by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I’ve learned a lot the last few months about the role best performed by my late husband’s calculator brain rather than my illlogical. creative one. I never wanted to learn or do all this administrative stuff he did so well; things I cared less about under normal circumstances, and especially despise, in the middle of unbearable sorrow. Paperwork. Forms. Systems. Numbers. Rules. Regulations. Institutions. Bureaucracy. Red tape. Makes my eyes cross, my brain turn to mush and my blood pressure rise. I feel like I’m back in Algebra class wondering who decided letters and numbers should go together. And I flunked algebra twice then passed by one point the third time around. In summer school. With tutoring! Apparently I’m a bit smarter than I’ve ever given myself credit for (notice I said ‘a bit’) and Mike might be proud of me. Unfortunately, I’m being forced to learn this stuff because he’s not here to do it anymore. It’s amazing how you can rise to a challenge when not given a choice. Anyway back to what I’ve figured out and what will save you some hassle should you ever (I pray not) be in my shoes. So for what it’s worth: Most financial institutions no longer honor wills. Yep. You read that right. “Wills can be contested,” I’ve been told. So a will is no longer the top dog of the legal document pile. Most banks, especially the larger ones, now have in-house beneficiary forms. If we had known about this and used it, I wouldn’t be retaining a lawyer to access funds from a savings account we forgot to put my name on. Ask your bank if they have this form and by all means name your beneficiary and sign it. If you each have separate accounts and would like your spouse to have access to it immediately upon your death, this form should take care of it. But ask to be sure. (By the way, here’s something I didn’t know; Power of Attorney, is only useful if the person you have it for is still alive. It’s useless once they’re deceased.) Be certain both spouse names are on every single account you have if you want your significant other to have immediate access. It’s better to use the word ‘OR’ between your names whenever possible, rather than ‘AND’. ‘Or’ means either. ‘And’ means both. Even when supplying a death certificate, I’ve had issues depositing an insurance check for hurricane roof repair because Mike couldn’t sign it when it used the word ‘and’. Be certain both names are on car titles joined by the word ‘OR’. I am able to sell either of our cars and easily transfer registration solely to my name because of this little word. ‘Or’ means either one of us can make decisions about the car without the other. If there is someone you want to have immediate access to your car when you’re no longer here, go to DMV and pay the $80.00 (cost where I live. Fees may be different in other counties or states) to add their name (along with that ‘or’ word), otherwise the car will have to go through probate because the owner is unable to sign the title. The same is true of real estate, houses or property. Make sure both names are on everything. Ask, when you open accounts, buy property or perform any legal transaction, what can be done to insure this asset passes to my spouse immediately if I’m deceased. Then take the time to do it. Speaking of cars, be sure you know who your roadside service is. What mechanic, garage or dealer services your cars and whether you still have a valid warranty. I‘ve already had to deal with a car that wouldn’t start. Car maintenance was another task I never thought much about. Mike always took care of it. Unless you plan on hiring it out, be sure you have general knowledge of other maintenance items such as pool pumps, filters, chemicals, and cleaning / Service for Air conditioning and heating systems. AC filters and when and how to change them / House water softening or purifying systems / Know where your whole house water shut off is to avoid a flooded house should a pipe burst or some other indoor water emergency occur. Much bill paying, banking, even investing is now done online. Can’t emphasize enough!!!! How important it is to sit down together and take the time to make a spreadsheet listing ALL accounts with contact info, account numbers, user ID and password. Keep all online access info current by updating passwords as they change. Believe me, this will simplify your transition to single-ness if you’re not the one who takes care of the family finances. Keep a list of reoccurring monthly and/or yearly payments with account numbers, amounts, passwords to online accounts and what bank account or credit card they’re tied to. Also list bills that are still paid by mail. Write down active credit cards by account name and number along with online access information to credit card statements and payment if needed. And don’t forget to update any and all info (especially passwords) if/as it changes. Keep a file cabinet organized and up to date. Organize by categories: Bank accounts, credit cards, life insurance, car insurance, health insurance, real estate, loans, IRA’s, taxes, etc. Go through it once a year (at least) and update or remove old or invalid information from your files. This will make it easier to find everything needed when you’re heart is aching and your brain has turned into sad, unfocused mush. A few side notes; You’ll be asked for your deceased spouse’s social security number often at first, so make sure you have a copy of it available or have it memorized. Also don’t cancel your spouses cell phone account immediately. You might need it to search for important information or the phone number may be tied to some vital accounts, text or email notices you might not know you need at first. No one wants to talk about the possibility of death and couples never want to think about living without each other, but I’m now a certain statistic that it can happen and sometimes without warning. Whatever practical steps can be taken to minimize panic and ease the burden of grief will be worth it, someday, for one of you. Take the time to prepare just in case, with hopes you’ll have a long and wonderful life together.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I  write this on a flight to Chattanooga, Tennessee, to celebrate my son’s first published book release. He’s hosting a book launch party this weekend. It seems to be a thing authors do now and it’s a rather big deal. David’s father would have been excited to attend this event. My husband should be here next to me. But the seat is as empty as the gapping hole in my heart. We often went places without each other. I’d go and Mike would stay home with Jon or the reverse. Though we didn’t always enjoy our necessary separations, we accepted it as how things had to be. And I always knew he’d be waiting for me when I returned. This flight feels different than any I’ve taken before. I’m surrounded by people, crammed together inside an Allegiant MD80, yet it’s so lonely. As the miles are absorbed beneath me and the land slides away, the one person on this planet, who knew me better than anyone, who made history and a life with me is missing. I could fly all the way around the circle of the earth in this plane, and not find him. My husband won’t be there when I go back home. I’m flying solo now. For those who say “He’s still with you,” or “He’s watching over you, I say “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” There’s no scriptural basis I can find for that. If he is watching me all the time he’s sad at how heartbroken I am without him. There’s not supposed to be any sadness or heartache in Heaven. So I have my doubts. And right now it’s not enough to think he might be watching me from wherever he is. It’s just not enough for me. I can’t see, hear or touch him. I can talk to the air and tell him how proud we are of our kid’s accomplishments but Mike isn’t here with me to share in it. He doesn’t answer. All I get in return is silence. Saying he’s with me doesn’t help. It doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, hearing that he’s watching from somewhere I’m not, makes it worse. Only a reminder Mike’s physical presence is sorely missing from mine. Maybe I’ll be more accepting of such platitudes later. In a year. Or two. Or three. But not now. So Mike, if by some chance you are listening and if you can see, I’ve arrived now and I’m holding a copy of our son’s book in my hands. It’s amazing. So is he. Just like his father. And it’s cold in Chattanooga. You’d be complaining right along with me. Wish we could lay here together under this fluffy, warm comforter and talk about it all. Just want you to know this weekend, you’ll sure be missed at this celebration of what we, and then our son, created.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 David and I brought Mike home in a 3X6 box yesterday. For now he is resting on the top shelf of the closet we shared covered in that silly Panama Jack hat he liked in Seaworld's gift shop. Forty two years of a life together and when it’s done you're handed a box. Talk about putting things in perspective! My son and I sat in the car and cried together, feeling as if we're living the book of Ecclesiastes right now. The things of Earth have become extremely dim and eternity seems very near. Nothing here matters In this moment; not our homes, our cars, food, money, the long, long, long to do list, or even David’s soon to be published book. I admit, I’m saddened the death of his father has stolen David’s excitement for his accomplishment. “Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” Ecclesiastes 1:1. Heaven is near and reminding us of what really matters. Obviously we must continue living and find provision for our journey here, but all of that is far less important than knowing the Father Heart of God and loving people. Whatever time remains for us, we will continue honoring Mike’s legacy by doing just that, until it is our turn to proclaim: “ I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing,” 2 Timothy 4:7-8. Welcome home, Michael Connis!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
My mother passed on to her eternal home in 1994. She's been gone twenty three years now and in many ways I'm happy for her. A strange thing to say? Maybe? But most of what I remember about my mother was the difficulties she endured.  Shortly after I was born, she had a complete and devastating nervous breakdown and was committed to Willard State Psychiatric Hospital in upstate New York for several years. Over my lifetime, I've heard bits and pieces of family speculation and attempted to piece ambiguous information together, but I still don't really know why. These things were not discussed openly by previous generations as they are now. My older brother went into foster care and I was shuffled around between grandparents and a few aunts and uncles before finally landing with a family down the street who had five kids of their own. They took me in and it was because of them and out of desperation to see his family reunited, that my Dad had his come to Jesus experience. Though our family life was imperfect, and at times dysfunctional, I was raised with a foundation of Bible, church and a solid belief in God that later became an anchor for my own life storms. When Mom finally came home from Willard, she wasn't the same, at least that's what I was told. I don't remember her to be anything other. She was just Mom. She was somewhat timid, emotionally fragile and often fearful, yet I knew she loved me, though I have no memory of her ever saying so. She was a cigarette addict (wasn’t everyone in the 50's?), married to a hard-working, sometimes overbearing and exacting man, she never learned to drive and developed rheumatoid arthritis sometime in her thirties. I would come home from school to find her sobbing on the sofa, a knee or wrist so painfully red and swollen she couldn't function. Mom never went to a doctor and never took anything for the pain but aspirin, which does nothing to alleviate any of RA's symptoms, as I would later discover for myself. I remember her walking me to kindergarten and later, on days I walked home from elementary school for lunch, there was usually a grilled cheese sandwich and hot Campbells soup waiting on the small table in the corner of the kitchen. On days she felt better, she'd be in the kitchen cooking meals or doing endless loads of wash and hanging heavy, wet clothes on the rope stretched between the shed and the sour cherry tree in our backyard. Because she didn't drive, I'd sometimes ride my pink, banana-seat bike two miles to the corner store, with a note giving me permission to purchase a pack of cigarettes. An extra nickel or dime would buy me some penny candy, then I'd happily pedal back home. On hot summer days, she'd occasionally hand me a dime, and I'd dash to the curb for a cherry snow cone from Mr. Frosty's truck. Somewhere toward the close of her fiftieth decade, RA got the best of her. She couldn't walk anymore. With the cushioning cartilage and synovial fluid in her knees gone, the joints fused and locked in place. She finally had wheels of her own - a wheelchair - and Dad became her caregiver. Several years passed before he couldn't lift her anymore. At age sixty she went to live in a nursing home and at sixty-two she died of cancer. Unfortunate for us, but fortunately for Mom, only in that her wheelchair, pain and emotional suffering stayed behind when she left this earth. What I remember most about my mom? She was always there for her family and rarely complained. She didn't whine, claim entitlement or victim-hood. With no social media on which to unveil every detail of her life and in the oblivion of my youth, I gave little thought to the difficulties she faced. It wasn't until I developed rheumatoid arthritis in my mid-twenties and had a family of my own that I came to appreciate my mother's perseverance. I wonder what dreams she had as a young girl and if she ever felt slighted because her life didn't go as planned. Like so many mothers, she did the best she could under difficult circumstances and well into my adult years, I realized a simple truth; parents are human too and perfected people are non-existent. A sure mark of maturity is realizing this and forgiving ours for being flawed and possibly less than we hoped for. Maybe ingrained deep within my DNA, is a measure of my mother's endurance; an assistant in carrying me through life, as it did her. Someday I will tell her how grateful I am for the legacy she left me. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." 2 Timothy 4:7
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
The prevailing statement in the biblical records of the kings of Israel and Judah in the books of  1 st and 2 nd Kings is this, "and ______ became king. He did evil/good in the sight of the Lord as did his father." A dad present, absent, involved, indifferent or even unknown will shape the emotional and spiritual health, values and character of his child well into adulthood. Fathers matter. A great deal. Though the reward for years of teaching, training, playing, listening, loving, providing and sacrifice, may not be obvious at this moment, plod on. Sometimes you are weary, flawed, imperfect, but don't give up. Be your kid's dad to the best of your ability and in the grace and strength of your Heavenly Father.  Eventually the fruit of your influence will ripen to maturity and you will be blessed with a rich harvest. You will leave a legacy of good for the next generation. Thanks Dads, for all you do for your children, for your commitment to your family. You ARE making a difference. Happy Father's Day!  Grandson Asa talking to Grampa!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
Jon was in his room, Mike had gone to bed and the house was quiet. I was in the family room reading a book when my phone's text notification sounded. I finished the paragraph I was reading, swiped the lock screen off and hit the message icon. This text popped up:  I read it, re-read it. And read it again. I don't know what prompted my son to send this or what he was doing when he wrote it. He's a new father who is discovering how much a parent loves a child and what that entails. I also don't remember reading anything that touches my heart the way this simple, random text does. The years of pouring into, providing for, caring, loving, hugging, teaching, disciplining, laughing with, crying over, worrying about, not giving in or up; all those hours invested in David, summed up in one eight word sentence. There are no words to describe the fulfillment and joy it brings. Those raised in dysfunction, abuse, conflict, abandonment, addiction, fear, neglect, anger or the myriad of other human frailties that cause physical and emotional scars, can change the trajectory for your children. As imperfect parents we can still decide That stops here, whatever the That is, we can choose to not pass it on to another generation. By God's power and strength we can be the parent our child needs us to be. We can change. Be different. Make a difference. Forge a new family legacy constructed of grace, mercy, endurance, and forgiveness. God set the example. He too says, "Thank you for loving Me like I love my Son." He passed His love on by sending Jesus as the perfect sacrifice for us, and now "We love Him because He first loved us" (John 4:19).  David, now you understand how much you are loved by us and as a father, I hope you have a greater awareness of how much you are unconditionally loved by your Heavenly Dad. It's your turn to pay that love forward. All the accolades, money and material goods in the world will never take the place of a love heritage passed to a new generation. I pray, some quiet evening, years from now, when your season of parenting is over and your children are grown and gone, you receive a text like this one. This one line text message is what parenting is all about. This is a no regrets moment. "Thanks for loving me so I can love!" This is the ultimate reward. Psalm 127:3-5. "Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him. Children born to a young man are like arrows in a warrior's hands." Isaiah 54:13 "All your children will be taught by the Lord and great will be the peace of your children." Proverbs 17:6 "Grandchildren are the crown of grandparents and parents are the glory of their children.”
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I rarely remember my dreams, but the one I have of my son, Jon, is always the same. He is lost. He might be any age and in different surroundings but he is always lost. And I am always looking for him. And I can never find him. And no one around me cares enough to help me look. I hate this dream. I hate the panic and the helplessness of it. I hate that after thirty six years I still have it. I've come to believe this dream says a lot more about me than it does my son. Even though I have come to accept and love Jon for who he is, I think there is still a deep inside part of me that struggles with how this turned out. I had expectations. I wanted different. I wanted more.  I saw the same guilt-panic in my son and daughter-in-law while visiting them recently. Their newborn son cries, a lot. Better described, he screams. He balls up his little fists, kicks his legs, flails his cute little arms, turns deep shades of red and wails himself inconsolable. And they feel guilty. Why isn't he happy? What are we doing wrong? This isn't supposed to be like this. Parenting is indescribably wonderful and can also be overwhelmingly scary. Kids don't come with a step one, step two, step three, instruction manual like those for assembling a boxed set piece of furniture. Don't we wish it was that easy? Their manual is more like the one I recently received with a new small appliance I purchased, "Caution! Do not....," a list of warnings; I had to figure out how to actually use the thing on my own. Is it this button or this one? Does it take a battery or not? Hmmm.... All parents deal with some level of guilt. It comes with the job. Most of us don't know what we're doing when we start and those who think they do soon find out it's SO different when the kid is yours. It sounds good in the parenting book we read and the advice of a zillion experts we've heard, but now that you're up to your eyebrows in parenting, it's not that simple. All of us feel, at some time in the process, "I don't know what to do. I could have done more. I could have tried harder. I could have been better at that. I shouldn't have said that. I should have realized. I am failing/have failed my child." Parent guilt can worry about the infant who won't stop crying, worry about the teen who won't listen anymore and worry about the adult who is making wrong choices. Parent guilt can exhaust itself on extra activities, buys kids stuff they don't need and avoid disciplining a child who is desperate for it. Parent guilt sees failure rather than success. It sees the problem instead of solutions. It keeps our mind in a state of unrest rather than peace. I believe parents of children with special needs battle the guilt demon more than most. I hear it in the Facebook posts, read it in their blogs and see it in their eyes. We never feel we do/did enough. Maybe the next treatment, medication, behavior plan, professional or therapy will make a difference. We are a driven, guilt-laden bunch, always looking for another help, another hope, and another solution. The guilt twinge is real when I read about the person with Down syndrome who is getting married, or the one modeling on New York runways, or the one who owns a restaurant, or how about the guy with autism working for Microsoft? I have to remind myself that these are often the exception not the rule. On our best day we have no guarantee how our kids will turn out but they basically need what all of us long for: love, acceptance, boundaries, food, shelter and most of all, God. The greatest thing we can ever do for our child is help them understand the God shaped hole inside them, only their Creator's love can fill. The other best thing we can do is say I'm sorry when we mess up and forgive ourselves for being less than perfect. In spite of us, and maybe because of us, our children are quite resilient and they don't need perfect parents. What they need is forgiving and forgiven parents. Loose the guilt. It's a parenting accessory neither we nor our kids need. Love and forgiveness always win and inevitably chase the guilt demons far away. 1 John 4:18 "There is no fear in love but perfect love drives out fear.." Romans 8:1 "So now there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus for the law of the Spirit of life has set you free.." Psalm 127:3 "Children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward."
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I know someone who never stayed - for anything - marriages, children, jobs, family, friends. Offended? Leave. Conflict? Forget it. Difficulty? Run. Everytime. As soon as the next bump in the road arose (small, medium, large, mountains, molehills, anthills) it was time to run again. And again. And again. Burning every bridge until nothing was left. Then the Golden Years arrived. A time to reap the benefits of staying: Children. Grandchildren. Retirement. Relationships. Friendships. Money saved. Home owned. Travel. Wisdom. Influence. Respect. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but sad alone-ness, with barely enough to sustain an existence. Life's garden had become a barren weed patch with no harvest in sight.  Though it's never too late to start over, the rewards of staying aren't instant. They build slowly and mundanely over time, growing with consistency, routine, responsibility, trust, effort, plodding, endurance, work, sacrifice, discipline, selflessness. Days turn into seasons. Seasons into years. Years into decades. Decades into a lifetime. Of course, there are certain circumstances where staying isn't wise and it's beneficial to move on, but staying can never be based on feelings. It's a choice and often an act of love, paying great dividends, offering stability and bringing reward. Eventually. Jesus, on the night of His arrest, told His friend Peter, "I could call on my Father to send more than twelve legions of angels to help me now. But how would the Scriptures be fulfilled that say this must happen?" (Matthew 26:53-54) He stayed all the way to brutal death on a cross, all the way to, "It is finished." He chose to endure the cross "for the joy set before Him" (Hebrews 12:2). What was that joy? I believe it was restoring relationship with Me and You! He stayed for Us! In the short term, cut and run may look easier, but as a habit, it perpetuates an accumulation of poor decisions. The decisions of today become tomorrow's reality. Before quitting, be honest about the possible long term consequences. Take time to think and pray about the influence of this decision on tomorrow and all the tomorrows after. Never underestimate the power of staying. Plod on. Don't give in. Don't give up. Stick it out. Keep the faith. Stay the course. Sow the harvest. Enjoy the journey. And EVENTUALLY.. ..reap the rewards. "Success is measured, not by how we start, but by how we finish." ~ Mike Connis "Let us not get tired of doing good, because in time we'll have a harvest if we don't give up." Galatians 6:9 "And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom." Luke 9:62 "I press on toward the goal.." Philippians 3:14 "The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until the full light of day." Proverbs 4:18 "Matthew 7:24-25 “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock."
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Oh no! Are Tree's talking ornament friends going to miss Christmas this year? They're all back with a new Christmas adventure and another delightful family story to read aloud around your own 'Tree'. From our family to you and yours, Merry Christmas! Downloadable PDF: Tree's almost wasn't Christmas Reunion.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I left the library after picking up a book I had reserved. As I walked to my car I was suddenly transported back in memory to a time when my young boys and I visited the library every week. We'd go home with stacks of books and I read to them regularly. Dr Suess. Chronicles of Narnia. Little House On The Prairie. Silly books. Fun books. Historical books. Bible stories. Informational books. Series books. I wanted them to love books and words as much as I do (you can read about that here). I wanted to instill in them a love for reading.  Because I also enjoy music, our boys were exposed to it as well. We were in church a lot, so of course, hymns and contemporary choruses and worship music, but also other genres. We traveled to local concerts. Bill Gaither and the harmonies of the Gaither Vocal Band. Free symphony orchestra concerts in the park on summer nights. The New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra with invites by a friend who played violin there. Veggie Tales. The Donut Man. Ron Kenoly. The Blue Man Group. The Annie Moses Band and more. We brought a video home one day, "Yanni, Live At The Acropolis." David watched, mesmerized by the incredible solo of the band's drummer. He watched it over and over and decided he wanted to play drums. We bought a cheap set, put it in the corner of the basement and signed him up for weekly lessons. He was nine years old and took lessons for the next five years. Eventually he started playing at church and youth group. The year of Florida’s hurricane summer, 2004, the power was off at our house consecutively for twelve days. Besides cutting and hauling the mountains of trees that had fallen on the two and a half acre jungle lot of our Kissimmee home, there was nothing else to do but sweat. David pulled his father's old guitar out of the back of a closet and started playing. His love for creating music exploded from there. Our son grew up to love God, books, music and of course his wife, Clara, who is also an avid reader and book lover. They serve in several capacities at their church and Dave will soon be a published author and writes his own music, both lyrics and arrangements. (You can see all that here.) I like to think I had a little something to do with that. Though we never pushed becoming a writer or musician on our son, exposing him to these things gave him interests to explore and options to consider. If your children are small right now and time consuming and exhausting and wonderful and amazing and annoying and the myriad of things kids can be at any given moment, remember these few years you have to invest in their lives are incredibly influential and fleeting. You are not yet seeing the long term dividends of the repetition, the monotonous and the consistency of your faithful parenting, but know this, what is important to you will very likely be important to them and will definitely help shape who and what they become. Remember on the days it seems futile, when it appears you're child is not listening, when you wonder if they'll ever turn into useful humans... Don't. Give. Up. Don't wring your hands in despair. Pray much. Train up your child in the way he/she should go. Keep doing the next right thing. Expose them to God, His love, His word and principles and the beautiful and amazing things that still exist in the world. There will come a day when you'll have a memory triggered, as I did leaving the library last night, and realize… It was all worth it. Proverbs 22:6 “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I was packing for a week long cruise, the first real vacation Mike and I have had together in fifteen years. It was a celebration of forty years of marriage and a long overdue get away. Our good friends had made time in their busy schedule to stay with Jon and our youngest son and his wife were joining us. Though we were excitedly looking forward to this time together, it was another family event Jon would miss and I was, again, contending with guilt attacks and assaults of sadness. I sent my conflicting emotions to the back room of my mind and updated the long list of Jon care instructions, made sure his prescriptions were filled, printed out a medical authorization letter and remembered to leave his insurance and ID card and keys to all the places we keep Jon-locked. After boarding the ship I knew bringing him would have been a disaster. Too many people, long lines, moments of hurrying then waiting, decks that didn't go all the way through the length of the ship causing creative strategies to find our way around, debarking for ports and making spontaneous plans and last minute decisions for the day then hurrying back to the ship on time so it didn't leave without us. Transitions. Transitions. More transitions. Something Jon never does well. There were other moments when we thought of him. "Jon would love this," we said. The never ending buffet, the puffer fish shaped cup wheeled by on a drink cart, the magician at our dinner table doing coin tricks, the casino and it's never ending spread of pricey "video games", a giant floating hotel to wander through and him curiously and slowly poking in every corner, nook and cranny. As we sat together at dinner each evening there was contentment in this extraordinary setting. Even our little grandson was along, growing inside the swelling womb of my daughter-in-law. But one of us was missing. My family was incomplete. There are random moments in life that trigger twinges of loss, a mourning for what should, but never will be. We are forever fighting enemies of guilt, regret and loss and constantly rising to new levels of acceptance. Acceptance is defined as an assent to the reality of a situation, recognizing a situation without attempting to protest or change it. It is derived from a Latin word meaning "to find rest in." Some things we can't control or change, we can only accept, but it’s often difficult to find a place of rest in circumstances beyond us. Living out of the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' is pure misery and leaning into the, "Are you kidding me? I'm supposed 'to find rest in' this!" is hard work, but peace can only come with relaxing into the 'what is'. Even when life is great, it's still not perfect. On this cruise, we had to circumvent a hurricane and miss the most anticipated stop of the trip. While sailing on the far reaching edge of the storm, walking turned into a balancing act and we were woken in the night by rocking, rattling and clicking sounds and drawers, in our room, sliding open then thumping shut as soon as sleep came again. I was nearly attacked by a banana loving iguana on a Saint Thomas beach and every day was a bad hair day. But it was easy to overlook these uncontrollable situations in the anticipation and excitement of another sunrise and new adventures. Life sails on like a cruise. We board at birth and debark when taking our final breath. There are stops along the way, new places to explore, ports to experience. Some we appreciate, others not so much. Some we never wish to see again and others we hope for, but never experience when an unexpected storm changes the direction of our journey. There are long days at sea, as we're carried along, waiting, and trusting the Captain of our ship knows where we're headed and how to safely reach our destination. With God at the helm we are offered guilt free, acceptance-based cruising and a place to find rest in the storm. It’s the best way to travel and it’s never too late to book a lifelong trip. So don’t wait. Start now. Guaranteed, you'll love the adventure. "Jesus Savior, pilot me Over life's tempestuous sea Unknown waves before me roll Hiding rock and treacherous shoal Chart and compass come from thee Jesus, Savior, pilot me." ~ Edward Hopper, 1871 "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." "Come unto me..and I will give you rest." ~Jesus, Matthew 11:28~
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I opened my Facebook page this morning to pass along the exciting post our youngest son and his wife shared, announcing our first grandchild on the way (Yahoo!). As I typed a comment and hit the share button I noticed my post underneath, from last night, about being out with Jon and his roll of toilet paper that accompanied us to the pizza place. I usually don't give it much thought, then there are moments like this one, when the wide extremes of my life's norms, jump up and smack me right between the eyes. Webster's Dictionary defines normal as usual or ordinary; not strange. One child growing up, getting married and having his own children is pretty ordinary. The other child growing up and toting a roll of toilet paper to the pizza restaurant, standing in parking lots for thirty minutes before going inside a building, singing Disney songs to me at one thirty in the morning and the myriad of other unusual events that come with being Jon's mom, Mr. Webster wouldn't consider ordinary at all. As I scroll back through some of my older Facebook posts, I'm reminded that life with Jon is anything but ordinary and some of it seems downright strange, yet everything about him and this life we share with him has become normal for us. Occasionally, I'm sad, when I think of the usual milestones Jon's will never experience, but today the wide extreme depicted by those two Facebook posts made me laugh out loud. We live in a culture that is saying all experience, ideas and opinions must be either/or. And while it is true there are still absolute values, standards and morals, regardless of what culture thinks or says, my sons have placed me in a world that is both/and; the usual and the unusual, the ordinary and the strange, mixed together in a kaleidoscope of crazy wonder. Today, I smile, thinking of the unique joy found in living a life that is a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. I'm perched on it, hanging on tight, mostly enjoying the ride, with no clue what tomorrow will bring Maybe ordinary is overrated.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I met a Hero the other day. She is twenty five years old. She’s put aside her own hopes and dreams to care for a chronically ill family member. She's had to quit her job because the care needs are so time consuming. At an age when she should be having fun, dating, building a future, career or a family of her own, she cares full time for someone in need. She cries when no one is watching. She wonders what the future holds. She worries what will happen to her loved one. She worries what will happen to herself if something happens to her loved one. She feels guilt for wanting more. She doubts God at times. Her faith wavers even as she continues believing. She is a full time caregiver. Someone desperately needs her. She is there. She is learning at a young age the hardship and beauty of a laid down life. If you are a single young man you might want to consider a woman like her. She won't have much time to date, but she certainly knows about loyalty, selflessness and love; all the qualities that make a great spouse. She's the unapplauded in the background. One who performs the mundane today, tomorrow and the next day. But mundane is greatness when executed so selflessly. Those who are faithful in little things will be rewarded with much (Matthew 25:23, Luke 16:10). She will be honored for her faithfulness. Man may overlook. But God sees. He sees it all. He sees her. She is brave. She is strong. She is incredible. And He calls her Beautiful.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon's fine motor skills developed slowly as a child. At 18 months old, one of the recommended therapies of the early intervention program he attended was picking up Cheerios from his high chair tray to help him strengthen his pincher grasp. He struggled getting his little thumb and forefinger to work together. Cheerios accompanied us everywhere. He practiced eating them off the church pew during services, in the car from a cup, in high chairs at restaurants. I became obsessed with helping him learn to pick up those little O's and get them in his mouth and admit there were days I was sad or frustrated, sometimes both, that it was taking him so long to do what other babies did naturally. When David was 18 months old, he toddled to the cabinet in the kitchen where the cereal boxes were kept, opened the new Sam's Club size box of Cheerios and dumped its entire contents over his head. I found him sitting in the pile on the floor stuffing Cheerios in his mouth so fast you'd think he'd not been fed for three days. I remember being a bit annoyed as I cleaned the mess up and washed Cheerio dust out of his hair. As much as my boys were different, in other ways they were the same. Jon made a trip to the pediatrician somewhere between the age of 4 or 5 because he had a pea stuck up his nose. Obviously picking up all those Cheerios taught him the fine motor skills he needed to get a pea from his plate to the inside of his tiny nostril. David, at the age of four or five, arrived at the pediatrician's office with a piece of styrofoam stuck in his ear. I remember being exasperated with each of them both times. As I think back on this Mothers' Day, I realize, some of the most frustrating moments of raising children are now some of my fondest memories. Time has a way of softening the drama and exhaustion of motherhood. Time also has an uncanny way of changing everything. What was then an inconvenience and annoyance to my younger and impatient self is now a treasure stored in the safe box of my heart. Having and raising kids is an adventure like no other and we all have the same gift of time to experience our children's remarkable growth process. Jon can raid the panty and fridge on his own now and has no problem putting large amounts of food in his mouth on any given day. David doesn't stick styrofoam in his ears anymore but knows how to install it inside the walls of a house to keep the heat and cold out. Moms, if you still have young ones, I'd like to tell you, in the everyday exhaustion and insanity of mothering, don't freak out over the little things; but then I would be robbing you of some of the best memories to hold on to when your kids are grown. Just know this: if that thing they're doing frustrates you today, thirty years from now you'll probably think of it and smile. Time is precious. Time is fleeting. Time is a memory keeper. Happy Mother's Day!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Twenty five years ago today our second son, David, arrived. Our firstborn, Jonathan, came to us with developmental disabilities and before the end of his first year, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness and told it would worsen with any subsequent pregnancies. In light of all the odds stacked against us, we decided one child should be enough. I lived with daily pain and exhaustion and it was difficult taking care of our son; one who needed so much extra care and attention. Adding more children seemed overwhelming and reckless. That decision, though sensible, saddened me. But the alternative seemed too much of a risk and quite honestly whenever I thought about it; fear overpowered sadness. So I settled into an unplanned life of doctors, therapists, prescription drugs and special education. It was an enormous shock when we discovered, ten years later, we had another child on the way. Jon was in school, developing slowly but doing fairly well, and I was still dealing with multiple health issues. I was older now, and because I’d already had a special needs child when I was young and healthy, my first response to the news was overwhelming fear and tears. As time moved forward excitement and expectation emerged and then love for the child growing inside me. He may have been unplanned but he was never unwanted. And though the fear never left, I knew I would face, by God’s grace and strength, whatever the future offered us and this baby. The night he was born, I fought my fear battle with each contraction, but when the mid-wife checked him over, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s a boy and he’s perfect,” such relief and joy flooded through me I could barely contain it. God knew what I needed, even when I didn’t. David’s arrival did something for me that I’ve never quite been able to express. He was the piece of my heart puzzle I wasn’t even aware had been missing, until I held him. His arrival in our lives filled a gaping hole; an empty place inside my mother heart that I didn’t know I had until he was here. As predicted, my health problems became much worse after David’s birth but I didn’t care and I still don’t. I am thankful everyday for the gift of this son. His life has been worth every bit of pain and damage that has ravaged this fragile suit of flesh I reside in. Today, on David’s twenty-fifth birthday, he is distant from us in miles, but never in heart. He is fiercely loved and celebrated. And not just by us, but also by his wife, her family and many friends; so many others he has already impacted and touched for what is good and right in the world. David Micah Connis, is the best and happiest ‘accident’ we’ve ever had and we are unspeakably grateful to God who blessed us with such a wonderful surprise. Happy Birthday Son!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon wanted to go out today. I asked him by question written on my cell phone note pad, if he'd like to go to the movies. He typed back, "I do yes sir." That was affirmative enough so we drove to the theater, arriving at 3:50. The movie started at 4:40. At 5:00 we were still sitting in the car. I don't understand Jon's thing about sitting in the car. Anytime we go anywhere he stays in the car. While people all around us drive in, hop out and are often back and leaving, he hasn't even opened a door yet. How do you make a flight or doctor's appointment on time when the guy won't get out of the car? When he was little I could unbuckle him, grab him and carry him, but he's thirty four now. He should be carrying me. After all those years of dealing with his goofiness, I'm tired. I knew it would take another half hour to get him in the building if he did get out of the car. By the time we bought tickets, popcorn and drinks the movie would be half over. Who wants to fork over a quarter of a week's paycheck to see half a movie? And anyway, I just didn't have the patience for it all today, so I started the car, drove through McDonald's to get him some dinner and came home. He was another half hour sitting in the car once it was in the driveway. I put the seat back and took a nap. We spent two and a half hours in the car today, going nowhere. Some things in life you can never understand.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Jon's all time favorite movie is "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory". Following close behind is "Home Alone". Our first adventure with "Home Alone" started in the mid-nineties when we rented a copy, sometime during Jon's early teen years. After watching the movie, with its many theft prevention traps, Jon took it upon himself to become our personal security system. We lived in a three story house in New Hampshire at the time and Mike had finished the basement as a playroom for the kids. In the back corner of the basement was a door we rarely used and it opened to stairs leading back up to ground level and into the garage. I went to the basement to throw in a load of laundry one day and realized I needed to go out to the garage for something. Rather than go back upstairs and out the door off the kitchen, I opened the basement door and experienced a brief moment of horror as I watched the kid’s blue plastic snow sled, loaded with paint cans, come hurdling toward me. I screamed and slammed the door shut just in time to hear the thump, crash, bang of full and half-full gallon cans pile up against it on the other side. Jon had placed the sled at the top of the stairs, lined it with the paint cans he'd found stored on shelves in the garage and tied the sled's rope to the basement door knob. Although a great idea if an intruder was already in the basement, it wasn't about to keep one out. But It was genius and imaginative really, with no thought of consequence to the people he lives with, which has always been one of Jon's great deficits. We went though a phase of trepidation and alertness, following this "Home Alone" viewing. We would find small toys lining the stairways, door knobs drenched in cooking oil, dish soap or shampoo, marbles and jacks on the floor in front of or behind closed doors, a half dozen eggs lined up on the garage door bracing; when the door went up eggs dropped to the floor or on the car. It was unnerving We let Jon watch the movie again when he was in his late twenties thinking he may have matured enough to distinguish its fantasy from reality. The booby traps reappeared immediately. The other night Jon's caregiver told me Jon was reciting "Home Alone" movie lines to her. When I came out to the kitchen the following morning, all the Christmas balls had been removed from the mini-tree adorning the corner of the breakfast nook and were lined up under the window. There’s shampoo or something slippery coating his bathroom doorknob again, a curtain rod blocking the entrance to his room like a swinging railroad crossing gate on one end and dresser drawers blocking the door to his room on the other end. Jon is not allowed to watch “Home Alone”. We don’t keep it in the house, but I'm thinking he's found segments of it on YouTube and this is not good news. While the movie may be a classic family Christmas comedy, it's off limits in our universe. If you like us even a little bit, please don’t give him a copy for Christmas. And if you stop by, be vigilant. You could very well be Jon’s next “Home Alone” victim.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
The year 2004 was what I call Florida's Hurricane Summer. Four hurricanes plagued us in a span of about six weeks.  Exactly ten years ago today, Hurricane Charley, the storm that initiated the chaos, ripped through Central Florida. We were living in Kissimmee at the time in an older neighborhood with large lot lines. Our unique property, tucked away in a corner, consisted of two acres, a ranch style three bedroom, two bath main house with a pool and a detached, cozy one bedroom, one bath guest/in-law house out back, several sheds and a separate screen room where our hot tub lived.  The property backed up to a conservation area and was surrounded by lush jungle on all sides; thick Florida flora of wild palm trees, palmetto, gigantic oaks and hanging moss. Some people thought it scary and worried about what lived in those woods. Not me. I thought it was beautiful, until Charley. We moved to Florida in 2001 and had never been through a hurricane before, but as I looked out at all those trees, I began to wonder what they could crush if they started falling. The weather predictors vacillated for days over the path Charley might take, but when we finally knew the storm was coming for us, our family gathered in a tight circle and prayed for protection. Jon disappeared into his room and taped a paint stick perpendicular onto a yard stick forming a cross. He came back out and leaned it against the patio doors, his way of demonstrating God's watchful eye over us. He then went back in his room and refused to come out. I found him lying stiff as a board on his bed wearing a bicycle helmet, a jacket, and a pair of boots, clutching a flashlight. We'd had a new roof put on the main house a few months prior and fortunately never lost one shingle, unlike many of our neighbors, but the contractor forgot to nail down the three brand new skylights he installed and they blew off as Charley came barreling through. Rain was pouring into both bathrooms and the breakfast nook and it seemed as if the wind would lift the roof right off the walls. I ran to the storage closet and found some old plastic shower curtains and a large piece of clear vinyl, while Mike went out in the garage to retrieve his staple gun and an eight foot ladder. Wind was battering the garage door so hard he thought it would blow in. He quickly climbed over potted plants and outdoor furniture we had brought in from outside, to get to his tool chest. As hurricane rookies, we never thought about keeping the tool chest where it could easily be reached. Our son David, who was fourteen at the time, climbed up into those wide open ceiling holes in the middle of the storm to staple the plastic down. The pool solar panels had come loose and were flopping back and forth on the roof above his head. I held the ladder and prayed like a crazy woman for the panels to not slam through the roof opening and hit my son in the head, while the wind and rain roared around us.  By the time the storm passed it was dark outside and the power was down. We decided to wait until morning to go outside and access the damage. Neighbors went door to door with flashlights making sure everyone was alright. We didn't sleep much that night or the nights that followed It was a crazy, difficult time for many here in Central Florida. Our electricity was out for two weeks in the middle of Florida's hottest summer month.  But I learned to be grateful for things we Americans take for granted everyday: Water that comes from our faucets for bathing, cooking, cleaning, drinking. Without electric, our well pump was off and we had no running water in either house. I discovered how basic water is to human existence and realized I could live without many of the things we consider essential. I never want to be without water again. Every morning when I get in the shower and warm water runs over my sleepy body, I thank God for running water. Air conditioning in a summer climate that reaches into the mid to high nineties with humidity levels to match. The sheets felt wet when we lay down on them at night. The spices in the cupboard clumped into one large blob in their containers. We never sweat so much in all our born days. We all smelled bad, looked bad and were hot and miserable. I thank God every summer for AC. Garbage collectors became the most important people in the world. When all the food in the fridge spoils and there's no trash collector to come haul it away, it's not pleasant or pretty. Every week when I hear the trash truck stop at the end of our driveway I am grateful for those who do this vital work. Uninterrupted family time. Without TV, computers, phones or modern distractions we spent time playing table games by candle light, reading, talking and working together. David found Mike's old guitar in a closet and a hurricane catapulted our son's love affair with music into overdrive. He now plays, writes and arranges his own songs (listen at daveconnis.com). Safety of family and friends. Trees went down all around us, but the only structure crushed under a falling tree was one shed. It took months of cutting and clearing to rid our property of broken and fallen trees but my family, friends and neighbors were safe. No one was hurt. I am thankful everyday for the health and safety of those I love.  Looking back on it ten years later, Hurricane Charley is like the opening line in Charles Dickens' famous novel, A Tale of Two Cities. "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." I hope to never go through a storm like that again but here's what I know, storms of all kind come and go. No one likes them, but we learn our greatest lessons in the middle of them. If we hang on through the blustering wind and pelting rain, pray and trust God we come out on the other side.. Humbler Wiser More thankful And a little more storm proof than we were before. Nahum 1:7 (ESV) The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him. Matthew 8:23-27 (ESV) And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. 2 Corinthians 4:17 (ESV) For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
I arrived home from church yesterday, after a wonderful service themed around honoring mothers. My breakfast nook was bright with a beautiful medley of flowering plants in a pretty container-a gift from my husband.  A dozen red roses adorned my kitchen counter, a striking orchid was on display in the middle of the kitchen island, and my pantry was stocked with more tea flavors to add to my already ridiculous collection-a gift mailed to me from my youngest son and daughter-in-law; signs that I'm not forgotten on Mother's Day. After Jon's caregiver left, I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and peeked in. "Hi Jon, how ya' doing dude? We just got home from church." He didn't respond or look up. "Do you remember today is Mother's Day? How would you like to take me out for lunch today? I'd like to spend the day with you and Dad and I'm hungry. Are you?" I smiled even though he wasn't looking at me. Jon's face turned to a scowl, the one that could mean in this moment, 'don't bug me', 'I don't want to go', 'get out of my room' or something similar. But I know him well enough to realize he could change his mind if I leave him alone for a while. "Ok then, you think about it," I said optimistically, "and come out when you're ready but don't take too long because Dad and I are hungry now. If you wait too long it will be too late to go," I shut the door and hoped. Thirty minutes later I asked again and was met with the same response. As the afternoon went by I realized his closed door was a "No" answer so I put a pizza in the oven, made a salad and Mike and I ate a late lunch. I talked to a mom over the weekend whose only child is serving prison time. She tearfully told me how she raised him right, taught him morals, values and to put God first in life. She wanted him, loved him, worked hard to put him through private school and college and did everything she knew to be a good mom. But he grew up, made some poor choices and now both of them are living with those painful consequences. As she poured out her heart, my own broke for her. I began thinking how this mothering thing doesn't always turn out the way we want or imagine. What we really want and need from our kids, is the same thing they want and need, as children, from us. We want them. Their time, their presence in our lives, their love and maybe more so after they've become adults. Maybe as our kids need us less, we need them more. We want hugs, big ones, real ones, not those sent over distance, Facebook posts or text messages (though I'll gladly take those if that's all I can get). I appreciate the gifts, flowers, chocolate, tea and dinners but my deepest longing is to know, I'm not forgotten and my kids still love me - their flawed, mistake laden and very human mother.  Instead, some moms get a son in prison, a child passed away too soon, a miscarriage or infertility, a daughter who is estranged from them or a child like mine, who doesn't know how to express himself clearly. And for these moms, Mother's Day and everyday comes mixed with a bit of sadness. Jon finally came out of his room long after the sun went down. I was relaxing in the family room in my favorite chair reading and drinking a cup of my gift tea. He found his dinner in the fridge and scavenged around in the pantry looking for snacks. Then he came next to my chair and stood there, his eyes flitting back and forth from the floor to my face. I looked up and smiled. He smiled back then began singing an enthusiastic version of some Disney song while playing his 'air' guitar. He stayed near me smiling and singing nearly twenty minutes, glancing my way constantly to see if I was watching him. I knew what that meant. "I see you Mom and this is what I have to give you on Mother's Day. It's the best I can do. I hope it's enough." What I really want from him, he can't give me. What I need from him, he still needs from me; to be recognized, acknowledged, affirmed and loved exactly for who he is. There are no hugs, no sentimental cards, texts, Facebook posts, I love you's or gifts from Jon on Mother's Day but I receive with a little sadness and a lot of thankfulness the very best he can give me. A silly Disney song that says, "I know you're still here." My oldest son didn't take me out to lunch and my youngest son lives too far away and couldn't be here but I know I am loved, even when life doesn't play out exactly the way I hope, even when I wish for more. So for all the mothers whose special day tends toward a measure of disappointment... You are strong. You are resilient. You are amazing. Contentment is learning to accept what is and finding peace inside it. I pray you find God's peace and unexplainable contentment in all of your unique, painful and incredible mothering moments.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Thirty four years ago today, you came quietly into this world uttering barely more than a squeak to announce your arrival. You were adorable, our tiny firstborn child.
We had chosen another name for you before you were born but when we met you for the first time somehow we knew you were a 'Jonathan', so this is what we called you. Later we discovered this name means 'God's gracious gift'. Soon the doctor came with news. You were different. He told us you wouldn't be like other kids and would be delayed in growth and learning. I dreaded the sight of that doctor because his news was never good. His reports about you were all negatives, no positives. But here's what the doctor never told me, what he couldn’t know: •How your smile lights up my universe •How mysterious, charming, funny, resilient, observant, smart and grumpy you can be •How your every achievement feels like winning the lottery •How seeing life though your eyes change my perspectives •How you simplify my priorities and humble my heart •How 'perfect' and 'normal' are ideas by which I measure my own unrealistic expectations •How selfishness is continuously discarded from my life •How patience, compassion and kindness must always be practiced •How to let go, while still holding on to what matters •How to love unconditionally •How prayer is a life preserver •How trust and reliance on God are essentials The doctor never told me how profoundly your life would change mine. I guess he didn't know, couldn't know because he never had the privilege of experiencing you as I have. He couldn't see the positives because he's never had the opportunity to live them. Today is your birthday, and as we light the candles and celebrate; I now know that the real gift is you.  God's gift to quietly instruct, inform and adjust me into the person I am still becoming. Happy Birthday, Jonathan Michael Connis! I'm blessed to call you my son.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 I wrote this in 2007, the year our youngest son graduated from high school after years of homeschooling. He went off to college and is married now. If there’s anything I could say to homeschooling parents, I’d just want you to know that it’s worth it.
You can do this and it’s worth it! I took our son, David, for his final home school evaluation. Twelve years of hard work and endurance coming to a close. I never meant to home school from beginning to end, it rather evolved from year to year. I went into it reluctantly at first, feeling inadequate and overwhelmed, believing I did not have what it takes to teach my children all the things they need to know. But along the way we learned so much together, not just about math, science, history and grammar but about relationships, cooperation, flexibility, diligence, sacrifice, character and many other important life lessons. I learned a lot about myself. It has been an amazing journey. A seventy year old acquaintance once told me she was too old to learn anything new and didn’t want to be bothered with it anymore. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” she said. I disagree. As long as there is breath in us there will always be another discovery around the next corner, something new to try, uncover, understand and add to our brain cells and resume. Learning is an everyday, entire life experience and isn’t confined to an age, a room, a book or answers spit back out onto a test page. Learning is not limited to eight hours days, five days a week, one hundred and eighty days a year. In homeschooling we discovered the joy of spending time together figuring out answers to things we did not know, taking advantage of the tangents and tributaries of topics and subjects we found interesting and turning the events of every day living into teaching opportunities. It is now my firm belief; children do not need teachers or adults in their lives who know everything. Children need to observe adults still loving the challenge of taking on something new and digging for answers to the next question. Children need to know how to find answers for themselves so a love for life long learning is maintained. There were schooling and child raising days that seemed long and hard but now that it is done, the speed of the passing years has left me surprised and emotionally unprepared for how happily fulfilled yet sad I feel all at the same time. The flash cards, math games and bug boxes have been given away, the book shelves loaded with text books, notebooks and reading books are empty, the containers of categorized sea shells are no more. College looms in the very near future where our son will test his learning skills in a whole new environment. Raising children is a lot like reading a good long novel, you can’t wait to get to the end to see how it turns out, until you read the last page, flip the back cover shut and feel a wave of disappointment because the story, so intriguing and full of twists and turns, is over. There may be a bit of sadness that this story is over but there is no regret for how it ends. I will look back on these years for the rest of my days with satisfaction and joy. I gave it my best and, in spite of me and maybe even because of me, our son turned out alright. Now that we have closed the book on this stage of life, I wonder what new challenge and discovery waits just ahead, certainly something new to marvel at or to uncover. I hope to prove that a willing old dog can continue to learn new tricks and getting older doesn’t have to be boring. In the meantime, I will be thankful every moment after David has left home for all the good years we had learning together. No matter where he goes or what he ends up doing, nothing can change the bond that those years formed between us. And when I think about that, I understand what the phrase ‘no regret’ really means!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
As Jonathan gets older it seems he wants to go out less. But on this particular day, he manages to get himself dressed in something he hasn’t slept in the night before and decides to be a member of society at large. Mike and I wait in the car about twenty minutes while Jon gathers a paraphernalia of items he likes to bring along when he goes anyplace; odds and ends of sticks, string, old shoe laces tied together, toy swords, a glove for one hand, an old cell phone, used chop sticks or whatever strikes his mood for the day. He eventually gets in the car, but not until he stands next to it with the door open for several minutes allowing all the air conditioning to escape into the ninety three degree humidity. He slowly eases his behind inside and settles onto the seat. Now we are sweating. Another minute or two goes by until he shuts the door. I notice he has no shoes on, so to hurry things along, one of us goes back in the house to find them. At last everyone is in the car and a collective sigh of relief ensues. We are, however, not ready to leave the driveway just yet. Jon doesn’t talk much, not to us or anyone else (he will, however, talk to himself for hours on end), so he writes notes. His notes are similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics. He prints words like they must sound in his brain, which include some backward letters, missing vowels and consonants. He will start sentences in the center or at the extreme right edge of the paper and quickly run out of room. From there the words can go anywhere - above, below, even vertical and as they pile up and around each other, it becomes almost impossible to decipher their meaning. It takes a specialist trained in decoding ancient languages to figure out what his message means. We are working toward greater proficiency all the time. After struggling for about five minutes or more to translate his cryptic communication, we figure out that he wants steak and shrimp. No better place for that than Outback Steakhouse, especially since Mike is an avid steak lover. The seat belt is the next issue. We should refuse to leave until he puts it on but this can add another five to ten minutes to our wait time. By now we are over an hour into this dinner out and haven’t even left the house yet! As we head down the driveway and out of our neighborhood, I silently thank auto makers for indicator alarms in twenty first century cars. We know from experience that after the seat belt signal beeps at least ten times at thirty second intervals, Jon will comply with its demand. He is not a big fan of loud repetitive sounds. Finally we are on our way! Most people drive to their destination, park their car and get out of it immediately. I know this because I have lots of time to watch them do it. Most people are usually in a hurry to get where they are going but Jon is not most people. It takes him forever to get in the car on the leaving end and just as long to get out of it on the arriving end. His slower than turtle speed can be maddening if you’re on a schedule. We try to ignore time all together when out with him and think in terms of eternity. On this day, however, car exiting is going to be longer than usual, if that’s even possible. Mike pulls the car into a parking space near the restaurant door and informs me he is going inside to get us a table. “OK,” I say, “I’ll be in with Jon as soon as he get’s moving.” We both know what that means. No sense in everyone suffering through waiting for Jon. Sometimes Mike waits, sometimes I do. We attempt to be fair about it and take turns. The temperature inside the car begins a quick ascent back up to ninety. I sigh and lay my head on the seat back, watching people pull in, turn off their cars, jump out and disappear into the restaurant. I’m thinking, Wonder what that’s like? The elderly man with the walker is moving faster than us. Jon hasn’t budged an inch yet, has barely blinked. I talk to myself: Just be happy that you don’t have to cook dinner tonight, Diane. Stay calm, be thankful. The car is heating up so I open my door. Jon is finally rustling around and that’s a good sign, a start at least. He reaches down to the floor in front of him and up comes a long length of thick, black shoelaces knotted together, which he begins to tie high around his waist. After fumbling with that for a few minutes a piece of red nylon netting appears (used as a chair float when fitted over a swimming pool noodle). Jon throws the netting over his left shoulder and tucks the corners underneath his shoestring belt in front and back. Over the right shoulder goes a power chord unplugged from a piece of electronic equipment in his room. He tucks that under his belt too. Then he puts a bright orange visor on his head and a piece of stiff, bright red ribbon is pushed inside it just above his right ear. It’s protruding straight up like a singular antler over his head. Lastly, another piece of red ribbon is tied on his left ankle over top of his bleached white sock. I watch all this in increasing disbelief, as each weird item is added, thinking there is no way on earth I’m getting out of the car with him in that getup! After living with Jon all these years it takes a lot to embarrass me but I still have a miniscule thread of dignity left. At least twenty minutes has passed now and he’s ready to get out of the car. He does a final recheck on all his gear and reaches for the door handle. I abruptly pop the power lock button down. “Jon, there is no way you are going in there with me, looking like that. It’s not Halloween today you know.” Immediately his body stiffens and his face turns to the all familiar scowl which indicates he is not in agreement with my opinion. From there the power struggle begins. I spend the next twenty minutes attempting to talk him out of wearing his ‘costume’ into the Outback Steakhouse, going so far as removing some items off his person while he attempts to grab them and put them back on. We’ve been in the car close to forty minutes now and our skirmish isn’t over yet. I’m sweaty and hungry. My cell phone rings. It’s Mike. “Why is it taking so long for you guys to get in here? “He asks, “I’ve already ordered the appetizer.” Really? You’re asking me this question AND eating appetizer without me?! “It’s a long story,” I try to bury the irritation in my voice, “But if you want to come out here and see what he looks like you’ll know why. Hang tight, I’m hoping we’ll be in soon” I finally manage to talk Jon out of the shoulder wear, which I stuff in the back seat pocket, hoping for an out of sight out of mind moment, and decide if I ever want to eat we can live with everything else. The shoestring belt, the ankle ribbon and the orange visor with the ribbon planted in it are still intact. We get out of the car and I quietly slip up behind Jon, carefully removing his red ribbon ‘antler’ hoping he won’t notice. No such luck. He spins around and glares at me. “Sorry, Jon, but you look a little bit crazy with that thing sticking out of your head. You can wear it when we get back in the car.” I shove the ribbon in my pocket and the scowl returns to his face. Jon freezes momentarily and I can see the wheels whirring as he attempts to process what he’s going to do about me, this annoying mother who keeps messing up his wardrobe plan. At last he turns and starts walking along the front of the building. As he heads toward the door, he reaches down into the shrubs and snatches the longest piece of thick, red bark mulch he sees, returns to an upright position and triumphantly shoves it in his visor where the ribbon was, just above his right ear. Now I’m glaring at him! I throw my hands up in the air, “I surrender,” I say out loud to no one in particular and then to Jon, “Come on let’s go eat.” We eat dinner with the shoestring belt, ankle ribbon and bark mulch visor, but the story doesn’t really end here. It never does. What happens once we are actually inside the restaurant is a tale for another time. But let it go on record that on this particular day we leave our driveway around 4:30 pm and we arrive home around 10:30 pm. The only place we visit is the Outback Steakhouse, which is fifteen minutes from our house. A word of warning to anyone who might want to join us for an evening out, when we bring Jon along, better come in your own car!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
 Click here to download My Merry Christmas gift to you is this delightful, family story of talking tree ornaments and a Christmas Miracle. Great for kids from 2 to 102! Turn on Tree's Lights, curl up on the sofa and read it out loud, together. :)
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
In the late 1990s a children’s fantasy movie, The Borrowers, was released.  The story, set in a home in England, features a family of tiny people who secretly live behind the walls and under the floor and ‘borrow’ items from the humans also living there. I’m convinced they are real and live in our house. A few days ago, I reached for the broom I keep in the linen closet of the master bath, so I could sweep the floor after I dried my hair. Gone. I needed my kitchen scissors to open a bag of almonds. Missing. I looked in the drawer for the cheese slicer to serve some cheese and crackers with lunch. Not there. Useful items grow legs and disappear around here regularly. A friend had been missing her reading glasses for several months. While she was visiting one day, Jon came out of his room with a pair of glasses on his head. She points to Jon and says to me, “Hey, those look familiar, are they yours?” “No,” I reply, “they’re not mine. I don’t know where they came from.” Surprise, surprise! They were hers. I find random items in Jon’s room all the time: the wooden dowel handle that screws into the toilet bowl plunger, bills that need to be paid, blank checks from our checkbook, a makeup brush that goes with my blush, the manual for the car from the glove box, Mike’s neckties from our closet and various kitchen utensils, to name just a few. Recently I invited some mom’s and their kids over for a swim day in our pool. There were keys, sunglasses, phones and open tote bags full of things scattered around everywhere. Jon decided to help himself to two pair of kids flip flops that weren’t any bigger than his hand. It’s not like they would fit him and he’s always hated that thingy that goes between the toes. Who knows what goes on in that noggin of his? During David’s high school graduation, each graduate was encouraged to write a one-line acknowledgement to their parent(s), family or friends which was placed in a PowerPoint presentation and projected on several large screens during part of the ceremony. Sweet sentiments scrolled across the screen accompanied by the student’s name who penned them: “Thanks Mom and Dad for all your support,” “I love you Grandma, you’re the best,” “Couldn’t have made it through without you, Friend.” “God bless you Teacher, for all you did for me.” The crowd ooo-ed and awww-ed as we watched the quotes marquee across the screen and waited for the one meant for us. Finally David’s popped onto the screen. “It’s in Jon’s room!” was all it read, in a big, bold font. As the crowd mumbled in bewilderment all around us, we burst into fits of laughter. For all the years David couldn’t find the essay he just wrote, homework and test papers, notebooks, pencils, pens, assignment books and algebra calculators, the answer to the question... “OK, where is my________?” ...was always, "Go look in Jon’s room.” The answer to that question has never changed. If you come for a visit and are missing a few things when you return home, we know the first place to look. By the way, I found the stick to my broom...guess where…? Jon’s room. And the broom itself… behind the recliner in our bedroom. Like I said...who knows?
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
According to statistics the average divorce rate in America hovers around fifty percent and forty-three percent of children growing up in America today are being raised without fathers.
One sure thing statistics and common sense do show is children need their dads. I understand there are often circumstances beyond control so my goal is not to heap guilt on anyone. Most parents can create plenty of that on their own.
But since today is Father's Day I want to salute all the dads who make the mammoth effort to be in their kids lives, love them, raise them, teach them, and support them (divorced or not). You are more significant than you will ever know.
The ones who stay for the long haul are those who make the difference. Those who are a constant in the life of a child forge that life into something deeper, stronger, without major gaps and holes.
Some statistics point to higher divorce rates in marriages where a child with a disability exists, although there are conflicting reports over the actual numbers, the added stress it brings to the family can be challenging. But my kid's dad stayed, through it all.
Our youngest son is grown and out of our home now, but my husband is still here, helping me find Jonathan when he wanders, staying home with him so I can go and do, and dealing with the craziness and blessing that having a forever child responsibility in life brings.
Mike has been an anchor the boys and I have counted on over the years to pray, work hard, provide, instruct and love. He dragged kids around in the family van, took them on business trips when it would have been easier to leave them home. He's endured are-we-there-yet car trips and paid for diapers, doctor bills, hamster and guinea pig food, bicycles, broken windows, braces and college when he probably would have preferred a newer car.
He's stuck around for the sleepovers, home schooling, speech therapy, school IEP meetings, Special Olympics, Legos, music lessons, guitars, drum sets, skateboards, paintball, the learners permit and mom's melt down days.
My Kid's Dad has taught us much about the value of plodding, loyalty, hard work, spending money wisely, being fair, keeping your word, treating people right and living life with integrity, honor and faith in a loving God who created us.
It's has been and still is a wild ride, but he hangs on tight and keeps us moving forward.
So today I want to publicly honor you, Michael Connis. You are my kid's dad and you are amazing.
Thanks for staying.
Thanks for never giving up on our nutty, wonderful family!.
We love you. Happy Father's Day!
Proverbs 20:6 (NIV)Many claim to have unfailing love, but a faithful person who can find?
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
When our son and his wife arrived for a Christmas visit with their dog, Sammy, the unsuspecting canine was immediately greeted by our kitty with a hiss and claws, slap on the nose. Cola Cat has never shared her domain with anything but humans and like most felines, considers herself queen of her kingdom.
She has free reign in the house to come, go and be wherever she pleases but right now, Cola is a very unhappy kitty indeed. Since the dog showed up, she has planted herself on top of the book shelf in the office for hours at a time, hardly coming down to eat. Her life has been put on hold, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty.
Whenever Sammy comes into view Cola’s ears flatten and her eyes dilate to round dark discs as she glares at him with fear and contempt from her high perch. Her limited assessment of Sammy convinces her that he is big, dangerous and best kept at a distance. She doesn't see him as we do, as one of the mellowest and quietest dogs we have ever met. He watches Cola with tail wagging longing, like a kid who wants to make friends but isn't allowed in the neighborhood club house.
As I observe this, I consider all the times humans see God as someone threatening, someone to tolerate or even fear. We face loss, hurt or a hard place and suddenly God is blamed. Our safe and secure little spot in the world is disrupted and we are angry, disillusioned and afraid so we pull away while God waits with longing for us to trust more, to lean harder, to love deeper.
I doubt our sulking kitty will understand, before Sammy goes back home, that she missed a potential opportunity to make a new friend, but I am certain that I don't want to be like her;cowering, withdrawn and sullen, into the corners of my life whenever things don't go my way. If I define God’s character based on my circumstances, I will see Him as unjust and distant instead of someone who waits with a longing heart and loving arms for me to come close and find the comfort and friendship He alone can give.
Jesus invites us to “Come to Me..for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and..find rest for your soul” (Matthew 11:28-29). Today, I release all fear, all disdain. I choose to come close to Him and discover all my soul longs for.
James 4:8 Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
One of my favorite ways to preserve an abundance of green and/or yellow beans: Wash and boil in water 6 pint jars (do a few extra in case they're needed) with their lids to sterilize. Empty water out and set aside. I save empty jars (from jam, pickles, peanut butter, etc) and reuse them. Sometimes the tops can be reused too if they aren't damaged and have a rubber seal inside. If not you can buy the Ball brand canning jar tops at the store that fit pint jars with standard size openings. Add to each jar: 1 clove of garlic 1/8 tsp pepper 1 TBSP dill weed or 3-4 sprigs of fresh dill ½ tsp whole mustard seed Wash, drain and trim ends off 2 lbs. fresh green beans; leaving beans whole. Lay the jars on their sides and pack the beans upright and tightly, into them. Then heat to boiling: 2½ c. water 2½ c. white vinegar 2-3 tbsp. salt 1- 2 tsp of sugar (I use a Truvia packet) Pour this hot liquid into each jar leaving ¼ inch of space at the top. Place lids on tightly and put jars in a large and deep pot of hot water. Make sure the water covers the tops. Bring water to boil and process 10-15 minutes. Remove the pot from heat. When cool enough remove jars and let stand on a towel to cool completely. When the jars are totally cool check the lids for a tight seal by pressing on their centers. If there is no movement when pressing they are sealed. Sometimes you will hear the lids pop when cooling. That's a good sound and means the lid just sealed. If you have a jar that doesn't seal it will need to be kept in the fridge and eaten sooner, otherwise store beans in a cool place away from direct heat. They taste better when they've sat a few weeks and had time to absorb all the flavors. YUM!
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by: diane.connis@gmail.com
In 1985, while living in New Hampshire, we heard of a small church in a small town, south and slightly west of Portland, Maine, that needed a pastor. Mike was asked to fill the pulpit on rotating Sundays until this congregation could find someone permanent. The first Sunday we were there, a couple who attended the church invited us over for lunch. From that day until this, some twenty eight years later, Earl and Pat have impacted our lives in ways I would never imagine. Like all of us, I’ve had innumerable acquaintances and friends over the years, but I’ve discovered that there are only a handful of folks in life that spark a connection that is both immediate and deep. From the moment you say, “Hello, my name is….” they are destined to be indelibly inscribed on your heart. This was the instantaneous bond that took place between Pat and I that Sunday, with no regard for the twenty years in age difference between us. As circumstances would have it, we became pastor of that small church for a time and moved to Maine. Our friendship with Earl and Pat deepened and evolved past the norm. We became family, though we don’t share a drop of natural blood. Being part of God’s family, with the precious spirit of Christ coursing through our veins, while sharing life together made us family in every way possible. By the time Earl retired from his trade and took up another occupation on Catalina Island, off the coast of California, we were moving back to New Hampshire. The miles between didn’t discourage us though. There were many trips, criss-crossing to wherever we each happen to live at the moment; California, New Hampshire, back to Maine when they finally returned to New England and then to Florida following our move here. After months or even a few years of separation, it was as if we had never been apart. We just picked up where we left off and expanded the bond of love even further. Earl and Pat accepted and loved our oldest son, born with special needs and all the challenges that presented, without hesitation. Pat was with me when our second son was born and watched him come into the world. They gladly became substitute grandparents to our boys. Pat helped and encouraged me through years of struggling with severe rheumatoid arthritis, even while she was dealing with chronic illness herself. She was there for me when my mother passed away. We have carried each other through many sorrows, cried together, prayed together, laughed hysterically as often as possible and rejoiced together in times of joy and celebration. I write this on a plane, flying back home to Florida after visiting my beloved “family” in Maine. I am now the age Pat was when we first met and Earl and Pat are getting along in years. Pat has health issues that make it difficult for them to travel like they once did, but as the years pass, our love for one another remains immovable, solid, strong. We are not given the option to select the family we are born into and even though we choose our friends, I believe God directs our steps and the details of our days. He ordains certain people to come along side and walk with us and they decide whether to remain in our lives or not. The few that stick it out through all our stuff are true jewels. Those who see and know us as we truly are, in our strengths, weaknesses, faults, failures, through the better and worse, and keep coming back, are the genuine treasures in life we all hope to find. These rare gems outshine all others, just like the beautiful sea glass that my children used to uncover, hidden in billions of stones on our favorite Maine beach. Pat has filled many roles in my life - as needed: friend, sister, mother, grandmother, counselor, comforter, caregiver; but most of all she is the true definition of family and because of her and Earl, I and my family have been blessed beyond measure. At this moment, while I contemplate the mystery and delight of our long lasting friendship, I am aware that I am inept to adequately express my gratitude….. So I just say, to my beloved friends, from the very depths of my heart……I love you and thank you for being my family. Proverbs 17:17 (The Message Bible) Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble.
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