Stories about hope

I’m not sure why you would be interested in my story.

I’m an unknown, sometimes I feel invisible.

While I was healing from major back surgery this past year, I’ve had lots of time to think. To Ponder, to reflect. This reflection brought so many memories to the surface.

It has been going on for some time but of late there are things coming to light that I haven’t thought about for a long time.

Some of the memories are painful. 

Hot stove, Burning kind of pain. 

Some memories are like being cut with a sharp knife. You don’t realize you are hurt at first. But then you see the outline of red beginning to appear on your finger – and it stings. 

Stings so much that you can’t think. 

I have been blessed with a lot of good memories too. The type of memories that make you laugh so hard you cry. 

So thankful that God gave me the gift of laughter. It is good for the soul. 

“A joyful heart makes a cheerful face. But when the heart is sad, the spirit is broken. “Proverbs 15:13

The only problem with the gift of laughter is I tend to get the giggles at the most inappropriate times. If you know me at all, you know this to be true. I’m wondering if any of you have the same problem? 

God gives us Joy. It’s a gift. 

Happiness comes and go. Joy stays even in the darkness. 

And so, begins my story. I’ll start here with a 9-hour drive to the Southern Oregon Coast and then fill in the gaps later. 

We were in my car, heading North. In the front seat was my tall and gregarious brother. His once red hair now speckled with strands of grey. Wrinkles appeared that I had not seen before. 

When I greeted him at baggage claim he was wearing a suit jacket, white button down and slacks. He looked like he was traveling for business. I smiled at his fashion choice for the day. 

You can take the man away from the East Coast, but you can’t take the East Coast out of the man. He always followed fashion rules (well almost always)

My sister-in-law, Tiley stayed behind. She knew how important this journey for the three of us was. She is thoughtful like that. Always giving the Frost siblings the space needed. Sending her love through our big brother. 

Bob’s belongings for the week were carried in a backpack that was easily distributed across his shoulders. 

He always made me feel famous when I would see him. I was his baby sister. He celebrated our relationship. 

My sister Christina was waiting in the car. She was “making the Loop” at the airport as we are waiting for Bob’s arrival. 

Christina and I had reunited at her Sonoma County home. We spent the night pouring over old photos of our family. 

Talking, crying, sharing our pain. Christina has a heart of gold. I always feel deeply loved and seen when I am with her. Christina is thoughtful, kind, mischievous, and generous. Always out serving, out loving, out giving. She too was always dressed beautifully. Her hair always done, even when it’s not done it still looks like it was intended. Her husband Ken with a twinkle in his eye knew how to be with me. It was comforting to be with them. They know me and I can just relax in their presence. 

And so, here we were. My brother Bob, my sister Christina and me. 

Bob stretched out in the front seat of my Ford, Christina in the back.

The hostess of the trip. She was ready with any kind of snack imaginable. We had boxes of Kleenex, and she was closely watching in the event navigation assistance was needed. As per her usual she had thought of everything to make our journey as comfortable as possible. 

However, our drive up the Coast wasn’t just a fun little family vacation. 

It had a solemn purpose.

We were on our way to see our nieces and nephews. They had just had their light snuffed out. 

The empathy I felt for them was deep.

It was familiar.

It hurt.

Death.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Sudden.

At first the conversations were hovering on the surface. So happy to be together, catching up on each other’s lives. The drive was spent laughing, crying, and reflecting. 

Together again. 

Unfortunately.

Facing the sorrow of death.

We had just gone through this not 4 years prior when our sister Dori lost a hard-fought battle to inflammatory breast cancer. 

As we drove, the conversations much like the highway we were on had lovely scenery. Tall trees, beautiful mountains, and lush green fields. The scraggly trees of the dessert along interstate 5 had morphed into the glorious redwoods and pines of the Pacific Northwest.  The charred remnants from the Northern California fires were showing some signs of healing. 

It was August, so it was quite hot at times, like standing too close to a fire hot.

 Our conversation, along with the road we were on, took dark, winding turns into territory we hadn’t visited in many years.  

Shadows

Darkness

Painful

We spoke of things we hadn’t dared to speak of before. As if speaking them out loud would mean that they were true. All of it was of course, true. But we hadn’t dare share memories as we would be completely responsible to admit the truth.  Life in our family had been 

fractured, 

broken, 

lonely, 

painful. 

Although I had so many memories of my own. While my brother and sister talked of memories and tell their stories, I am taken aback. 

Some of the stories I knew. 

However, so many more were complete surprises to me. 

When we traveled to visit with our sister Dori before she had passed. I was in the audience. 

I didn’t have much to contribute. 

I’m 10 years younger than my brother, so I felt like I was listening to a story about was someone else’s family, much of this was new to me.  Although I was soaking in their words, their memories, one question kept popping up. 

Was I even there?

What the heck?

 As we traveled North, there were times I was quiet as I listened to them reflectively pour out their sorrow, their struggles, their survival. 

During the drive it did occur to me that we really went through it. 

I knew it was a rough road – the portion I had walked was really hard.

But sometimes when I remember, I wonder if I Had imagined the sorrow. My brother has recently affirmed that our story was truly difficult. He lovingly trying to encourage my broken heart, 

“Edie you have been through a lifetime of trauma, and you have survived. I admire you.”

The words sunk into my soul. Sometimes I thought the stories I told were either to let people know my past or to keep people at arm’s length. Was it all just to make sure people knew that I had indeed been through it? 

Was it a badge of honor?

Or was it my identity?

Was pain my identity?

Really?

As they talked it became more and more clear that life had in fact been incredibly hard in our home. 

We were children of the 60’s and 70’s. Times were grittier then. 

My siblings had memories that made mine pale in comparison. 

I felt uncomfortable, but mostly I felt sad. 

Sad that we had all lost so much of our childhood just trying to survive.  

Sad that we were alone a lot without direction because our mom was doing her very best to provide and survive. To keep the house, to keep us fed and clothed became her priority. She had to keep going. She didn’t have a choice. Mom was a child of the great depression. She had seen hard times before and she fought hard for us. 

I spent a great deal of my childhood worrying about things that I should not have worried about. It wasn’t my mom’s fault that I overheard her fears.

It’s just the way it was.

As we drove and the hours raced by like the lines on the highway, I also felt incredibly blessed. 

Here were two of my favorite people. Who having gone through things that should have destroyed them? Here they were so full of hope? 

A hope that only comes from Jesus.

Since our visit, writing has become a way of relief for me. Cathartic.

I have spent so much of my life as the “strong one”. I couldn’t possibly tell people what was really going on in my head.  

This is a very personal journey, and although I appear quite sure of myself at times. I don’t often let people in know what is really going on inside. 

Just keep smiling.

Pain.

It can really expose a person.

Most importantly, I don’t want to hurt anyone in my family. We were just trying to survive. 

We were just KIDS.

Anything that happened was not beyond God’s eye.

So here are my stories.

These are my memories.

I pray they point to the goodness of God. Because I can truly say that He has been faithful and good. 

Even when things were absolutely not. 

As you may be able to infer from what I have written so far, I’m a woman of faith.

 A Christian.  Saved by the love of a Father who gave up His son for me. The Bible, the church, and more importantly the people I have met there have been so vitally important in my life. My Dad, before he passed wanted to make sure our family had a support system. And for me, and my story, that support system I found in the church was at times my shelter from the storm. To say I spent a lot of time at church when I was a kid, would be an understatement.

I was ALWAYS at church. 

I met Jesus there, the most important relationship in my life. I met my best friends there. And it was always a place I could be when I needed to be loved. 

“And He will be the stability of your times, A wealth of salvation, wisdom and knowledge; the fear of the LORD is his treasure.”

Isaiah 33:6