Wheels Within a Wheel

When Seth crafted this folksy sculpture for me, back in 2009 or 2010, I doubt that he was aiming to materialize Ezekiel's vision. But that's what it has always reminded me of...along with all four of us siblings.

I was so touched by his gift, its originality and thriftiness, his creativity, and his craftsmanship, that I couldn't stop praising him for it and exclaiming how much I loved it. He was visibly surprised by my response, and I could tell that he had not seen it coming. The attention embarrassed him a bit, and I felt bad for putting him on the spot. I toned it down, attempting a more subdued, yet still genuine, compliment. I told him that he could make and sell his wall hangings on Etsy, but he drew back from the idea. To him, it was a gift only; not something to market to the public. I offered to do all of that stuff for him, but I really should have just zipped my lips and enjoyed the moment without turning it into a business pitch. 

He had put so much of himself into the work of creation...I couldn't help but adore him more for it. He was honest in giving it - not seeking praise or attention, but only seeking to show love for his big sister, whom he knows appreciates arts and crafts. He was startled by my reaction, and I was startled that he didn't think more highly of himself because of his handiwork.

Well, when I flew back to Portland I hung it up in the entryway so I could see it every day. I used it as decoration in a photo shoot for some of the cards I was selling on Etsy, and I didn't think too much about it until about half-a-year later (give or take). Things were getting harder for him, and he was struggling more openly (though not by choice). I moved it to the coat rack so that it was very visible. 

Whenever I saw it I thought of him and prayed for him.

Lord help me, I prayed for him. 

And he was praying too, every day, petitioning God for deliverance and healing.

I'm reminded of a time when I was in a similar place of desperation, about ten years ago. I was in my teens, and Seth was maybe 10 or so. We had just gotten home from a great family vacation at my Grandpa's fishing lodge in Ontario, and we learned that my dad was going to take my mom to court in a custody battle for Seth. My brother Jesse was still living with him at that point; it wasn't a good situation for him, so I knew it would be bad for Seth, too. When I heard this news, I felt sick to my stomach, and my heart became as heavy as a boulder. I went up to my bedroom, lay on the bed facing the heavens, and began to cry out to God with an internal wailing that words couldn't express. For a long time I prayed like this, mouth open but without making a sound. I had never prayed that hard before - with so much force and pressure - it was the loudest I'd ever been in my life. 

I don't know how long I was in there, praying like that, but I'd determined not to leave until I felt I had been heard. At some point, out of nowhere, a sense of deep calm, peace, and assurance came over me. I knew - really knew - that things would work out and Seth would be okay. I sensed that it was totally in God's hands.

And then, quite mysteriously, my dad dropped the whole thing. There was no explanation - it just went away as quickly as it had come. No going to court, no custody battle. He had given up before he'd even started. For me, it was a victory that had been won in secret, and it was a delight to my soul.

There was only one other time I prayed like that (before Seth died. Since then, it has been a different story). It was near-ish the end of Seth's struggle, when I could clearly see that perhaps God hadn't heard me all those other times I had prayed. While Ryan was away at work, I "locked" myself in our room and vowed not to come out until God and I had reached some kind of understanding.  I was in there for at least an hour, and when peace finally broke into that room, it tasted just as it had ten years ago. "I will deliver Seth" is the message I heard in my heart. Peace just poured over me, drenched me, and my confidence was unshakable. God had this, just like he'd had it before.

Well, either that or I have the worst hearing in the galaxy. While that's still up for debate, I know that Seth is in the arms of a loving Father. It has crossed my mind, with no small amount of torment, that perhaps my prayer sped up Seth's departure. That's the kind of thing that goes through your mind when your little brother takes his life. Every little thing you've ever done or said is called into question, is suspect.

And while I go 'round and 'round in circles with God, tangled in his often unbearable strangeness, Seth's wire sculpture always helps to bring me back. I may just be spinning my wheels sometimes, with this whole mess called life, but I'm housed inside a bigger Wheel which hasn't lost its traction - and never will.

The Velveteen Ring

About 15 years ago, when Seth was five or six, 

he found this ring on his way home from daycare.  

He picked it up and presented it to me as a gift when he got home.  

I've had it ever since.

If I were to have it appraised, it would probably be worth exactly squat.

Unless the appraiser was me, in which case it would be worth bajillions.

A while back I was home for a visit and it came up in conversation; I told him I still had it. He was a bit embarrassed that I'd kept the ring all these years, but it didn't bother me one bit, and I told him so. I love the ring, and I cherish that memory. I'm so glad I was able to share that with him - to let him know what his love means to me.

In that same conversation I made him blush twice. I had also reminded him of the time he found me in the bathroom looking in the mirror, squeezing the pores on my nose (because my parents weren't willing to support my Biore Strips habit). He was amused by this odd teenage girl behavior, so he watched for a moment. His curiosity got the better of him and he offered to help, and since we were tight like that, I let him. He squeezed my nose, and was immediately both amazed and horrified when stuff came out of my pores. "Ohhhhh, gross!" he said, transfixed. (My apologies, dear Reader.)

But back to the ring.

I almost sold it on accident a few years ago.  Ryan and I had our first garage sale as husband and wife, and I wanted to get rid of a lot of old jewelry I didn't wear anymore. An older man brought a handful of rings up to the checkout table, and Seth's ring was among them. My stomach leaped to my throat when I saw it (though Seth was still with us at that point) and I hesitated. Was I willing to look ridiculous to this man by refusing to sell him this ring, dingy and dull, missing more rhinestones than it had left, whose black stone just barely resembled a heart? This ring which he had rightfully scooped up at our garage sale?  

My goodness, yes I was.

"Oh my gosh," I said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know this was in there." (and I picked it up)

"Well, I'm buying these for my daughter. She loves rings." He replied, motioning towards them, a little confused and no doubt wondering if I'd been hitting the sauce a little early that day.

"I can't sell you this one." I said, realizing how I must sound by now. "My brother gave it to me."

The man looked a little baffled by my last-minute backsies over a worthless ring. Surprisingly, he insisted that he still wanted it, that his daughter loved hearts, and so on. Maybe he thought I was wheeling-n-dealing, or that the stone was actually valuable. Whatever the reason, we went around like this for a while and I was afraid he would leave in a huff, or yell,. He didn't. He bought the other rings and left Seth's. He wasn't a very happy camper though. But it had been an accident; I have no idea how I overlooked it when setting out my jewelry.

Since Seth's death, I've tried to wear it several times. It still fits, but it's too powerful of a reminder that he's gone. Instead, it sits happily atop a pretty pebble in the nursery, right next to the glider where I nurse Jed and sing "Jesus Loves Me" (much to his delight). I'll have to move it when Jed learns to walk, since the wall collage is just above an end table. 

For now, I just like knowing it's there - a tangible reminder of love as I struggle with loss.