Laurel Elisabeth Stevens

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. . .We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Romans 8:18, 22-24 Late teenage years— I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, my hand fidgeting with the blue bedspread bedecked with peach and pink flowers. My mom sits at the foot of the bed. I'm puzzling over this passage from the book of Romans that I'm sure I've read before, but is suddenly vivid. Life has gotten scarier. My older brother Tim is down the hall at the other end of the house, his arm in a cast and other bones still healing—his pelvis among them. He'd done something stupid—aided by alcohol, the urging of friends, and his own ri...

         I wrote this piece recently for a live story-telling show about motherhood called  Listen to Your Mother.  It was a wonderful  opportunity  to prepare this story and then read it to a live audience in San Antonio. I share it with grief and hope.  LS It was ten years ago this March—ten years ago that the doorbell rang sometime after seven in the evening on that Saturday night.  I was already upstairs getting ready for bed, feeling bulky and cumbersome at nearly 41 weeks of pregnancy.  Our three-year old daughter was sound asleep, and I resented this unexpected intrusion into a quiet evening with my husband John. Through the beveled glass of the front door I saw my parents and younger brother.  Why would they just drop in unannounced when they lived an hour away? I opened the door with a smile, trying to cover the curiosity and irritation I felt.  But when I saw their faces, my stomach churned. “W...

Sometimes people ask if I grew up overseas, since my parents have been living in exotic places off and on for the past eleven years, and I point out regretfully that they started taking all the wonderful overseas assignments after they were empty nesters.  While I think it would have been great to experience Vietnam, Poland and London as an American high schooler, I’m quite pleased and privileged to be able to enjoy these places as an adult with children of my own.   So in July, Elisabeth, Henry and I traveled to London for our second visit.  The first week of our two week trip was spent on the Isle of Wight, along with my parents, my brother Josh and his children Timothy and Charlotte. (Sadly, work obligations kept John in the U.S.) The Isle of Wight is off the southern coast of England, so from London we took a train, then a ferry, a train, and then a taxi.  Shortly after arrival at our country hotel, we enjoyed a cup of tea on the enclosed terrace ov...

While eating chocolate cake in honor of Tim’s birthday, Elisabeth asked if we could watch “A Bit of Bitsy”--a collection of video clips of Elisabeth at about age 20 months.  It’s one of many treasures that Tim put together.  A few months later, he made a video of his first nephew, Timothy, entitled “A Tat of Timothy,” and we chuckled because Tim got his letters mixed up, meaning to call it “A Tad of Timothy.” Something we lost when Tim died was a family chronologer.  We all enjoyed his artistry and humor when it came to videography and film editing.  Before a trip to England when he planned to use his video camera, he emailed us a list of rules for the camera which included most importantly, “Pretend the camera isn’t there.” I’m sure I don’t know the half of what was involved, but I know that he and Kristen spent a lot of time getting the touches just right and finding the right music.  He even had a series of titles, film company names, credits, and even ...

Yesterday at the Easter service I held my big six year-old boy in my arms during the first hymn.  Henry still likes to be held during hymns--it is a precious ritual--but he’s getting heavy, so I usually tell him Daddy will hold him.  But March is a month of remembering, and I could not help but remember Easter six years ago when I held my son Henry--a tiny red-faced bundle, opening his mouth and rooting for his mommy every few hours.   He was one-week baptized and my body still reminded me of his recent delivery.  And my heart was still newly-aching from my brother’s death. Resurrection Sunday either meant more to me than it ever had before, or it meant absolutely nothing.   That Easter and every Easter since (even in Germany, in German) we’ve sung the new hymn In Christ Alone by Getty and Townsend. I think it was written for me, truly.  In March of 2007, the space of three days held my brother’s final breath and my son’s first ...

Quote by Goethe in the Keukenhof Thursday morning we took the tram to the Van Gogh museum.  Elisabeth chose to do a treasure hunt offered by the museum.  She was busy searching paintings to answer questions, and writing about which were her favorites.  John and I shared an audio tour, passing the headphones back and forth while we kept our eyes on the kids in the ever thickening crowd.  Henry was listening to a children’s audio tour that was for ages 6-12.  It was a bit beyond him, but it kept his interest.  By the way, in The Netherlands they pronounce Gogh like “Goch,” the ch being a sort of guttural sound. I have always enjoyed Van Gogh’s paintings, but never thought much of the artist himself.  I knew there was some crazy story about him cutting off his ear, and that did not endear me to him.  In my mind I chalked him up as another artist with problems.  When I read the introduction to his self portrait I read for the first time that...

Dear Elisabeth, The first time Uncle Tim heard about you he was dressed in warm clothes with a warm hat and even gloves.  He was getting ready to go ice fishing.  He and his friend Charles would go to a lake, cut a hole in the ice, and put their fishing lines down it.  They were hoping to catch some fish.  But first they had to buy some bait—something that the fish would want to eat.  So they were at a bait shop.  Then Uncle Tim’s phone rang.  This is what happened: “Hey Laurel!” “Hi Tim, how are you?” “Well, I’m at a bait shop.” “A bait shop?  Why?” “I’m getting ready to go ice fishing.” “Really?  Well, don’t fall in the ice.  I need you to be an uncle.” “What!” “You’re going to be an uncle.” “Are you going to have a baby!  Wow!  My sister’s having a baby!”  I could hear him telling his friend Charles, and I imagined all the customers in the bait shop laughing with him in his happiness.  We chatted for a bit...