Holy Ground

I've never seen anything

So astonishingly beautiful

As your radiant face

Worshiping

Face down 

Bowing in utter submission

Hands open

In complete trust

Tears stream down puffy cheeks

(Mine, not yours)

Little drops finding well-worn rivulets

Of familiar ground 

But really, just barely

This is just barely familiar 

Barely similar

You are laboring there.

In labor.

Deep breaths

Guttural groans

Waves of agonizing pain

Like I did with my babies

The ones who breathed

And cried

And pinked up in the end

This is no passing of tissue

And grieving a lost lifetime 

Imagined for a few weeks

(Which is its own deep, real loss.

Don’t get me wrong.

I sent five lost loves on ahead of me

In that way. 

Each one loved.

And released 

With a name

And many tears.)

But this.

This is different.

Oh, my precious daughter 

You have prepared for

Bought clothes for 

Rearranged life for 

A new life for all of you

Now a family of three

Heart breaking,

You free fall in terror

And trust

Into your Father’s strong arms

Where Deaniebaby already is

You are closer to both now

Than ever

In this sacred space 

© 2025 Laurie Sitterding

The Last Time

The last time I held your hand

Could have been today

Had I been brave enough 

to reach out

and feel the cold.

 

But I wasn’t

And now you’re gone

 

Were they careful when they carried you away?

Respectful?

Was there honor and reverence at the privilege

Of bearing the bones

Of so great a man

On his one last journey?

One last car ride.

One final trip. 

 

From my quiet corner

I watched the birth kids hold

the cold hand.

And kiss the cold, yellowed brow.

And brush the full head of magnificent hair.

One last time.

One last sob.

One more deep, guttural groan of grief. 

 

I stood silent in the corner

Willing myself to watch in wonder

In spite of your breathless chest 

And your ever-smiling eyes 

Shut tight.

No furrow in the 90-year brow

At all

Anymore 

 

(What do you now know that we don’t?)

 

I, the one who came to this family late.

Taking his name… your name.

 

In law.

What a phrase.

So transactional.

It could never capture what it is to love a man

And then be invited into his family.

Loved like a daughter.

But not quite.

 

Of course, not quite

the same.

Not really the same at all

as the one who is bone of your bones.

Flesh of your flesh.

The perfect reflection of the perfect one you chose 

all those years ago.

Who departed all those years ago

And left you with her mirror image 

growing up 

before your eyes.

 

You loved me the best you could

As the one who stole your son

Then made him a father

And you a grandfather

And then a great-grandfather

 

I loved you deeply.

Fiercely.

And with not a little frustration, at times.

Just like you loved me.

 

I wanted the last time I had held your hand 

to be when it was warm.

Gnarled, curled fingers

Wrapped around mine

Squeezing a thank you you could no longer speak 

 

That’s the hand I will remember. 

 

And the one that reached out into the air

Grasping for things unseen.

Trapped between two worlds 

And ready to go 

 

I don’t know who I was that day

When you reached out and buried your hand in her hair

And caressed her head with such tenderness

But I will remember that hand 

Buried against my cheek

And weep 

© 2024 Laurie Sitterding

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I process things in poetry. Always have. The heavier the thing, the stronger the drive to take to stanzas and verse. 

For the last 11 weeks we have been on a rollercoaster ride with our dear Opa, through two big falls, two brain bleeds, one brain surgery, lots of hard work and physical therapy, lots of wishes to leave this earth and go home to be with the Lord. It’s been exhausting to lose this summer (entirely—like I didn’t even notice it pass, because it was filled with working and visiting Opa, and little else). 

The details of the journey are unimportant, but the final end is that he passed into eternal glory yesterday, 11 weeks to the day after the first of two falls. I will miss him every day of my life until the end of it. He was a constant fixture and presence of wisdom and wry humor and smiling eyes and a deep, gruff voice that greeted me always with “Moooorrrgen,” whatever the time of day. I am just beginning to process what it means that he isn’t here, though I have imagined the day for over a decade, since his beloved wife departed earth ahead of him, and far too soon. Indeed, the Smiling Eyes have joined the Delightful Laugh on streets of gold. In fields of green. By quiet streams.

This is the poem I wrote, using this month's writing prompt for Poets Online—to use the phrase "the last time" in some way. It was chosen for publication. I wonder if Opa would have been proud... or maybe just a little bit embarrassed. 

Rest well, fine sir. I miss you every single day. I know I will see you soon... for "what are days and weeks and months and years," really?

Quiet Miracles

My near-daily walks with these little guys is one of the quiet (though not unrecognized!) miracles of my life right now. Four generations of us—some combination of iivo and me, my dad, EV, Ronald, and these little boys—traipsing around this neighborhood we’ve lived in for most of the last four decades. Paired with three dogs and a large double stroller, we’re quite the scene, I’m sure!

The Last Day at the Beach

The Last Day at the Beach. That's the title of this achingly beautiful song from William Ackerman. I can't listen to it without getting wistful. This year's family reunion beach week has been the first year that we have had more high school graduates among our children than not... four to three! One of my daughters is married, and her husband joined us this year. (Welcome, Ronald!) One of my sister's daughters is engaged, and her fiancé joined us this year, too. (Nice to finally meet you, Crawford!)

There's been lots of fun and feasting... sunburn... beach volleyball... ukulele... feasting... rain... Avengers and Jurassic Park (must. get. ready. for. sequels!)... feasting... Taboo...  Nanny's cakes (coconut, chocolate chip, rum, and poppy seed)... new pups ("Finley and Chewie, meet the cuzes!")... biking (and even a bicycle built for two!)... feasting... donuts from Duck Donuts on National Donut Day... skim boarding... freezing produce... "Farkle!"... boogie boarding... feasting... hot tubbing... coconut rum fruity drinks and Mike's hard lemonade... The Dugger Interviews (isn't the world talking about anything else?!)... feasting... shopping... reading... Pictionary... corn hole... rain... feasting... Heads Up! charades (thank you, Ellen!)...

The list of fun memories, far from complete, makes me smile... and I list it to keep me from crying. Every year, as the week comes to a close, I am amazed at how quickly it has flown, and how fleeting time is. Our children are growing, and we are growing old, and there's nothing we can do to slow the hands of time. Another fun week is coming to a close much too soon, and we ignore the approaching goodbyes that will inevitably prick our eyes come morning. Goodbye, Beach Week 2015. (Such fun you've been!)

Until we meet again next year...

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*Entry 6b, June - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge 
The title is that of William Ackerman's song by the same name.

On a Bicycle Built for Two

These two sweet cousins get together once a year, during our annual beach week family reunion getaway on the NC shore. They've been almost inseparable for the entire week, every summer that I can remember--and this year they even got to go biking on the same bike! Such fun!!

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*Entry 6a, June - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge 
The title is from the classic children's song "Daisy, Daisy" (aka "A Bicycle Built for Two").

We Read the Story That Started It All

This morning I am up before the rest of my family, praying for them as we begin the new year. During 2015, in addition to the fun and challenge of "putting off" something together, we're taking up the mantle of family solidarity in a much more significant way, as well. This year, we are "putting on" the daily habit of time in God's Word and journaling.

Although spending time reading God's Word each day has been a goal for each of us every year, this year we are shamelessly bribing our children to remain consistent by offering them money—and family pressure—to get it done. We figure there is no greater investment we could make in our children's lives than to help them establish a no-matter-what, it's-just-what-I-do-every-day habit of reading the Scriptures and writing about it.

To that end, we put forth this offer—printed and laminated into a book mark—and placed it in their stockings during the Christmas festivities:

The front of the card:
“But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”    - 2 Timothy 3:14-17
***
“How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, O Lord; teach me your decrees…I will not neglect your word.”
- Psalm 119:9-12, 16b

***

The Offer: Read your Bible and write in your journal daily for all of 2015, and we will give you $200 to spend as you like. Miss one day and you forfeit all of it.

The Challenge: Every day. No matter what.

The Benefit: “I’ve never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God. I’ve never met a weak Christian who does.”      – Ben Stuart

“Practice Round”: Starting tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, you may begin. On New Year’s Day, when you officially start this challenge, if you’ve succeeded, you will receive $20 toward a nice dinner out together as a family.

The back of the card:
“I’ve never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God.  I’ve never met a weak Christian who does.”    – Ben Stuart

Journal-Writing Tips
·         Write the date at the top of your entry. I also like to include the time that I am writing, in case I write more than once per day.
·         Write the reference for the Bible passage you read that day.
·         Write something meaningful to you that’s on your heart—either at this season of life, on this particular day, or in response to this particular Bible passage.
·         You might choose to begin with something like one of the following:
- “Thank You, Lord, for…”
- “Lord, please help me with…”
- "This verse makes me realize…”
- "I really need to…”
- "I’m struggling with…”
- "I’m struck by…”
Note: Most people find it easiest to stay consistent with a devotional time if it is done first thing in the morning, upon awakening.

The “Proof”: You will show that you met the conditions by your word, and by having a daily entry in your journal, dated and showing which Bible verses you read that day. These entries are between you and the Lord alone. We won’t read them.

The “Rules”: Your entries may be as long or as short as you like, but the goal is daily time in the Word and prayer. You must write an entry each day, and you may not create an entry for a day you missed on a different day.

The cheap Ollie's calendars on which we'll keep track of our daily progress.
One is for the four of us here, one is for PT back at college,
 and one is for EV (and Ron!) when she gets married in February.

This is a bit of a bittersweet pursuit for us, learning the habit of daily journaling. We've all been given a front-row peek into the personal journals of our dear friend Mark Rodriguez as his mother, Leigh Ellen, has been publishing excerpts of them online in the form of near-daily encouraging devotional thoughts. (See God Is Super Good.) Mark, one of our son PT's best buds, was tragically killed in a random shooting as he drove home from his school's graduation ceremony last May. While this experience has rocked our faith community, where Mark's father is pastor, it has also served to strengthen so many of us in our walks with the Lord. As this was what Mark was all about in life, we know that he is rejoicing, even now, that it is still being accomplished here on earth while he resides in heaven.

Won't you consider joining us this year in our daily pursuit of time reading the Bible—God's very words to us—and in capturing our thoughts through journaling? We are so looking forward to growing in our faith and faithfulness this year! 

After all, consider this, from Ben Stuart: "I've never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God. I've never met a weak Christian who does." May we all be stronger Christians this time next year because of the time we've spent with Him every day in 2015!

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*Entry 8, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the Christmas song "Daddy, Won't You Read It Again" by This Hope.

Home for Christmas

While googling for lyrics to "I'll Be Home for Christmas," I came across this haunting—and hauntingly beautiful—song. It strikes me as desperately sad. The young woman singing has become disappointed and disillusioned, we can presume, by the relationship that took her from her old home to a new one. This year, she just wants to go back home for Christmas, where people know and love her, and she's not "more like a stranger" with each passing day.

My fervent and ardent prayer this Christmas is that my children will never feel this way! Yes, I want them to know how deeply and unconditionally they are loved. Yes, I want them to have deep and precious memories of a childhood well lived. Yes, I want them to always feel supremely welcome here. But after they've left our home to begin life with a new person in a new one, never, never do I want them to feel more at home here, than there!

As bittersweet as it is to walk through this last Christmas of having our sweet EV at home, I release her with all blessing to her new home. Next Christmas—ten months on the other side of her wedding this February—I'll be thrilled to see her as much as I can... but when she isn't here with us in these four walls...that's when she'll be home.

May this never be:

Careful what you say
This time of year
Tends to weaken me
And have a little decency
And let me cry in peace
But there`s a place where I
Erase the challenges I`ve been through
Where I know every corner,
Every street name
All by heart
And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year

I`ll pack my bags
And leave before the sun rises tomorrow
`cause we act more like strangers for each day
That I am here
But I have people close to me
Who never will desert me
Who remind me frequently
What I was like as a child

And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year

I don`t know what my future holds
Or who I`ll choose to love me
But I can tell you where I`m from
And who loved me to life

And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home this Christmas
Let me go home this year

---------

*Entry 5, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
This blog post shares the title of the song "Home for Christmas" by Maria Mena.

We Had Seasons in the Sun

As I read this post from Shauna Niequist this morning, I was filled with nostalgia and family memories of summers gone by on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  We don't have our own little island, and our memories don't house conch fritters and row-boat rides, but I loved reading about her precious times with her family, and the million little memories that have stacked onto one another over their years of visiting the same place, together.

Ever since my parents scraped together the funds to buy a piece of heaven-on-earth when I was in high school, we've been able to stack memories, one on top of the other, of yearly summer weeks spent together.  And Memorial Day.  Labor Day.  Cold winter weekends to get away during the off-season--just you and some folks you love sharing nothing in particular, but doing it together.  Retreats for church women--that much-needed get-away for harried young mothers, afforded only because of the generosity of my folks.  I doubt they knew all they were providing when they made that purchase all those years ago.  My family has precious memories I could never have afforded to provide--not even once, let alone year after year--because of the generous provision of two parents who gathered the generations by the seashore every summer.

Thank you, Mom and Dad, for providing us with this blessing for all the years of our married life!  Our family trips to the NC shore are precious to me.  I'm full of precious memories with precious people over many precious, fleeting years.

From quiet, carefree, joy-filled days getting to know each other as husband and wife... to a tiny newborn sleeping in a drawer... setting up sun tents for sandy, sleeping infants (who no doubt have sand clutched in their teeny fists)... fits thrown at bedtime, or when it's time to get out of the hot tub... little cloth sun hats that cover tiny heads and necks, and shade little pudgy cheeks...  toys and games in the owners' closet, like old friends who meet us for a once-a-year visit...

Fresh fruit and veggies from Powell's on the way in... little pink, sunburned cheeks... meltdowns on the back nine as we play putt-putt past bedtime... sandcastles... working on puzzles together in the hot room with the ice machine... little girls fighting over who has to sleep on the trundle bed... MuMama's blue beach chair... Tripoly... making t-shirts together at that cool clothing shop... stopping for BBQ buffets... looking for shells and sea glass in the cool of the early morning...

Stepping on Pooh guys by the upstairs wood table... fireworks on the beach... chasing sand crabs in the dusky twilight... five little girls always pairing up to leave someone "out"... that bouncy, green cart with yellow wheels, full of shovels and buckets and coolers and all manner of fun... the respite of shade under a colorful umbrella... Rummikub... watching the neighbors' illegal firecrackers catch the dried sea grass on fire--and having to call the fire department!... Cabin Boy... bike rides to the pool... a buried body with a sandy mermaid's tail... honey buns for breakfast... Yahtzee... boursin... spying on feral cats from the balcony...


Lazy naps in a hammock... having to take turns with boogie boards and skim boards and huge, floating rings... offering your great-grandmother an arm on the walk to the ocean... knowing your great-grandmother--and I mean, really knowing her...

Taking refuge in a dark theater on yet another rainy day... Lighthouse bagels... late-night neighbor-partying keeping everyone awake... little fits and tears over sunscreen in little eyes... swinging on the swing set by the community pool... sunburned ears or feet because someone forgot about coating them... "Ssssh!  Aunt Nita's still asleep on the couch!"... early morning walks through Pine Island...

 
Looking for a bargain at the "all merchandise 50% off" spots... adding whatever is needed to the community grocery list... baths in Nanny's big, jetted tub... "reapply!"... dear dogs running on the beach, which may just be what doggie heaven is like now for Huckie and Zach and Little and Winston... guitars and fiddles and ukeleles...

Skinned elbows and knees from bike-time wipeouts... a huge lazy Susan... a row of bikes heading to the grocery store or to get Duck Donuts... Nita's spaghetti, and Nanny's pound cake, and MuMama's banana pudding: the tastes of beach week... "and now we're having fun writing songs with the fam..."

"There will be a day when memories will be all we have," said Shauna Niequist.  Tears spring to my eyes as I consider how true this is.  I think of many people I have loved, those I can now only meet in my memory.  I know the time is short... with our parents, one of whom is already passed from this life to the next.  With our children, one of whom is already pledged to another, beginning to dream about what life will look like when "home" isn't the same place as my own four walls.  I cry for my pastor, whose son was unexpectedly snatched from them a month ago by a gunman's stray bullet.  I cry for my sweet friend Jeanine, who entered her final rest from her courageous battle with cancer just 36 hours ago.  I cry for their family members and friends, who now visit with those they love only in memories.  The time given us is short, and life is fleeting, and in a matter of moments we have to say goodbye... whether we were ready to or not.

I am driven to a desire to live each moment to the fullest--in connection--and to never waste another precious moment of life fighting or arguing or taking those I love for granted!  I am driven to a desire to capture memories better than I do--more pictures, more videos, more snapshots of daily-day life with those precious ones who live in my circle, at least for this day.  I am driven to a Savior, who comforts my pain--and that of my friends--and who has made a way of lasting comfort and joy for me: that I may know Him in this life, and that I may know Him--and my loved ones who also know Him--forever in the life to come.  "Now this is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent" - John 17:3.

"Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever" - Psalm 23:6.  And until that day, may I live life deliberately, like one who is "stealing against the inevitability of time," and loving every minute of it I'm given.  Thank you, Shauna, for the reminder!

*Entry 7, July - The 12 Months of 2014 Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the song "Seasons in the Sun," recorded by Terry Jacks, and then by the Beach Boys, and then covered by many others.  It is an adaptation of Rod McKuen's lyric poem, which is itself an English translation of a French one, "Le Moribond."