Uncategorized – Claassen Clan

Share The Love

Published on September 13, 2021September 14, 2021 by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

September brings both Deacon’s birthday, and the anniversary of his passing. It would be very simple to just focus on our sadness. I could attempt to explain the level of desperation and panic that wells up in my heart when I allow myself to just WANT HIM. More than our sadness though, Derek and I want this month to be about his LIFE. We want to celebrate our little boy who brought sunshine, mischief, and JOY into the world. We want to remember and honor how faithful our God has been this year. How He has consistently and creatively met us in this darkness. In September 2020, I boldly and confidently declared God good, even as my world laid motionless in a hospital bed. One year later, I can honestly repeat: God is good.

We’ll be honoring Deacon’s incredible life this month by doing random acts of kindness in his name with these cards, and we’d love to challenge you to do the same! Will you join us? Knowing that his spirit of love and excitement for surprising others will be spreading out all over our city and further is an incredibly hopeful thought to our still broken, tired hearts.

Want to join in? Here’s how!

Local: We’ve printed 100’s of cards and they’ll be in a basket on our porch, in our cars, and with us. Drive by and grab 1 or 20, ask us if you see us, let me know you want some and I’ll track you down!

Print Your Own: Click on #sharethelovedeacon in the menu of this blog and you can easily print your own at home! Just follow the directions.

Mail: Just need me to mail you some cards? Happy to! Just let me know and I’ll pop them in the mail.

Tag Us: What creative ways did you find to bless others? We want to hear how Deacon inspired you! Please tag #sharethelovedeacon so we can see!

Can’t get your hands on or print any cards? That’s ok! You can still share the love and share with us. We’re just blessed knowing that he’s inspiring others to take a look around them and find ways to bless others.

Thank you in advance for joining us in this small gesture of honoring our Deacon. Thank you for the year of loving us well.

September

Published on September 1, 2021 by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

It’s September. I wouldn’t need to look at a calendar to know that. I can feel it ache in my bones. A buzzing in my nerves and a thudding in my brain. September has haunted the last couple months. September carries the weight of the year.

All the lasts were in September. The last full family trip to Table Rock, Deacon’s last birthday on earth, his last first day of school, the last time I brushed his hair off his forehead, the last time I heard his voice, the last time I hugged him, smelled him, felt him, talked to him. The last time I told him I loved him.

All the lasts spill into all the firsts. Our first minutes, hours, and days without him. Every first holiday, birthday, and milestone lived without him here. The first season of baseball he didn’t get to suit up for. The first foster care placements he didn’t get to hold and feed. The first day of second grade he didn’t clamber out of the car for. The first day of the new house starting that he didn’t get to ride in the excavator and help dig.

A whole year of surviving the firsts while reliving the lasts has been building to this month. I’ve been quiet, in this space. In truth, the summer was hard. Harder than I’d prepared myself for. Typically my favorite of the seasons, this one felt like a trudge. Summers are for traditions. Pools, library, splash park, snow cones, and bike rides. Doing it all without Deacon felt flat. But fighting to live and give life to my four still-here kids meant putting a smile on my face while tears fell behind sunglasses. The memories that popped up throughout the summer and made us laugh also fell away to the emptiness in knowing there won’t be any new memories to laugh about. The upkeep of house and family and constant kids with constant new ideas of what we should do that day felt like treading in deep water…just trying to keep my head above. In the midst of hard, I tried to stay in tune to God’s gifts. The surprise meal on an especially hard day. The sweet three day old baby needing our love for a couple days. The song on the radio reminding me of God’s goodness. His little “I see you’s” that felt like a deep breath after days of shallow breathing. The days were hard. And sad. And beautiful. And filled with gratitude. And that pendulum of extreme emotions left me overstimulated and exhausted and sad. So the blog went quiet. I still wrote, but they were writings for me. Writings for God. Writings for Deacon. And sometimes I just sat quietly with my words. And, as it does, time moved forward and we’re here to September.

Derek and I have talked about what this month might look and feel like. How to prepare ourselves and our kids for it. What would honoring the last days of Deacon’s life look like? In truth, we don’t know and we won’t know until we’ve moved through it. A year of surviving the firsts has taught me that trying to prepare for it is pointless. I do know that I want to celebrate the parts of Deacon that I admired the most. And to embrace and radiate those qualities. So, I’ll be brave. And inclusive. And fiercely loving.

Almost a year closer to you, brave boy.

Weston Deacon

Published on August 31, 2021 by Lindsey Claassen1 Comment

I’m an aunt again!! Weston Deacon Thuss joined the world on Monday and we’re all so very much in love. Kelsey and Dan are adventurers at their core and I’m so excited for them to start this life-changing one.

If we’ve talked at all, you know that bragging about my sister Kelsey is one of my favorite things to do. Playmate, confidant, inspiration, secret-keeper…she’s one of my favorite people ever. She lets me flash the insecurities I’ve had since childhood and then holds them up to truth. We’re as different as night and day, and yet somehow the long history of love, that only sisters can share, makes those differences a source of pride in each other. She’s the one true witness to the entirety of my life and, rather than make me feel uncomfortable, it makes me feel at home.

Getting to now join her in the wild ride of motherhood is an incredible source of joy. And, getting to do it sharing the name of a little boy who had the ability to make us both brave, is almost more than my heart can handle.

Weston Deacon: may you be fearless in love, just like your cousin. May you be curious and brave, just like your mama.

A Grand Adventure

Published on July 1, 2021July 1, 2021 by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

3 years ago, we started thinking about our family, our home, and what we wanted in the years ahead for our growing kids. We’d always had a dream to spread out on some land, so we started actively pursuing plots of land when they came up around us. Turns out it’s rare, and a bit of a fight, when they do! After missing out on a couple opportunities, the one we’d been praying for came along. In November of 2019, we became the slightly shocked, and incredibly ecstatic, owners of some acreage just outside of our little town!

We bought the kids “land boots” for
tromping and climbing.

For the last year and half we’ve been clearing, hiking, camping, tree house building, swinging, four-wheeling, sledding, pond-digging, and falling in love with this land. With the quarantine year of 2020 quickly approaching, we had no idea just what a gift this space would be. We spent HOURS of safe time playing there. I’ve fallen in love more with each season we’ve experienced there.

During these months, we dreamed of what it would mean for our kids to grow up here. In our imagining we never fathomed it would be possible that Deacon wouldn’t be there with us. The thought of moving there without him was an impossible one for a while. But soon, the kids begin begging to be there again, asking when we would get to live there, and sharing their dreams for the space. We knew we still needed to move forward with this adventure. Deacon LOVED being at the land. The freedom, space, and ever-changing landscape were his happy place. He’s there still. I feel close to him when I’m there and know that I’ll forever see him up in a tree, in the creek, or creating something out of scraps of wood.

While it took a little longer than we planned originally, things are finally moving along and our new home is GOING UP!!

We’re grateful to God for this place and its our deep hope and prayer that it becomes a welcoming place for many.

Im still a little in shock that the house is going up! I’m so excited for this grand adventure!

Father’s Day

Published on June 21, 2021 by Lindsey Claassen2 Comments

His answer is always “yes” when it comes to loving on our kids. He picks us up off the ground. He’s fearless (which is where Deacon learned it from). He loves babies whether they came from me or from the car seat of a case worker. He shows fatherly love to those who wouldn’t have it otherwise. He’s one of the good ones. I’m not sure they know how lucky they are yet, but someday they will.

It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief.
Since “men don’t cry” and “men are strong”
No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test.
And field calls and visitors
So that she can get some rest.

They always ask if she’s alright
And what she’s going through.
But seldom take his hand and ask,
“My friend, how are you?”

He hears her cry in the night
And thinks his heart will break.
And dries her tears and comforts her
But “stays strong” for her sake.

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew.
And try to be so very brave-
He lost his babies too.

—Eileen Hagemeister

9 Months

Published on June 19, 2021June 20, 2021 by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

9 months and 14 days ago I sat on this dock and watched Deacon open his 7 year old birthday presents. 14 days later he was gone.

This morning, I watched my girls giggle and chase bubbles in the spot he’d exclaimed over his new skateboard. It feels like yesterday. It feels like 100 years ago.

Oh Deacon. I can still hear you in this place. Your laughter bounces off the dock rails. Both an invitation and a balm. Its not the same here.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:28-30 from The Message

Thunderstorms

Published on March 12, 2021March 18, 2021 by Lindsey Claassen2 Comments

So many times in a week we look around at something fun we’re doing, sigh, and say, “Deacon would have loved this.” But today began with walls of rain, claps of thunder, and even some hail, and I thought, “Deacon would have hated this.”

Out of five kids, Deacon was the only one ever scared of storms. He seemed to have an innate sense of their arrival and I’d crack my eyes to see his little form standing at my bedside, often before the first drop of rain had even fallen. “It’s going to storm,” he’d whisper. I’d lift my blankets and he’d scramble in next to me, all knees and elbows. The only time a kiddo really ever slept with us was Deacon during a storm.

Today, the thunder woke me and I strained to hear the squeak of our door opening and his feet padding in. Instead, I was slammed again with the realization he wouldn’t be coming. We’d sleep this storm out kid-free. I clung to his favorite blankie (that stays in our bed now), squeezed my eyes shut and searched my memory for every sense of his warm body curled into mine. His back against my chest, my nose pressed into the back of his head with his perfect little boy smell all around, his always-noisy breathing steadying back into sleep.

I miss the things he loved. And now, I realize, I miss the things he hated, too. I just miss it all.

I wonder if it storms in heaven. I hope it does…I adore a good storm. If it does, I imagine Deacon has a new appreciation for them in a realm without fear. And a Heavenly Father wrapping His arms around him until I can get there.

While he may have hated the storms…he was always up for the mud puddles left behind.

Gotcha Day

Published on February 9, 2021February 9, 2021 by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

Today is Deacon’s “gotcha day”. Six years adopted. He spent 521 days in foster care. And then, by the gift of God, we got to call him ours forever.

We didn’t know that “forever” would only be another 5 and a half years on earth. That my role as his second mom would be over so soon.

To be done with court dates, social workers, different last names, unknown futures, broken down foster care systems….it was like a glorious deep breath of spring air after a dark, stale winter.

It’s tempting to just be sad. But getting to be Deacon’s mom (I still can’t believe that I got picked for that!) means that I owe him more than my sadness. It means that I get to be the things I loved most about Deacon.

I loved that he was:

Brave
Confident
A doer
Funny
Fearless
Adventurous
Able
Friendly
Kind
Outgoing
Generous

It’s a lot to try to live up to. He made it look so easy.

Tonight, we’ll have the cupcakes to celebrate and talk about Deacon. I’ll love him with one foot in eternity and love my other children with one foot in time. And I’ll thank God every minute of every day that I was the one chosen to be his mom. He was chosen for us and we were chosen for him.

“Few people in this world meet someone who so intricately and radically changes their lives simply by entering it. Few people have their lives split into such a powerful before and after. And while it may be so easy to look at our before and afters through the lens of deep pain and sorrow, you have been given a sacred gift: to know a love so pure, so raw, that it extends across world, through time, and death cannot even touch it.

You’ve been given a sacred gift, a second chance, an invitation to never be the same from this point forward simply because they existed, you were chosen to be theirs, and you are tied together, eternally, your love a force greater than life itself.” Lexi Behrndt

Still so in awe that he chose us. ❤️

Messy Theology

Published on February 6, 2021February 4, 2021 by Lindsey Claassen1 Comment

When you believe that your God allows the people you love dearly to die much too early, what does that say about your God, and who you are becoming?

Who would you be and how would you feel and how would you live life if you decided to believe that God, whatever you believe God to be, only allows each of us to die right on time? Regardless of the circumstances of our death.

What if you decided to believe that it could be no other way? That everyone dies at the right time. Even if you don’t understand it. And never will. When you’re in your physical body. Who would you be if you decided to believe that everyone dies at the perfect time? Everyone. — Tom Zuba

I read that quote by Tom Zuba (look him up…what an incredible story of loss and life) a few weeks ago and it has bounced around in my head ever since. Deacon is gone, and what I choose to believe about God because of it is life-changing. While I do (did?) believe that no one dies by accident, guilt plagues me. Guilt has made a home on my shoulder. Guilt walks beside me around the block on a sunny day. It sits beside me driving the kids to school. It stares back at me in the mirror. I can even find it in the eyes of friends and family looking back at me (although I’m certain it couldn’t be found in their heart or mind, it’s only me placing it there). Cause the thing I was supposed to do….the only thing, really…I didn’t do. Protect my child.

In a variety of scenarios it follows me. I didn’t get him to the right doctors. I didn’t push hard enough to get him to that program in Denver to be a part of that asthma study. I didn’t take him to the hospital soon enough. I didn’t find the right combination of drugs. I didn’t see that this time something was different. I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t. It’s in my head on repeat.

What I would have said I believe about God, before losing Deacon, was that He knows the number of each of our days on this earth. That nothing I did or didn’t do killed Deacon. That “all the days ordained for Deacon were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16 I would have said all that. But I find myself saying it now and then adding a *but maybe* to it. Maybe if I’d tried… Maybe if I’d seen…. Maybe if I’d called…

I’m on shaky ground. But I think that’s ok. God’s ground isn’t shaky. He’s firm. And he’s letting me fling my wonky theology and wounded heart at him. This time is creating who I am becoming and what it says about the God I believe in.

I’m out of words to comfort myself and put a bandaid over the guilt. I only have God. He’s there while I try to be gentle with myself but fail. He’s there when I know I’m supposed to have hope but just don’t have the oomph for it. He’s there when I practice telling Him that I’m not fine. That this is NOT fine. He’s there.

In the school drop off line when I say, “You feel so far.”

When I’m making beds and say, “I’m not sure how to see You here.”

In the grocery store when I think, “I can’t find You but I really want to.”

Washing the dishes whispering the uncomfortable truth, “I don’t know if I want to find You, but I want to say that this hurts.”

These honest, messy, prayers, brought to Him before cleaning them up. The guilt. The questions about my God. Is He good? Is He there? What do I truly believe the Bible says about life and death? The ache of who I am becoming through this. I’m counting on what’s being created in my darkness and chaos.

And so I ponder again, “Who would you be if you decided to believe that everyone dies at the perfect time? Everyone.” Working on finding out.

Deacon Aug. 2017 ~ 2 yrs old “And Jesus thank you” was how he finished every prayer.

And If Not

Published on February 3, 2021February 1, 2021 by Lindsey Claassen1 Comment

Long-time friends recently passed the nine year mark of their baby girl going to heaven after a year long battle with leukemia. I can take myself back to those days so easily. The shock that Paxten hadn’t made it…that she hadn’t gotten her miracle. The empty, hollow feeling of what now?

I’ve watched these friends learn to live in a world without their daughter for nine years. I’ve seen them crawl towards love, fight for joy, and build a new life that absolutely includes Pax…just not they way they’d hoped and longed. This year had an entirely new perspective for all they’ve been though. This year I couldn’t help but go back to our desperate prayers for her healing. Those same groanings I repeated over my little boy nine years later.

I started thinking how wonderful to be the parent who can proclaim, “God is good! My child is a miracle!” because their child could have died but didn’t.

But even more, the depth of peace, knowing, and love for the parent whose child has died and can say the same thing.

Nine years later, my friends stood and said, God is good. While my heart still breaks for their loss, what an inspiration and hope for my raw and confused heart.