So, I'm in a time of transition … blah, blah, blah. I'm tired of talking about it (and writing about it) which means you are probably WELL past being tired of hearing about it. I've been a little doom and gloom and mournful over all of this loss and change - which, to a certain extent, in normal. But in the midst of all of the good-byes, I've kind of lost sight of who I am and what is important to me.
I am still a writer. I write everyday. Sometimes its a few words about the end of Friday Night Lights via Netflix (every time I watch that series on Netflix I mourn the final episode like it's the first time) on Twitter. Other times its a note in my kids' lunchbox or a text to a friend who comes to mind. But most days I journal as I read the Bible and sometimes I share those tidbits on Instagram or Facebook. And I am still plugging away on my next book. Writing is important to me. It keeps my mind sharp and curious. It feeds my soul and awakens my heart.
I am still a wife and a mom. Mr. Awesome rocks my world. I love his humour, his heart for justice and his focus on family. He is my best friend and a gift in more ways than I can say. I get to be his partner and helpmate, as he is mine. Together we get to lead this ragtag band of hooligans known as The Forbes Five. We get to dream, laugh, teach, play and live together. How awesome is that?!
I am still a church-girl. I love church. I love all the crazy, messy, lovely people who gather each week to learn more and love better. I love that I am accepted, that I am one of the crazy, messy lovely people. I love that church gives me lots of opportunity to learn and practice grace, to serve others and to take huge heart risks. I love that I don't have to be perfect to show up. I love that church is family.
I still love people. People are the most amazing, resilient, bizarre creatures on the planet. I love how every person has a story to tell, that we can learn from each other. I am intrigued by what makes others tick, what awakens their deepest heart dreams and what disappointments they have weathered. I love connecting with folks and hearing their crazy because I have some crazy, too. I love that every soul as a secret place of gentleness and a deep place of untapped possibilities. I love that we are all so unique yet crave sameness in each other. I love that you can know someone for your whole life and still they are a mystery - a beautiful, familiar mystery.
I am a Jesus-girl. I am found. I am free. I am chosen. Some of you readers don't get this, and that's cool, but in this relationship with Jesus I found the deepest sense of peace, belonging and purpose. I know thatHe loves me unconditionally and I trust Him with my everything. Life bites sometimes but I am never, ever alone. I can feel the comfort and strength of Jesus near me even in my darkest times. It is His hope that keeps me moving forward in the midst of loss and heart ache. It is also His joy that swirls around me like a force of nature and causes me to laugh into the stormy winds of life. I am just Jesus' type of girl.
I feel life our life has been tossed up in the air and now we are stuck in a Matrix moment where everything is suspended and we aren't quite sure where everything will land. And although that freaks me out a bit, I know that my feet are firmly placed in my trust in Jesus, I am surrounded by people who love and are willing to be loved, my heart is full of my family and I have words, lots and lots of words, to share.
If we all did the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves. — Thomas Alva Edison
My mom has several awards of recognition from her professional life. They are these hand blown glass tear-drop things. And she has four. To look at them as individuals they all look the same. Clear, pear-shaped with little air bubbles trapped in their core. But when you line them up, side by side, you can see the inconsistencies.
One is tall and almost a perfect tear-drop but it has more air bubbles than the shorter one beside it that leans slightly. The shortest one is bottom heavy but has the most interesting shaped air bubble right at its core and the fourth one is a perfect cross section of the other three but with three bubbles stacked neatly on top of each other. Individually they all looked the same but lined up together you can see the unique beauty in each of these ornaments.
We are just like these wee drops of glass.
A couple of weeks ago, I stepped out on a limb and applied to be part of my 'friend' Jen Hatmaker's launch team. She has a new book coming out in August (For the Love) and she invited her blog followers to apply to be one of 500 lucky gals who would receive an advance copy of her new book so that they might use their social media presence to promote the pants of her book. I, sadly, was not chosen … and neither were 4500 other Lovelies.
It was disappointing but not earth shatteringly so. I received my consolation prize of four (FABULOUS) sample chapters and was prepared to move on. But then this thing happened. The Unchosen took to twitter and began tweeting with the hashtag #The4500. And then they created a Facebook group. And then more than 400 of the 4500 joined the group. And then we got to know one another. We shared snippets of our own life stories, we shared blogs, we shared our love for Jen. It was awesome!
And then something wanky started to happen. We were all their, beautiful in our own individuality, yet now lined up side by side. The comparison thing started to happen. A few Lovelies felt 'less than' for not being chosen as one of the 500, a few felt "not a funny" as others … not as popular, not as experienced, not as deep. Some felt messy, chaotic and undeserving. Others elevated Jen to an impossible-to-maintain position of greatness (don't get me wrong, love me some Jen Hatmaker but she IS just a regular gal after all).While there was much love in this wee band of Jen fans there was also a lot of insecurity beginning to surface. And just when I was feeling uncomfortable and contemplating stepping out of the group our gal-pal, Jen stepped in.
A couple of days ago Jen popped into the group and tok in some of the threads. Like I said, much of what is one this page is funny, kind, uplifting and community building but there were also some very disappointed folks (me included, I may or may not have consumed more Jolly Ranchers than necessary following the Unchosen email) who were questioning their worth. This is what Jen had to say …
"Morning, friends! We are almost at the 400 member mark! All the feels.
You know what? Let me tell you what you are NOT: You are not the "B Team" or "Junior Varsity" or "the rejects." And you don't have to declare that "you will be heard." You already ARE heard! You are already amazing in your place. Your influence is as strong and powerful as it ever was.
The whole message of For the Love says there is not a better than or less than in our community. WE ARE ALL IN. Honestly? For me, there is really no "launch team" and "the rest of us." We are all on the same team. We really are. We are ALL for grace and community and courage and love. We are all reading parts or all of the book in advance. We are all IN THIS TOGETHER. This is not a tribe of scarcity. There is enough to go around, and every last one of us is ENOUGH.
So no more B Team talk. You are my A TEAM. I adore you! I adore this sweet community forming! I am so grateful for every encouraging, kind, funny thing you have said to me and each other. What a joy you are! Let's stand up together and take our place...love you, sisters!"
And this is why I love her! This is the message of her heart … and it is the message of mine as well.
We have been designed as individuals and the purpose in coming together is not to point out our flaws or short comings but to highlight how uniquely beautiful we each are. Alone we may appear 'just like everyone else' but it's in Together that we see how our individuality compliments the uniqueness in others. We are in this together … we are in Together. Together.
Uniquely beautiful together!
Let’s just say amongst ourselves that we will silence the bossy, mean voice telling us to BE MORE AWESOME and instead we will obey the other nudges, the ones that lead us to love and life and peace and generosity and God and people and rest and gratitude.
We are back in our hometown - at least our bodies and our clothes are. Everything else is still in our house an hour and a half away. We have loose ends all over the place that makes it tough to be settled but we are trying our best. We are awkwardly stumbling through our new routine and making a niche, each of us where we are. In truth, some of us are having an easier time of this than others.
The kids, so far, have hit the ground running. They love their new school. They have each made friends, have joined a variety of extra-curriculars (yes, I am literally living in my van these days!) and are genuinely happy to be here.
Mr. Awesome loves his new job but this new job won't be his for much longer. Last week he was offered a promotion that will take him away from some of the most dangerous parts of his job (yay!) and into the office most of the time. He starts his training in a couple of weeks and he couldn't be happier.
I, on the other hand, have absolutely no plans, no routine and no sense of what I am doing here. I had taken a term position with a not-for-profit but that didn't work out. The job description changed drastically after I started and became something that I didn't enjoy and didn't really have the skill set for. It was disappointing but the director and I parted as friends and I still whole heartedly believe in what they are doing as a foundation. So, that being said, I am here … with nothing to do.
That's not entirely true. I have laundry and bathroom cleaning and kid driving and meal making and coffee drinking but I have no occupation. I have an empty space where my job used to be. I miss writing curriculum, planning object lessons and meeting with my team. I miss teaching my Buddies on Sunday morning and high-fiving my volunteers as the last kidlet walked out the door. I miss that life. I miss having no empty spaces, no moments to spare. I miss the feeling of a full life.
Last Thursday, as I was laundering and coffeing I was also praying, reading my Bible and listening to podcasts. I was looking for answers for The Big Question: What's next? I hadn't been sleeping well and frankly, I was not very pleasant to live with. The not-for-profit job was not going well and I knew I'd have to have a chat with the director soon. I was also having trouble finding my rhythm with the new book I was working on. The outline and concept had come so easily but I had completely stalled out. I was stalled and panicking. And cranky.
This is where I was when I decided to lock myself away in my room, fold mountains of laundry and listen to some Sisterhood podcasts. As I folded and prayed and listened I realized that I was afraid. I was afraid of not having a job description, a title and a purpose. I was afraid that I had thrown away my one chance of being relevant. And then I realized I was being a ridiculous control freak.
The message I teach more than any other is that God sees us, knows us and loves us. His thoughts are always towards us therefore we will never be forgotten. I teach this, I write about this (see my previous blog post) and I do believe this. It's just that I am human and prone to dramatic over reactions in times of uncertainty. I sometimes forget the very truth that God has engraved on my heart. He created me, he chose me for a life with Him and He calls me His very own. He's got this.
So as I stood in my bedroom, folding clothes and weeping, I prayed the prayer that is my mantra, "Lord, make me uncomfortable. Keep me from settling for a life less than your best. Not my will but yours - however that looks." It's a scary prayer, its a humbling prayer and its a prayer of surrender. It's the prayer that reminds me that I'm not in control and, in fact, it's better this way.
I have a lot of empty spaces in my life right now. A lot of holes where busyness and purpose used to fill. Where commitments and obligations fought for top spot. These empty spaces aren't really empty, though. God has reserved them for The Next Thing. He is readying these spaces, and my heart, for whatever comes next and in the mean time I have to remind myself to surrender and to allow God to fill these empty spaces in His way and in His time. I have inklings of what this might be but The How and The When are complete mysteries … and I am choosing, moment by moment, to be okay with that.
But for now and for always I pray ...
Lord, make me uncomfortable.
Keep me from settling for a life less than Your best.
Not my will but yours - however that looks.
Thanks for loving me always.
You are so very good.
Amen.
Pray prayers that scare what's scared inside you. ~Lisa Bevere
This morning my cousin posted this picture of me and her mom on Facebook.
This is one of my all time very favourite pictures of myself. I was three years old, on a motorcycle, at my grandma's house, being held by one of the kindest people I knew - what could be better! I was perfectly blissful!
Fast forward 35 years and life is not always so blissful. I'm not three years old therefore sailor suits are no longer a viable fashion choice for me. My uncles are now all too old - I mean, mature - to ride motorcycles. My grandma passed away several years ago and with her she took her strong but soft hugs, the patented smell of dough rising in the morning that permeated her home and her top secret recipe for the perfect perogy. But I still have a life full of kind people who are willing to hold me when life gets rough.
I like to think that I like change, that I can go with the flow, that I am easily adaptable but that's just SO not true. I can adapt but its never easy or comfortable and the only time I go with the flow is when I become to exhausted to fight the current. I hate change. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm a control freak and I like knowing what comes next but that's not always possible. In fact, most times of change require you to jump into the abyss without knowing exactly where you will land.
Mr. Awesome and I are packing up our Wee Band of Renegades and returning to our home town. We've thought about this a lot and over the past year it has become clear to us that it is time to return. But let's be clear, we are returning to a familiar place but we are not going back to where we were.
So much has changed in our life during the nearly five years we have lived in this Wee Manitoba Town (oops, its a city now!). For those of you who have followed our journey, you know the trials, heart ache, difficulties and challenges we have faced. You also know the joy we have known. You know the victories, the friendships, the random hilarity we've experienced. You, Faithful Reader, know the change, the complete transformation of heart and mind, This Random Mother has undergone. You know that I am not now who I was then. I'm not. And I can't go back. I don't want to go back.
When we first made the decision to return to our hometown I went into Utter Internal Panic Mode. I was terrified that I would automatically go back to the life I had and the person I was five years ago - and I don't particular care to do that. To be honest, I stayed internally panicked for weeks until I had an epiphany; I don't have to be anyone but who I CHOOSE to be.
Now, that's no real great epiphany really but it did remind me of something I heard a wonderful author and speaker say at a conference last fall. I had the privilege of hearing Kay Warren speak about her journey as a mom of a son who committed suicide and how she could still choose joy in the midst of the most heart wrenching circumstances. She said that this decision to choose joy is made easier when you remind yourself of what you know to be true, what you knew before life broke your heart and shook your foundation. In my notes from this session I wrote, God is Faithful. He sees me. He knows me. He loves me.
That's what I know.
I know that God is faithful. Even when I can't see or understand what is coming next, He is faithful. Even when life doesn't make sense and my heart is breaking, He is faithful. Even when I can't seem to think clearly enough to make a sound decision, He is faithful. Even when the change before me is terrifying and so unknown, He is faithful.
I know that God sees me. I am not invisible. I am not insignificant. I am not expendable. My heart's desires are not trivial. I am not replaceable. I matter. He sees me.
I know that God knows me. He created me. He intricately formed me with all the gifts, talents and sense of purpose I need to do what He created me to do. He knows my strengths, my weaknesses, my insecurities and my dreams. He knows me.
I know that God loves me. I am precious to Him. I am in His thoughts, my name is inscribed on His hand, He is always watching out for me. His love for me never runs out, never gives up and is never selfish. He loves me.
This is what I know. I know that change is scary but God is faithful. I know that people judge by what they see on the outside but God sees right into my heart. I know that because He sees right into my heart, He knows everything little thing about me. And even though He knows every little thing He still loves me. Deeply, Endlessly, Unfailingly. God is Faithful.
So, what I know reminds me that even in the midst of Big Scary Change I can still choose joy. In the midst of heart ache and uncertainty, I can still choose joy. In the face of All That is Unknown, I can still choose joy because God is faithful. He sees me. He knows me. He loves me.
God is faithful.
Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life; the quiet confidence that ultimately everything is going to be all right; and the determined choice to praise God in all things. ~Kay Warren
Yesterday, Mr. Awesome was on the phone with someone and they asked him how my book sales were going. Mr. Awesome said the sales were going really well and then he tried to move the conversation forward but the person on the other end of the line would have none of it. They wanted details.
"So how many books has she sold? How much does she make per book? Has she been invited to speak anywhere or do radio interviews? How successful is she, really?
Annoyance battled with insecurity for a few moments and temporarily, insecurity won. The truth is my book sales haven't been stellar. Most of those who have purchased books have sent very encouraging messages and have often bought a few more copies to give as gifts. My small but mighty band of readers have been super supportive but I'll be honest, I am a little disappointed at my sale numbers. Feeling down about my sales led to a time of self flagellation at my lack of marketing.
I've joked with friends that I wrote this book in the privacy of my own home and it would be nice if people had the decency to read it in the privacy of their's instead of expecting me to sit and sign and talk about my book. I know that this is completely unrealistic. That's not how this thing goes (and for the record, I do enjoy meeting readers). First you write then you promote. That's the drill. But as you, my dear faithful readers, know I am dorkified through and through. I am awkward and squirmy when it comes to self promotion and the dreaded Accepting of Compliments. I find this Promotion of The Book thing really, really hard. It's unnatural to me yet it's the next thing I must do.
So with all of this neurotic emotional baggage hanging around my neck I asked myself the questions, "How successful am I, really?"
…
…
…
I WROTE A DANG BOOK, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
I wrote a book. I sent hours locked away in my room like some kind of half crazed hermit. I drank boatloads of coffee and survived on crackers and grapes (food you can easily eat while typing) for months. I read, reread, edited, revised, screamed, revised again. I contemplated commas, inserted a million forgotten hyphens and agonized over titles, introductions and acknowledgements. And most of all, I prayerfully considered each scripture and each word that I used to lay out the message in my heart. I poured myself onto paper and then handed it over to the masses (and by masses I mean 200 friends and family) to read.
I wrote a book.
So, yeah. I'm successful. The most successful writer ever. I have joined legions of Most Successful Writers Ever who have taken the time, the effort and the heart to bravely follow their passion to write. These courageous souls have not only started to write a book but they have finished writing a book. Starting is scary but finishing is impossibly hard. Every book you hold in your hand in the dream of someone's heart - a dream they had the perseverance to walk out into reality. They just did it (a la Nike).
And so did I.
We gauge success by a million bizarre measuring sticks. Size matters when talking success. Size of house, size of office, size of bank account - but do these things really measure success? I don't think so. Does a huge office bring you peace? Does loads of cash bring you friendship? Does a fancy title bring you love? Not really. I think it's the intangible things that are the only real marker of success. Are you at peace with what you have done? Do you feel a deep sense of well-being and assurance that you have done what is right?Yes? Great! You are successful. Anything that comes after peace is just gravy.
If you have a dream in your heart you can't be worried about success, accolades or criticisms if you want that dream to be a reality. You just have to do it. Just do the work to move the dream forward. Take the time to plan it out, prepare yourself and then do the work. That's success. Doing. Followed by peace. A sense of accomplishment. Pride in knowing that you saw that monumental thing through. You did the thing you were scared to do. You finished it.
You succeeded.
The price of success is hard work, dedication to the job at hand, and the determination that whether we win or lose, we have applied the best of ourselves to the task at hand.
At the beginning of last school year Crafty became friends with a boy in her class, Spark - and she was thrilled! He had many of the same interests as her and they shared the same off-beat sense of humour. They enjoyed spending time together at school, talking and joking about their favourite movies and books but in October of that year they hit a road bump in their friendship. They had a disagreement about a favourite book and that disagreement turned into a fracture in their friendship.
The resource teacher sat down with Crafty and Spark to talk things out and from Crafty's point of view, even though her pal was clearly wrong, this didn't have to be a deal breaker in their friendship. She felt that they could agree to disagree and move on. And they tried to do just that but every time they disagreed about anything Spark would go back to that first disagreement as proof that they were never friends.
By Christmas they were no longer on speaking terms. More than that, their disagreements had turned physical. Spark had started accusing Crafty of staring at him, following him and spreading rumours about him. He would (in Crafty's opinion) randomly yell at her in the hallways. And Spark had started jabbing Crafty with pencils, kicking her knees out from under her as she stood at her locker and shove her as he passed by in the hallway. And Crafty was responding with the same intensity - and hating herself afterwards.
Again in January, the resource teacher, the principal, Crafty and Spark sat down to try to resolve what was going on (I had called the school and talked with Spark's parents too by this time). Crafty laid out her complaints and asked Spark to just leave her alone. Crafty committed to minding her own business and staying away from Spark and asked Spark to do the same. Spark then said all sorts of ugly things about Crafty being stupid, a freak and deserving whatever she got because she had been gossiping about him, saying things about his family and using racial slurs. Crafty was confused and hurt and angry about these allegations as she swore she never said any of the things she was accused of.
At this point the school felt the situation was he-said-she-said and decided to have an EA with each of the kids most of the time they were at school. But the situation continued to escalate. Crafty came home from school regularly angry, bruised and hurt. She was repeatedly attacked in the school hallway (one time a pregnant teacher stepped in between the students as Spark punched Crafty in the head twice and another time the resource teacher had to hold Spark back and tell Crafty to run, for her safety) and I was constantly at the school looking for answers and help for my girl.
Daily, Spark would humiliate, yell at or make threats against Crafty. Crafty, with the support of her EA, stopped responding to the threats and attacks. She had developed the heart-breaking habit of never looking up for fear of accidentally glancing in Spark's direction and thus causing another assault. Spark continued to make threats, violent threats, against Crafty. He repeatedly threatened to stab her, taunted her by letting her know that he knew where she lived and bragged to other students that he had her terrified. Spark told me, in front of the principal and resource teacher, that he planned to stab Crafty enough times to hospitalize her but not kill her. And the more Crafty tried to avoid him, the angrier and more persistent Spark would become. He would watch her come down the hallways, looking for an opportunity to yell at her, hit her or attack her - and then blame her for it.
Crafty survived til the end of the school year and we spent two months trying to figure out how we were going to proceed in the new school year. We hoped that two months off school and away from each other would allow things to cool off but when the school year started so did the attacks. Three times in the first four weeks of school Spark came to Crafty's locker, screamed at her for being a stalker and a creep and then physically attacked her. After the third attack, with Crafty bruised and scratched, the new school administrator finally understood the severity of the situation.
And then it happened again.
For 16 months Crafty lived (and still lives) in terror of Spark. It has changed how she sees herself, her community and her place in the world. She alternates between blaming herself for bringing these attacks on herself (as she has been accused repeatedly of provoking these attacks even though witnesses and video surveillance proves otherwise) and being furious at Spark for doing this to her. Crafty never goes out alone. She doesn't go for walks or bike rides, she is afraid to go with me to the grocery store for fear of running in to Spark or his parents (on two occasions Spark's dad has yelled at me in public for not keeping my kid under control, for allowing her to provoke his son into these fits).
We are shocked. Angry. Hurt. Outraged. Disgusted.
Are you?
Oh - just one thing. This didn't happen to our daughter , Crafty. It happened to our son, Dude.
And Spark is a girl.
Are you still angry? Or did the gender reversal catch you up a bit? I respect the school and principal who worked with the kids last year. And I understand that when you are mediating situations nothing is ever black and white but I wonder if the situation would have gone on this long if the roles had been reversed, if Dude was the perpetrator and Spark the victim. I wonder if it would have taken so long to get to the truth, if Dude would have been given as many allowances and second chances despite continual violent behaviour . I wonder if Dude would have only received single day suspensions for attacking a female student - unprovoked - in the hallway. I wonder.
My point in sharing this is not to blame the school or any individual but to put a spotlight on our biased and our double standards. I saw this video on Facebook and it got me thinking … would I have done all the same things, trusted the school to handle the situation, kept the police out of it and given the same advice if it was Crafty and not Dude in this situation? I don't know.
Actually, I do know. There's no way I'd send my girl into a situation like that for 16 months. I would have jumped in with both feet much earlier. I would have protected her better. I would have advocated for her harder. And, I believe, I would have been heard earlier.
We all have bias. We all look at the world through our own life experience and perspective. We all have been affected by social norms and niceties. We all have bias towards and against things. That's just who we are.
But we can all change.
What if the boys in this video had hit the girl? What if they had kicked, spit or slapped the girl? Would you have been appalled and angered? You bet! And I would have too! But what if this video showed a group of girls being asked to hit a boy? Do you think they would have responded with the same gentleness as the boys did? Maybe. Would you have been outraged if they hadn't? Possibly. Maybe. Maybe not.
All I'm saying here is that we should question our perspective. Challenge ourselves to stretch equality both ways, to provide protection without bias and offer respect regardless of gender stereotypes. If we want our boys to grow to be men, real loving, caring, responsible, respectful men then we need to love, care and respect them as boys.
And if we want our girls to grow to be strong, independent, confident women then we need to teach them that violence is weak and meanness is a cop-out. True strength is born in character, not force and confidence is birthed in caring. Kindness is cool. Kindness is beautiful. Kindness is strong.
I've thought about blogging many times over the last few months but I just couldn't. There was so much to say that I couldn't say anything. So much to think about that my mind was blank. So much to feel that I was numb.
On October 23 we learned that there were no more treatment options available for my Dad in his fight against lymphoma and on November 23 he passed away. During those short 30 days we spent as much time as possible as a family. We celebrated an early Christmas, had waffle brunches, played crib, joked and cried. We made the most of our time together and it was so not enough.
Since his death we have all been moving through life, lop-sided and fragile. We have lived and breathed, laughed and cried, celebrated and mourned but all in a kind of daze. Grief is like a weighted, too-small blanket. You struggle against it, try to stretch it to cover you, hide you from the world but in the end you are left lugging it around. It only covers parts of you, the most fragile and broken bits. The rest of you is left raw and exposed. You try to act 'normal', you try to live as you once did but nothing feels right. Nothing is right. It is wrong to love someone so much and miss them so much.
It's just wrong.
Yet there is life. And legacy.
Dad was a funny, strong, loving, protective, gentle soul. His heart was full. He was wholly devoted to and madly in love with my mom. He loved, instructed and debated with us girls with intention and affection. He beamed with pride at the mention of his grandchildren. He was a faithful friend, a loving brother and a doting uncle. He loved in gallons.
This is his legacy.
He taught us how to love, how to be family. He showed us what friendship, forgiveness, dedication and affection looked like in action. He was an example of integrity and intelligence. He lived his beliefs everyday - all day. He was proud of our country, our heritage and looked forward to our future. He was intentional in how he raised us and in how he related to each of his grandchildren. He had dreams for each one of us and he spoke them, prayed them daily. His faith wasn't a Sunday morning thing. It was a moment by moment relationship with His Creator. Family first. Heart family or blood family, either way, family is family and nothing is more important.
Dad is deeply missed with every second of every day. we wear our grief but we are also his legacy. We are walking, talking proof of the strength of his life. We are all he dreamed of in life, all that really mattered to him. So we live on. We live - well. Just as he taught us.
