Renee Nickell's Blog

One fateful night in the church parking area, Sam stalled the car about halfway down the drive to the back office. I assumed he had stopped to make us get out and walk. Always trying to pull off some shenanigans, I hopped upon the closed tailgate. Without looking into his rear-view mirror, he restarted the car, put it in gear and stepped on the gas. I fell straight back, my head hitting the pavement. The world went black for a moment and I lay there on the ground, unable to move. Sam hadn’t even realized I had fallen out.

Actual church driveway where I fell out.

Dear Renee,

I really truly am sorry for hurting you like that. I know ‘sorry’ is probably a real lame word to you right now, but it’s all I can say. I guess you know it won’t happen again. Neither of us is stupid enough to be caught in that situation again, not that you were stupid the first time (ha,ha). I don’t really know of anything I can say to make you feel better, but if there’s anything I can do to lighten the load at school or anything like that, just let me know. Just remember if anyone ever picks on you (except me, of course), tell them if they don’t stop, your big brother will take them for a ride they’ll never forget! Now, when we watch the Super Bowl at a party or something and a player gets a concussion, you can jump up and say,"Hey,I know what that feels like, it hurts like." I hope you are laughing by now.

Sammy

You see, even at a young age of 16, my brother Sam, displayed such noble character.  Instead of shifting blame to me for not being seated properly or trying to get me in trouble and him out of trouble, he took responsibility and was deeply sorry for injuring me that day, even making restitution. You see, he valued our relationship and knew how to apologize and take responsibility when needed in order to maintain a lasting, trustworthy relationship with me…his sister. 

Sam and I as teenagers.

“Apologizing doesn’t always mean you’re wrong and the other person is right.  It means you value your relationship more than your ego.” Unknown

Do you have someone in your life who made an impact on you, perhaps a close sibling or a friend?  Do you have a memory in which maybe the circumstances weren’t ideal, but it made a lasting impression on you?  Perhaps someone even hurt you unintentionally, but cared enough to apologize and make things right. Or maybe you are holding a grudge against someone who may not even know they hurt you.  Maybe someone did intentionally hurt you and they aren’t sorry (that is the hardest, I can attest). 

"Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." Ephesians 4:32

We should always be kind to those who seek our forgiveness, just as God has forgiven us.  Regardless of our transgressions towards God, HE forgives us. Maybe it’s time for you to either forgive or seek forgiveness towards someone else. Remember forgiveness doesn’t mean you forget what the other person did, but it does set you free from the bondage of bitterness and unforgiveness. It allows you the freedom to move forward.

If you struggling with forgiveness, I’d love to pray for you. You can email me your prayer requests at renee@reneenickell.com.

 

For more life-changing encouragement and hope, you can read more about Sam and I in my memoir “Always My Hero'“, available at all online retailers.

 



























 

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We were driving around the other night through our small town, probably having a conversation that went like this, “where do you want to eat?” “I don’t know, what do you want to eat?" There was a light mist of rain that I know must have wished it were snow, because snowflakes that fall gently through the night sky with the glow of Christmas lights makes for a far more welcoming ambiance to go with the holiday song “Baby It’s Cold Outside” playing in the car. Hubby takes the lead as I usually mess up the words, mumbling something made up. As I looked around a smile came across my face and then suddenly there was a pit in my stomach I couldn’t shake. I had a rush of anxiety flood my body and my memory took me back to just days after my brother’s memorial service. We drove around looking at lights on Christmas Eve to bring some joy to the kids. We couldn’t even make it one block before we turned around and went home.

Sam and Renee, 1979, in our home in Dauphin, PA.

There are moments that it’s okay to not be okay. This moment took me back to a time that was rather painful. Actually, this entire season does. The week before that dreaded day, December 14th, is always the worst. A few Christmas cards trickle in reminding me that it’s the seventh year I haven’t sent any. The morning Sam was killed there was a stack of cards on the counter. They had been placed by someone in the mailbox, postmarked December 14, 2011. Those were the last cards I sent. I have the best intentions every year, truly I do. I say, “this year will be different. I’m going to send out cards and bake lots of cookies.” Here we are, seven years later and still no cards sent. I may make some cookies, but they're usually store bought with a slight resemblance of stale. I find myself sometimes slightly jealous and partly annoyed when others decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving. Jealous because I’d like to be that excited about Christmas again and annoyed because, well, why rush life? Let’s just enjoy each holiday for what it is. But that’s me and that’s okay too. Just like your Christmas, however you do it, it perfectly acceptable to you.

Yesterday, we tried a new church. The worship team started off with a Christmas song and went into a few more songs. I felt at home, as it reminded me of our old church in Florida that we attended for ten years or so. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with grief, but I choked it down. I hate being the one crying during church. I don’t want to be that person that others think, “she must need prayer” (don’t we all though). The pastor then went into praying for others who are suffering to include those that are experiencing grief this Christmas. I lost it. It hit me…I was still grieving. Seven years later. What would be more appropriate in the moment of utter “pit in the stomach, heart-wrenching reminders” than for a video presentation of Mary and Jesus’ birth, with a performance by a young woman singing the exact same song that was sung at the Christmas Eve service after Sam died. I didn’t know whether to be angry or sad.

Sam and I, ages 15 and 13, respectively, on Christmas day at mom’s house in South Florida in 1990.

So many changes have taken place in the last seven years. I’ve pondered recently about the significance of seven. I’ll try not to get too theological, but seven in the Bible is the most significant number. To me, it means the start of new beginnings. It’s a period where God released the Hebrew slaves from the past debts and set them free, the year of Jubilee, mentioned in Leviticus in the Bible. A loud trumpet proclaimed the liberty of slaves and prisoners and they were able to cease from their labor and rest.

Do I need rest? Do you? I can say I’ve rarely rested in the last year. My mind hasn’t rested in years. I’ve spent the last year writing a book about Sam, marketing it, and telling his story over and over, yet never really getting around to mine. It doesn’t matter how ofter I tell it, it never gets easier talking about Sam’s death or his herioc actions that led to it. But, his death is only a portion of the story. It was truly our lives as brother and sister that made the greatest impact on who I am and the memories that I hold dearest. After his death…well, that’s when God did the biggest work in my heart. Towards myself and towards others. I don’t want to talk about his death anymore, but I’m sure I will, because it is a part of the story.

What I really want to tell you about is the story I know best…my story. I can’t speak for Sam, but I know that without him in my life, it would have been much less colorful. I know that the God of heaven and earth, and everything Good, the God of Love and Forgiveness, the God of Redemption and New Beginnings…that God…can use your pain and mine and remind us that there was once a young woman named Mary, who said “yes” to God. In fear and uncertainty, she said “yes” to God’s purpose for her life. Because of her “yes”, a Savior came forth to save the world on one Christmas morning. She continued to say “yes” throughout her life, even when she stood and watched her son get crucified before her eyes.

My yes or your yes, will never look anything like Mary’s “yes”, but we each have a story to tell. There are many grieving families this Christmas for various reasons. The beauty in all of it, is that we aren’t alone. We aren’t alone when we cry our way through Christmas lights or grandpa’s silent but deadly’s, each worthy of tears sometimes. That also goes to say when we feel joy, peace, and love in our hearts it doesn’t mean we don’t miss that loved one missing from our presence. I am thankful for those moments and I am thankful that God gave me four beautiful reasons to bask in the greatness of Christmas crazy.

Do you have a “yes” you need to say? Is there something you are hoping for? Do you have friend or neighbor who may be blessed by hearing your story? I challenge you in 2019, to not wait for your seven year Jubilee, but to allow Jesus to work in your heart and set you free from everything that is weighing you down now. It all started with a “yes”. The “yes” isn’t always easy, but it sure is worth it. It could very well change the world.

May your heart be filled with the love of Christ this Christmas, may the memories and love of those you may miss remain close and may your New Year be filled with new beginnings.

Love,

Renee

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Forgive?

Yikes!  That pesky little word always turns up at the exact moment someone cuts you off in traffic…especially by your toddler who just learned in Sunday school that Jesus told us to forgive everyone.  Wait…Everyone?  Even that person who lied to cover their deceit, or that person who slandered you, or mocked you.  What about that best friend that gossiped and told your deepest secrets in an effort to seek “prayer”?  How about the person who abused you, slapped you, or gave you the middle finger for not driving fast enough.  Maybe the husband who divorced you after 20 years of marriage or the parent who rejected you when you were eight? What about that terrorist that may have killed your loved one…Ouch!…yeah, that one hit home.

I’m sure at some point, we have all had to forgive “someone”.  Or maybe we haven’t yet because they don’t “deserve” it.  After Sam died, I struggled greatly with this.  I struggled so greatly I tried to read every book I could on the subject. I remember so vividly reading a book called Total Forgiveness that basically said, “forgiveness is wishing the person who hurt you well, and being happy for them if the prosper.”  Yeah, I’m not quite there yet.  Maybe you are.  I have been able to forgive people who probably don’t even think they did anything wrong.  The best part about that, is that it free’s us from the curse of bitterness and resentment.  It allows us to move forward when we are constantly wondering why God hasn’t “handled them” yet.  That place of un-forgiveness is really a place of self-righteousness where we think we never did anything as bad as them.  Perhaps that may be true, but it won’t allow you to walk in love towards those that are closest to you.  

If you remember my brief post about “truth” on social media…well, I had a point.  And my point is, is that once you face truth, you need to let go and forgive.  You may ask, “how do I do that? What does that look like?”  My advice is to search your heart and really think about what you have to lose if you do, or if you don’t.  You see, when I was consumed with un-forgiveness, I struggled with anxiety, poor self-worth, wondering if God really saw me or if He even loved me.  I wondered if I could ever be happy.  It wasn’t until I made the choice to forgive (and I had ALOT I had to forgive), that I was free to dream again, to experience joy, and live a life for my husband and children that I couldn’t do before…because I was consumed with wanting to “get even”.

Grief is complicated and it can bring out the worst in people or it can bring out the best if you allow it.  I’ve seen many people do wonderful things for other people because of walking through trauma and tragedy.  If your not there yet, that’s ok.  Look, it took me 6 years to even tell my story.  I’m approaching 7 years since my brother died, which I still can’t believe.  

Do I still struggle?  I do at times.  Forgiveness is a very hard thing.  That’s why Jesus said to forgive seventy times seven, because it will always rear it’s ugly head.  Jesus knew that.  He knew we couldn’t be truly free until we learned to forgive those that hurt us. Have you ever heard that saying that un-forgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

21  Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?

22  Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven (Matt 18: 21-22)

One time, I got a phone call that someone I knew and was close to was slandering my brother after his death.  This person was saying horrible things about him (which I knew weren’t true), but it took me years to let that go.  Even still, when I think of those words I have to let it go over and over.  My brother was a man of honor, and I knew what was said wasn’t true, but I wondered how someone could have been so cruel.  The truth is, is I don’t know.  But, that is not my problem.  My gut was to want to punch someone who talks about my bro, just like he would have done for me. Instead, I walked away and wondered what else had been a lie. Again, that is not my problem either.

I am not sixteen anymore.  I am a mom and a wife.  I am an example to my kids and if I don’t show that I can forgive others, then I can’t expect them to forgive either…or each other.  There is nothing worse than having three arguing kids in a vehicle, blaming others, and everyone has crossed arms because no one wants to forgive.  Guess who is miserable?  Everyone.

I realize this can be a very difficult subject to talk about.  You may be thinking, “but you don’t know what they did?”  Your right, I don’t.  I do know what it’s like to hurt and have pain.  Maybe not like yours.  It’s an ongoing struggle that we just have to keep bringing to Jesus.  You may not have warm fuzzy feelings when you forgive.  I didn’t.  I just keep asking God to help me and to help me see things from a different perspective. He will show you things if you ask Him.

I would love to hear from you and pray for you if you are struggling in this area.  Please know I am not perfect at this, I just know what it’s like to be there.

You may be wondering, have I forgiven that terrorist that shot my brother…well, that’s between me and God. I’m still a work in progress.  

Much love,

Renee

Works Cited

Kendall, R. T. (2007). Total Forgiveness.Lake Mary: Charisma House.

 

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I called my mom this morning.  I had an idea I’ve been thinking about for a long time and wanted her involvement.  I proposed to her my idea and she immediately loved it.  I felt it would be a way for her and I to continue Sam’s legacy and a way to give back to others.  Sam was always so generous and I believe this would be a wonderful way to honor him.  I also knew I couldn’t do it without mom. 

 

For the past several months, I’ve been inundated with my writing, reliving memories, sorting through thousands of pictures.  I’ve had to track people down and try to get accurate dates.  I’ve looked at picture after picture of Sam and I.  As a request from me, mom did too.  She had to sort through hundreds of baby photos of us all the way up through our adult lives.  How difficult this must have been for her.  I know it was for me.  As I sorted these pictures, it was as if Sam had never even left us.  All these childhood memories came alive again.

Feeling fatigued, both physically and emotionally, I needed rest.  This process has been taxing on me and I needed some reprieve.  Anyone who knows me knows that my favorite movie is “The Greatest Showman.”  I love his rags to riches story of how he risked everything to fulfill a dream for himself and ultimately, his family.  He wanted to change their future just as much as he wanted to change his.  I love this!  I love this story of HOPE!  

I love stories of triumph when the world seems to be against you.  I’ve seen this movie over and over.  Mom has too.  Many nights when we talk, I’ll say, “What are you doing?” And she’ll say, “Watching “The Greatest Showman”.”  I smile because we both love this movie for the same reasons.  

I think when you have gone through tremendous life altering events that sought to destroy you, you can appreciate the stories, whether fictional or not, that inspire.  They are moments of magic that can make you believe anything is possible, just like the song "A Million Dreams" from the movie.

Today, as part of my Sunday rest, I decided to watch “The Greatest Showman” with commentary.  It was amazing how the world that seemed so real to the viewer, was actually models that were created to make the sets…miniature versions to trick the eye into believing they were large scale, elaborate sets.

Without ever seeing the commentary, I would have never believed that the sets were small, little models.  I also would have never know that the character of Tom Thumb, was actually on his knees the entire movie and not an actual little person.  Oh how the eyes can trick the brain.  What I also learned is that Zendaya learned to do all her own stunts, flying through the air with grace and beauty.  There is a scene during "Rewrite the Stars", where she literally looks like she is floating through the air. What you don't see is all the takes it took, of her literally getting the air knocked out of her over and over for her to get the scene right.

I can relate.  I can relate to the air getting knocked out of me time and time again, not just in writing a book, but in life in general.  You fall and you fall and you fall, and you keep getting back up again.  You keep dreaming, you keep hoping, you keep moving forward.

My brain was a part of this magical world as I slowly drifted off the sleep. There was that moment where I was not quite asleep, yet also aware of what is happening around me.  A thought popped in my half-asleep brain of “I haven’t heard from Sam in a while, I need to call him.”  Then, as quickly as that thought occurred, my eyes popped open, and I remembered, Sam is dead.

He is dead to this world, yet so alive in the next, probably more alive than we could ever imagine.  6 1/2 years later and I still have times of disbelief that he is gone from us.  I’ve been sorting through all these photos and my eyes have tricked my brain into believing for a split second that I needed to call him because, he is alive.  My brain wanted to believe that I could call him.

I remember having so many moments like this in the years following his death.  While it doesn’t happen as often, it still goes to show that there is no end to grief. I had grief the moment I awoke out of that half slumbered state only to realize all over again that Sam in dead.  It. never. ends.

So, where do I go from here?  I think we allow ourselves those moments, those small millisecond moments where we believe our loved one is alive (and they are, just somewhere else). You see, I don’t think I am doing myself a disservice by re-visiting those memories as I look at pictures of Sam and I, closing my eyes to feel present in that moment.  I actually feel it is a gift to our hearts.  It is moments of relief from the grief, if only to experience the grief again, and again, and again.

We should allow ourselves to “dream with our eyes wide open” (Come Alive, 2017).  It’s in the dreaming that I allow Sam to live until we are together again.  As my mom and I join together in this new venture, we’ll be stepping out of darkness and shining the light for others, paving a way for them to make a difference, too.  We have no idea what we are doing and I'm sure we may fall down a few times.  That's okay.  We'll get back up again.

I looked down at my phone and received a text from my mom tonight.  It read, "I'm watching "The Greatest Showman"...again."  I smiled.  I did too, mom, I did too. 

Dare to dream.

Pasek, B., & Paul, J. (2017). Come Alive [Recorded by H.  Jackman, Zendaya, Settle, & D. Everidge].

 

 

 

 

I decided to take a trip.  I needed to get away.  I needed to visit Sam.  I needed some direction.  I called my mom and asked her to meet me in D.C. over Labor Day weekend and celebrate her birthday.  She obliged along with my two favorite cousins, Pam and Karen and my Aunt Linda.  We had a fabulous girls weekend planned...

We had many profound experiences on our trip to D.C. I’d like to call them miracles, because there were some things I just couldn’t explain. Miracles can be found all around us and since Sam died, I’ve had to look for the miraculous at every chance…and appreciate them. It’s what gives me hope.

Traveling, albeit by plane, is quite exhausting. My mom and I got there a day before everyone else so we could have some alone time at Sam’s grave. We knew we’d be tired when we arrived in Washington D.C. We can typically maneuver around the metro quite well. After all, we’ve spent a lot of time in D.C. over the course of many years. Our trips to D.C. aren’t the touristy trips one thinks of when visiting our nation’s capital. Our trips look much different.

We debated if we wanted to take the metro to Arlington National Cemetery (ANC) and walk from the metro to the visitor’s center, which was about ½ mile. We could then take the shuttle to Section 60 where my brother is laid to rest. Neither of us had ever “Ubered”, but thought this would be a good time to start. Uber could pick us up from the hotel and drive us right up to Section 60, but we would have to consider the walk back which is about ½ mile as well. Either way, we’d get our exercise.

Fortunately, we both had our ANC vehicle passes. You see, when a "next of kin" is buried in ANC, they give you a vehicle pass to allow your direct access. This pass allows you to bypass all three police checkpoints. They move closed coned off areas for you, then you drive into a separate entrance right past all the tourists headed towards the Tomb of the Unknown. Guards must stop them from crossing the crosswalk to allow you to drive through at which point you can then drive right up to your loved one’s grave.

Our Uber driver picked us up. I believe he was Haitian. I looked at my Uber app to see he had given nearly 5000 rides. He was a very nice gentleman, probably in his late 30’s. We told him we were going to ANC. We said, "We have a pass. Can you please drive us in?"

He said, "Oh no. They won't let me in. You can't drive into the cemetery."

Again, we told him, "We have a pass, you can drive us in."

Slightly confused, he now approached the first checkpoint. We hand him the pass to show to the first police officer. He reluctantly takes it, still confused. Police immediately move cones when they see the pass. Uber driver says, "Wow! How do you get one of those?” as if we were some sort of dignitaries or something.

Mom and I looked at each other and were both thinking, "Buddy, you DO NOT want one of these." I think Mom may have said it out loud.

He continued, "I've never been to ANC. I've dropped people off, but in all my days, I've never been inside."

Mind-blown, right? This man lives in D.C., has given over 5000 Uber rides, and has never been inside the gates of ANC? What?

After the third checkpoint, he drove into the gates of Arlington and Mom told him to please drive to her son’s gravesite and proceeded to direct him. He was speechless. His very first experience visiting inside the gates of ANC was to escort a Gold Star Family to their hero’s grave. It was about a half mile drive and I’ve never felt so much deafening silence. He drove so slowly. I could hear the slight gasp under his breath as he looked around. It was obvious he was astounded and humbled by what he saw. I could feel the awkwardness of the silence. He wanted to say something and maybe we were waiting for him to say something. I gathered that most likely this experience may have been his first and last time he would ever get to drive his own personal vehicle into those gates…and I hoped it was.

I imagined, as an immigrant, he had to have pondered the sacrifice made for him, maybe even appreciate his own journey a little more. I'll never forget that man and the reverence he had for us, and for all those who paid the ultimate sacrifice.

The miracle we witnessed that day was the Lord allowed, not only our pain, but also the sacrifice my brother made, to directly affect someone else in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if it hadn’t been orchestrated to do so. I will always wonder what that man thought. I will always wonder how that experience affected him, maybe changed him. No doubt he will always remember that experience, my brother, and our family.

There is so much division in our country, I can’t help but ponder the idea that there are those that want their voices heard and want others to see their hurt and pain and somehow understand something we haven’t experienced for ourselves. Then there are those, like myself, who are also hurting, for other reasons, also feeling alone in that many do not understand or comprehend the sacrifice of losing a loved one in war. That day, there was nothing political, cultural, racial, or religious that separated us from that man. This man, a stranger, simply stepped into our world for a moment in time and he felt.

We were simply…Americans. Isn’t that a miracle?

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