with little brother complex. No, you won't find it in any medical journals. Yes, it was a self diagnosis. It also started many years before I lost my brother.

What is it you ask? LBC is an innate desire to take young men under my wing and care for them in my own unique way. I blame the strong male presence in my life, from cousins to friends to co-workers to my own actual brother. I always had more males around me growing up, and that shaped a lot of my humor, preferences and personality. I feel like I can take the female perspective, along with that my unique understanding of the male mind, and help them out. They don't have to be younger than me, just have to be someone I've come to care for like I do my little brother.

It's possible... okay, it's definitely true that my caring can sometimes seem rough. I give them tough love, with real honesty and often on topics they'd rather not hear from me on. From relationships to health to schooling and careers. I want the best for them you see.

For a time I think I backed off from offering this tough love.... it didn't exactly work out for me to help my own real little brother, though I certainly tried. But last night someone made me really laugh with his response to my (inappropriate) advice and called me a life coach.

While I'd love to have that kind of influence, we all do make an impact somehow. I think with Austin my impact was real. I don't believe he ever questioned being loved by me or that he could count on me, even when he chose not to.

One day when my boys no longer think I'm the ultimate authority, I'll be glad if they have people they'll listen to who love them enough to be tough. Hopefully when it matters most.

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I Refuse

I just heard a song that talks about refusing to ignore what God has called us to do. I'm constantly amazed by people around us who have refused to allow us or other families of missing to face this alone. They've refused to allow excuses, troubles, or naysayers get them off their path. They've refused to ignore the need they see around them.

I'm refusing to allow circumstances to keep me from telling our story, from sharing the message of hope that I have. Just needed the reminder, and it came in this perfect way.

What are you being called to do? It may be a small thing or may be huge, but we all should refuse to be so focused on ourselves that we can't see the needs around us. Maybe you needed the reminder too, if so the lyrics below may help.


I Refuse lyrics
Songwriters: Benjamin Glover;Joshua David Wilson



Sometimes I
I just want to close my eyes
And act like everyone's alright
When I know they're not

This world needs God
But it's easier to stand and watch
I could say a prayer and just move on
Like nothing's wrong

But I refuse
'Cause I don't want to live like I don't care
I don't want to say another empty prayer
Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else
To do what God has called me to do myself
Oh, I could choose
Not to move but I refuse

I can hear the least of these
Crying out so desperately
And I know we are the hands and feet
Of You, oh God

So, if You say move
It's time for me to follow through
And do what I was made to do
Show them who You are

'Cause I don't want to live like I don't care
I don't want to say another empty prayer
Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else
To do what God has called me to do myself
Oh, I could choose
Not to move but I refuse

To stand and watch the weary and lost
Cry out for help
I refuse to turn my back
And try and act like all is well

I refuse to stay unchanged
To wait another day, to die to myself
I refuse to make one more excuse

'Cause I don't want to live like I don't care
I don't want to say another empty prayer
Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else
To do what God has called me to do myself
Oh, I could choose
Not to move but I refuse

I refuse
I refuse





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Location:I Refuse

Friends In the Woods

Growing up, we lived on a few acres at the end of a dirt road, bordered on two sides with woods.  Austin and I made fast and forever friends with the kids who shared another side and had even more property..  We spent countless hours exploring those woods, always in a pack and always finding something to get into.  They really weren't that dense or deep, but we had such a sense of independence in being able to roam.

Years later, Michael and I bought our first house in a small neighborhood not too far from where I grew up.  Just about a week before Austin disappeared, he found himself depressed and unable to settle down in the house for the night, needing some space and time to wander.  He cut through a neighbor's yard and out into the woods, wandering much of the night, even though the pain in his knees grew with each step.  I had been alerted to his mental state by a friend, and I worried but had no idea what was coming.  When asked about what was going on after finally coming in, he insisted he was okay and had just needed some time.  A few days later, he again insisted the same to my mom when she came to visit, and after hours of conversation with him, she also didn't know how serious it was or what was to come.

The morning after we realized Austin was missing and the report had been filed, those woods were walked and searched by several people who had no formal training, but were driven to find him.  I'll never forget my Dad searching ceaselessly, and worrying that he couldn't withstand much more of the heat and terrain with his breathing difficulties.  But he wouldn't stop until he felt he had covered it all.  I was so worried about him holding up for what might take days or weeks.  I had no idea it would be years.

There were more woods in that area than I ever could have imagined.  We had no idea what needed to be covered, so we traversed it all the best we could.  We called in volunteers and friends, had family drive hours to help (time after time) and kept at it.  But we couldn't believe how many square miles of woods were around us, the aerial maps astounded us.  What was also hard to believe were the numbers of people living in them.  There were whole families, young kids to elderly people, all making their home right there.  They were off the beaten path, and out of the public eye, so easily overlooked or forgotten.  They were mostly kind, mostly offering hope that he would be found.

The sheer amount of woods and the people living there made such an impression on everyone involved.  How could we live right there all along and not really see what was there?  

But what I'll never forget about those early days, more than anything else, were the friends in the woods.  Each of us had friends involved, and I'll forever be grateful to them all.  But the ones that stand out to me the most are the friends who never knew Austin, yet quietly and without being asked went into the woods.  I am rarely caught without words.  However, I'll always remember when I heard about a group of five ladies who ventured into the woods together to help.  They weren't asked.  They didn't want to be thanked.  They faced fears of spiders and snakes, got dirty and scratched.  They gave me hope.  Several months later, another friend casually mentioned that he felt sure Austin wasn't in a specific area because he had been searching there.  I looked down as he spoke and realized that his arms were covered in scratches that were quite bad.  He had not been asked, and didn't want to be thanked.  He gave me hope.  I had no words to thank any of them then, and barely do today.

As a kid, the woods were magical but as an adult they've become a place of learning.  Learning about Austin's last days, learning about seeing what's around us, and most importantly about how real friends will go anywhere, even in the woods. 

No Complaints

No complaining unless you have possible solutions to offer. That statement jumped out at me like it was a neon flashing sign. I was sitting in a cold room, trying not to cough incessantly and get more awake. But that statement by the speaker made me immediately think of so many people we've met in the missing person community.

We've met mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, spouses, grandparents and friends. All ages, races, socioeconomic groups, religions.... all are impacted by missing people in their lives. But it dawned on me this morning that I've very rarely heard these people complain.

They could complain about their bad luck, their lost days, the choices made by others that put them here, law enforcement needing to be pushed, too little media, too little help, or so many other things. But they rarely do. The people we've met won't take the focus away from their loved one and put it on their own problems.

Instead, they make solutions. They bring resources in on their own for searches when police won't or can't. They hold car washes and yard sales to raise funds. They seek out other families many states away for support they can't find local. They spend many hours researching and learning new tactics. They go places they shouldn't. They choose to celebrate holidays, even when there is a hole. They love those still here.

When they must complain, it always seems to be in an effort to push forward. These are people who take their complaints and turn them into law changes that effect us all. They train to search to bring hope to families. They advocate for those who can't speak for themselves. They hold hands and offer hugs to those dealing with the first days of a search.

They encourage and inspire me daily. Yet I still complain about traffic and coffee and another hundred things that don't matter. What if we all truly lived the no complaining rule? Wow, what could happen.





(www.jongordon.com for info on the speaker that inspired this post. You can also find Jon on Facebook and Twitter)


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Letter to Myself

A few days ago I saw an old photo of a group of my friends from high school. We were young and more beautiful than we knew, so full of potential and ready to take on the world. I commented that we were really something, and was reminded that we're really something now too. Years later, these are now women that I respect and admire. Both for things they've accomplished and the way they live their lives.

I looked at myself and wondered what I'd have said if I knew what the next 15 years or so would hold. I probably would have been scared and excited all at once, and in some disbelief of it all. But here are some things I would say to that girl.

Be courageous, you have nothing to fear.

College will teach you so much more than you'll learn in class. Get out there and experience it. A little more studying wouldn't hurt you either.

You're not fat.

You'll meet many guys, and you'll learn from them what you want and don't want in a spouse. Heartbreak will help you find the right one.

Fight for what's right as soon as you know its right. But don't worry, you'll soon get pushed into it and you'll be fine.

Enjoy that time before kids a bit more, quiet doesn't come again for many years.

You'll learn a lot about medicine and advocating for good care by being thrown into the fire. Toughen up- it's hard but worth it.

Ask more questions, invade personal space a bit more, and open up yourself. Fear of rejection is no way to live. The phone won't kill you.

Stop. Breathe. Enjoy.

Go home at 5 sometimes.

Hug your Dad more. You don't have to agree on anything but loving each other. That's enough.

Push Austin. It might not have helped, but don't give up. You'll have less regret and guilt, and you already have enough.

Enjoy that last movie with Austin, and don't drive straight home. Find a way to spend a few more minutes.

Just keep trusting God, He won't let you fall.

Look around at your friends. Some will be gone, some will become close again one day, some will come later and become family, while some will seemingly disappear once Austin does. You'll learn from them all.

You're stronger than you think. You'll survive more than you think you can handle, and you'll do more than just survive.

..... Now that I think about it, I should probably remind grown me of these same things.....funny how our younger self and our older self are so much the same, maybe just a stronger version. At least I hope so.


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