One will never be able to say that I don't or can't laugh at myself. Do I feel a little foolish? Why yes, yes I do. But, it happened, so I'll share it, and laugh if you must, but also remember that the fear is real, very real.
Northeast Ohio is under attack. We have been invaded by the 17-year emergence of the ugliest bug you'd ever hope to see. It's a great big, 2 inches or bigger, ugly, flying Cicada. And I hate them. And I fear them. Yes, I have an irrational phobia of those ugly gross creatures. In 17 years, I hope to either be dead or on an extended vacation until they go back to where they came from, which is probably hell, I'm not even kidding. I can't even begin to explain to you how much I detest these horrible insects.
They invaded our neighborhood a couple of weeks ago. Stupid bugs. They are so loud that it sounds like a siren going off. Ugg, I hate that noise! They are everywhere. In the trees, in the grass, flying through the air, darting in and out of every single place, everywhere you look. It's absolutely horrific.
I've been asking my husband to walk our dog during their most active times, which is somewhere between the hours of 7:00 am to sundown when it cools off. Thankfully he's been available and willing since he recognizes that my fear is real. I'm not saying he understands it, he himself doesn't really have any true phobias. Me on the other hand, well, let's just say I make up for the both of us.
Today, my husband had to have a wisdom tooth removed. He took our pup out for her morning walk, I drove him to the oral surgeon's office and then back home. I got him all settled in, pain meds were taken, nap ready, and then I cozied in for a time of reading and relaxation. Everything was running like clockwork. Until my dog needed to go potty. Oh no. Not potty. Not outside where the Cicada devils are. No, please, can't you just hold it? Please? Wake up husband, I need you!
Well, I put her collar and leash on and out we went. The ugly bugs were doing their thing--flying, darting, making their stupid loud noise. All the while, I am ducking, bobbing and weaving, trying my hardest to get away from them. Hurry up puppy--do your thing!
I quickly ran inside, shut the door and whew! I made it. Kind of. As I was standing at the kitchen sink, I heard something. At my ear. So I swiped at the sound but still felt strange. Like something was there. So, I walked into the half bath and looked into the mirror. And low and behold, wouldn't you know it, one of those blankety, blank stupid Cicadas was on my back!
I'm so glad that my husband was sacked out in his chair, and that no one was visiting us because they would have gotten a show. It's also a very good thing that my shirt had a snap front because that shirt unsnapped and was off of my body so fast--as I ran out of the bathroom screaming and dancing around while ripping that shirt off of me as fast as I could. Once off and laying on the ground, I ran away from it, still shaken and practically (ok, not so practically) yelling and jumping up and down. The dog was barking, my husband sat up and was wondering what in the heck was going on. I couldn't go near the shirt and just keep jumping around yelling for him to get the bug.
He did, he's my hero. As I locked myself in our bedroom, he killed that dumb bug and saved me! In his medicated, drug induced state, he came to my rescue. Thank you, Jesus!
I have now calmed down, my shirt is back on, the dog is sleeping, my husband has had a good nap and all is well with the world. He's feeling better now and has assured me that he will walk our dog as long as those nasty bugs are out there terrorizing the neighborhood. Supposedly they'll be gone in a couple of weeks. I am counting the minutes. I'm not kidding.
Yes, it's been an eventful day around here. I'm still shaking from the cicada attack, but I'll be OK. As for my husband, he'll be OK too. I promise. I'll take really good care of him, keep him medicated and well feed--just as long as he protects me from those horrible Cicadas--I just hate them, I really do!
Yes, go ahead and laugh. He did, and even though I am not laughing, I'll forgive you if you do, it's OK, it really is.
Friday, June 17, 2016
Thursday, June 2, 2016
It's Almost time
In just a few days or maybe a few weeks the time will come when my father takes his last breath. It's hard for me to even process this fact--that we all die. We all return from the place where we came. Dust to dust. Yes, it's so very hard to even contemplate death--for me anyway.
A couple of weeks ago I flew home to California to visit with my parents, and to say goodbye to my father one last time. I was concerned that he wouldn't know who I was, but he did, he knew. When I asked him how many daughters he had, he answered, and when I asked him if he knew who I was, he whispered--number 1 daughter.
It was hard for me. Seeing him in his hospital bed, so frail and weak. I desperately tried to get him to eat something and to drink a little milk or juice--anything to give him some strength. He wanted nothing, he just kept saying that he was in pain, that his back hurt and that he wanted to lie down. The nurses had him sitting up in a wheelchair at that point and he was in so much pain. He begged to be taken back to bed. It was heartbreaking.
Over the course of a week, each day was different. One day he wouldn't talk at all and was only able to make guttural sounds as he tried to communicate his needs, and the next day he would be sitting up and able to speak in 1 to 3-word phrases, I never knew what the day would bring. As painful as it was for me to witness, I believe that it was even more painful for him to watch me in such a mournful state. At one point he asked for a tissue as big tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched me cry. I knew then that I had to get it together, for the sake of my dad, I had to get my emotions in check and be strong for him and my mom.
Each night back at our hotel, I would lay in the arms of my husband and sob. I am so thankful for him and will be forever grateful for his kindness and understanding during this time. He has been my rock, the only one that I can talk to and the only one who understands.
The week went by quickly and once again I was back to my reality, my life, my family. I was able to turn off the thoughts and emotions and go throughout my day. I have been calling my mother daily to keep on top of the health of my dad and each day he grows worse. I live on pins and needles waiting for that dreaded and yet anticipated phone call.
Mostly, my heart breaks for my mom. She is alone now. Her best friend, her husband of 63+ years is no longer able to live with her. She is all by herself. No companion, no partner in crime, no best friend to sit and watch late night TV with. She is alone. I think that is what bothers me the most. Her loss. Not mine. Not my sisters. Not anyone else. Just her. My heart breaks for her.
I know that one day I will see my dad again in heaven. I am a Christian, and so is he. We have that peace, that assurance that we will one day be reunited. We don't live with a fear of death. We look forward to seeing God and being in His presence. It's comforting to us.
It's this time on earth that's a little disconcerting for me. This time of space that's in-between. Death for him, life for me. I know that once I also die, we'll see each other again. However, what about that in-between time? What do we do with that time? What will my mom do? That's what I am most concerned about. How do I comfort her? What do I say? It's so hard not living close to them. I feel so guilty, and yet, isn't this where God moved me?
To say that my family needs, no covets your prayers is an understatement. My mom needs prayer in coping with the impending death of her husband, my father. My sister needs prayer in coping with the care of my mom, and I need prayer in coping with the guilt of not living in California. My father also needs your prayers. Please pray that he goes quickly, and pain-free. Pray that both my parents find peace in God's perfect will. It's almost time.
A couple of weeks ago I flew home to California to visit with my parents, and to say goodbye to my father one last time. I was concerned that he wouldn't know who I was, but he did, he knew. When I asked him how many daughters he had, he answered, and when I asked him if he knew who I was, he whispered--number 1 daughter.
It was hard for me. Seeing him in his hospital bed, so frail and weak. I desperately tried to get him to eat something and to drink a little milk or juice--anything to give him some strength. He wanted nothing, he just kept saying that he was in pain, that his back hurt and that he wanted to lie down. The nurses had him sitting up in a wheelchair at that point and he was in so much pain. He begged to be taken back to bed. It was heartbreaking.
Over the course of a week, each day was different. One day he wouldn't talk at all and was only able to make guttural sounds as he tried to communicate his needs, and the next day he would be sitting up and able to speak in 1 to 3-word phrases, I never knew what the day would bring. As painful as it was for me to witness, I believe that it was even more painful for him to watch me in such a mournful state. At one point he asked for a tissue as big tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched me cry. I knew then that I had to get it together, for the sake of my dad, I had to get my emotions in check and be strong for him and my mom.
Each night back at our hotel, I would lay in the arms of my husband and sob. I am so thankful for him and will be forever grateful for his kindness and understanding during this time. He has been my rock, the only one that I can talk to and the only one who understands.
The week went by quickly and once again I was back to my reality, my life, my family. I was able to turn off the thoughts and emotions and go throughout my day. I have been calling my mother daily to keep on top of the health of my dad and each day he grows worse. I live on pins and needles waiting for that dreaded and yet anticipated phone call.
Mostly, my heart breaks for my mom. She is alone now. Her best friend, her husband of 63+ years is no longer able to live with her. She is all by herself. No companion, no partner in crime, no best friend to sit and watch late night TV with. She is alone. I think that is what bothers me the most. Her loss. Not mine. Not my sisters. Not anyone else. Just her. My heart breaks for her.
I know that one day I will see my dad again in heaven. I am a Christian, and so is he. We have that peace, that assurance that we will one day be reunited. We don't live with a fear of death. We look forward to seeing God and being in His presence. It's comforting to us.
It's this time on earth that's a little disconcerting for me. This time of space that's in-between. Death for him, life for me. I know that once I also die, we'll see each other again. However, what about that in-between time? What do we do with that time? What will my mom do? That's what I am most concerned about. How do I comfort her? What do I say? It's so hard not living close to them. I feel so guilty, and yet, isn't this where God moved me?
To say that my family needs, no covets your prayers is an understatement. My mom needs prayer in coping with the impending death of her husband, my father. My sister needs prayer in coping with the care of my mom, and I need prayer in coping with the guilt of not living in California. My father also needs your prayers. Please pray that he goes quickly, and pain-free. Pray that both my parents find peace in God's perfect will. It's almost time.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
A Bird's Wing
I saw something the other day that took my breath away. It was a wing. The wing of a bird that has been nesting on the wreath on my front door. She is a very sweet momma bird--a little finch. I've grown quite attached to her. I think she senses this because she does not dive bomb me when I peer into her little nest. I can't seem to stop looking at her babies or taking pictures of them. They fascinate me.
I have watched her for several weeks now. She would bring little twigs and weave them into my wreath. She built her nest in layers. And finally, when she thought her nest was deep enough to shield her babies, she laid 5 beautiful little blue eggs. One each day for 5 days. And then she rested.
After almost 2 weeks her little babies began to hatch. Sometimes I wonder if I was actually more excited about those new little babies than she was. With each new bird baby, I just grew more and more thrilled about them. They were (and still are) adorable.
It ended up that only 3 of my little baby birds survived, for I found 2 dead babies laying on my doorstep one morning. We carefully picked them up and disposed of them. It broke my heart. I had heard her the previous morning making all kinds of noise in her nest and now looking back I think she was getting rid of them. She shoved those dead babies out so that her remaining babies had room to live and grow. She knew what was best--after all, she's the bird mom, not me.
Watching these little birds grow has been a wondrous thing for me. They are really beginning to get big and I know that within a week or 2--off they'll go. I have mixed emotions about that, but then again I am a human. And a mom human to boot!
So back to what I saw the other day because that's really what I want to talk about--I saw the wing of the momma bird. She must have been laying somewhat on her side, for her wing was stretched out flat, covering her babies. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. It was perfection. I wish that I had had my camera with me, I would have taken a picture. However, I guess I will just have to have a remembrance of it now--just a sweet memory.
There she was, that momma bird, with her wing covering her babies, when right then I thought of something. It kind of hit me hard. My eyes filled with tears, my heart clenched tight and my breath caught in my throat. I thought of God's wing of protection covering me. God protects me just like this--I thought. Just like this. The wing of a bird. A simple, yet complex wing. Covering me, protecting me. How great is that? Just like a bird's wing.
I have watched her for several weeks now. She would bring little twigs and weave them into my wreath. She built her nest in layers. And finally, when she thought her nest was deep enough to shield her babies, she laid 5 beautiful little blue eggs. One each day for 5 days. And then she rested.
After almost 2 weeks her little babies began to hatch. Sometimes I wonder if I was actually more excited about those new little babies than she was. With each new bird baby, I just grew more and more thrilled about them. They were (and still are) adorable.
It ended up that only 3 of my little baby birds survived, for I found 2 dead babies laying on my doorstep one morning. We carefully picked them up and disposed of them. It broke my heart. I had heard her the previous morning making all kinds of noise in her nest and now looking back I think she was getting rid of them. She shoved those dead babies out so that her remaining babies had room to live and grow. She knew what was best--after all, she's the bird mom, not me.
Watching these little birds grow has been a wondrous thing for me. They are really beginning to get big and I know that within a week or 2--off they'll go. I have mixed emotions about that, but then again I am a human. And a mom human to boot!
So back to what I saw the other day because that's really what I want to talk about--I saw the wing of the momma bird. She must have been laying somewhat on her side, for her wing was stretched out flat, covering her babies. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. It was perfection. I wish that I had had my camera with me, I would have taken a picture. However, I guess I will just have to have a remembrance of it now--just a sweet memory.
There she was, that momma bird, with her wing covering her babies, when right then I thought of something. It kind of hit me hard. My eyes filled with tears, my heart clenched tight and my breath caught in my throat. I thought of God's wing of protection covering me. God protects me just like this--I thought. Just like this. The wing of a bird. A simple, yet complex wing. Covering me, protecting me. How great is that? Just like a bird's wing.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Just Come Home
I am going to admit something here--the last few days of this little mundane life of mine have been a tumultuous time for me, and also for my husband. I have always been very honest with my thoughts and feelings (to the point of being criticized) so why should it be any different now? Why shouldn't I share how horrible the last few days have been? And also what I did about it, how I reacted to said circumstances, and the outcome? I also want to share the good and the bad of those reactions. I think it's important for me as a Christian to evaluate my response to difficult situations and then work on those weak areas of my life.
As I blogged earlier, my husband went to Congo again for a 2-week missions trip, this time to work on getting power to a hospital. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of him going--for lots of reasons, mostly all them extremely selfish on my part. However, I stepped aside and away he went. His excitement bugged me. Hey, I did warn you that I am honest with my thoughts. Anyway, during the 2 weeks that he was gone I tried hard to stay busy--clubs, friends, family, lunches, shopping, etc. Anything I could do to make the time go quicker--I did.
Of course, during those 2 weeks, every type of weather known to man hit the Cleveland area. We had temps in the 70's and then we had snow. We had wind gusts that sounded like my little house was going to blow down and then we had beautiful blue skies. Extreme weather at it's best. How did it affect me? Well, I had to walk our little 9-month-old puppy 5 times a day, morning, noon and night. That isn't an unusual feat for me, other than, if it's bad weather or very late at night, my husband will take over that duty. He's very helpful that way. So, imagine a crazy little puppy trying to go potty in windy snowy conditions. She was afraid of her own shadow! Around and around the block we went, she pulling and tugging at her lead, too afraid to relax and let nature take its course. Ugg. A simple doggy walk sometimes took way too long. And as I was out there in the elements walking my pup, I would proceed to get madder and madder that life, in general, was falling in on me. And then I would proceed to have myself a little pity party.
By the time 2 weeks had rolled around I was ready for the other half of this relationship to come home. I wanted someone to carry half the load of this life we had built. I was tired of going it alone. Coffee alone in the morning isn't fun for me, dinner alone every night isn't either. I noticed that I wasn't even laughing at sitcoms and also, wasn't yelling at the TV when people picked the wrong house on House Hunters. In other words, life was not fun for me. Yes, I was ready. Ready to be a couple again. I needed my other half.
And then the phone call came. Weather. Bad weather. Stormy weather in Congo had grounded their plane, and he was now going to miss all his connecting flights. As I sat on the phone listening to his troubles, huge tears began to roll down my cheeks. I had so many plans for the next few days--for us. I didn't want to do them alone--not anymore. Maybe others can relate. Maybe some can't. I know that every marriage is different. Some aren't as closely intertwined as ours. We like to do most everything together. So this was a blow to both of us.
For several hours the team tried hard to reschedule their flights. Finally, I received a text message--he'd be home 2 days late. It is what it is though, so after hanging up I had myself a good cry and tried to concentrate on praying for their safety. What he didn't tell me right then was that at first he was told he couldn't get a flight out until the following week! And also, that he had contracted malaria and was coming down with a bad cold. He didn't want to worry me. However, we don't have that kind of marriage, we tell each other everything--good or bad, we don't keep secrets. So, he wrote me a long email and filled me in on the details. After another good cry and a lot more praying I finally went to bed knowing that he would eventually make it home, just not on my time--but God's.
Thankfully I have some awesome friends who kept tabs on me--they called and prayed with me, and sent me texts and emails. My kids kept me busy, and I kept up with normal daily living. I prayed a lot. The fact that he had malaria really bothered me. The next couple of nights I had trouble sleeping and would just lay in bed and pray.
He was almost home when I received another phone call. After 4 flights, and only 1 to go--his last leg was canceled due to weather. He was stuck in Chicago. So close and yet...
There were no flights to Cleveland on any other airlines for 2 days! 2 more long days. He was done! I could hear it in his voice. It's funny how when one is down and out, the other steps in to pick up the pieces. There I sat all alone in Cleveland with him just a mere 6 hours away--talking him off the ledge (so to speak) and telling him it would all work out. He wanted to rent a car right then and drive those last 6 hours home--at night, in a snowstorm. No, I don't think so. I insisted he get a hotel room, rest up, shower and rent a car the next morning.
About an hour later my phone rang again--I'm on a plane going to Detroit. Detroit? That way I'm closer to home. His plan was to spend the night in Detroit, rent a car the next morning and drive for 3 hours and be home. It was all working out! That is when he realized that he didn't have his drivers license with him. He'd left it home--who needs a license in Congo, right? Anyway, it was just another item that might get stolen. No license, no rental car. He felt trapped. He almost sounded panicked which scared me a little.
I really believe that for both of us, that moment in time was the hardest part of the entire trip. 3 hours from home, in the middle of the night and no way to get home. I begged him to check into a hotel and call me the next morning and I promised we'd work things out. In my mind, I was just planning on driving to Detroit and picking him up. In his mind, he was already making plans to book another flight--no matter the cost. I thought we had a plan. I thought he'd go to sleep, but no--at 1:30 in the morning my phone rang again--I have an early morning flight to Cleveland, pick me up at the airport.
Oh my goodness, at this point, I thought the guy had left all his marbles in Congo! Go to sleep I said--go to sleep! You sound crazy! He promised he would, so we hung up and the next morning I was at the airport and picked up my nutty husband. He looked a little manic--I'm not going to lie. But, he looked so happy to finally be home. His normal 30 hours of travel time to Congo had turned into almost 60 hours of travel to get home.
Yes he has malaria, yes he has a bad cold, and yes he's extremely tired. But, he's home, and our little family is now reunited. I will take care of him, make sure he takes his meds, and make sure he sleeps.
This is the saga of traveling to Africa. It's always something, right? For us, though it isn't half as bad if we travel together. Plain and simple--we don't like being apart from each other. Maybe this will end up being his last trip to Congo, maybe not. Maybe I'll go next time--if there is a next time, maybe not. I learned that I have absolutely no control over my life or the lives of others. I've learned that God has complete control and that I have to rely on Him for all things. So, I will. I'll pray and go on living this awesome little life of mine. And for a few weeks at least, I'll savor these times with my husband. And I'll hope that for awhile--well, that he won't bring up going back to Congo until I've fully recuperated from this little excursion. Yes, I did just say that. Until I have recuperated. You see, he doesn't have to recuperate, not really, for his heart is there--in Africa, with the people of Congo. I just hope he waits awhile before going back. It's hard on me. It really is.
As I blogged earlier, my husband went to Congo again for a 2-week missions trip, this time to work on getting power to a hospital. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of him going--for lots of reasons, mostly all them extremely selfish on my part. However, I stepped aside and away he went. His excitement bugged me. Hey, I did warn you that I am honest with my thoughts. Anyway, during the 2 weeks that he was gone I tried hard to stay busy--clubs, friends, family, lunches, shopping, etc. Anything I could do to make the time go quicker--I did.
Of course, during those 2 weeks, every type of weather known to man hit the Cleveland area. We had temps in the 70's and then we had snow. We had wind gusts that sounded like my little house was going to blow down and then we had beautiful blue skies. Extreme weather at it's best. How did it affect me? Well, I had to walk our little 9-month-old puppy 5 times a day, morning, noon and night. That isn't an unusual feat for me, other than, if it's bad weather or very late at night, my husband will take over that duty. He's very helpful that way. So, imagine a crazy little puppy trying to go potty in windy snowy conditions. She was afraid of her own shadow! Around and around the block we went, she pulling and tugging at her lead, too afraid to relax and let nature take its course. Ugg. A simple doggy walk sometimes took way too long. And as I was out there in the elements walking my pup, I would proceed to get madder and madder that life, in general, was falling in on me. And then I would proceed to have myself a little pity party.
By the time 2 weeks had rolled around I was ready for the other half of this relationship to come home. I wanted someone to carry half the load of this life we had built. I was tired of going it alone. Coffee alone in the morning isn't fun for me, dinner alone every night isn't either. I noticed that I wasn't even laughing at sitcoms and also, wasn't yelling at the TV when people picked the wrong house on House Hunters. In other words, life was not fun for me. Yes, I was ready. Ready to be a couple again. I needed my other half.
And then the phone call came. Weather. Bad weather. Stormy weather in Congo had grounded their plane, and he was now going to miss all his connecting flights. As I sat on the phone listening to his troubles, huge tears began to roll down my cheeks. I had so many plans for the next few days--for us. I didn't want to do them alone--not anymore. Maybe others can relate. Maybe some can't. I know that every marriage is different. Some aren't as closely intertwined as ours. We like to do most everything together. So this was a blow to both of us.
For several hours the team tried hard to reschedule their flights. Finally, I received a text message--he'd be home 2 days late. It is what it is though, so after hanging up I had myself a good cry and tried to concentrate on praying for their safety. What he didn't tell me right then was that at first he was told he couldn't get a flight out until the following week! And also, that he had contracted malaria and was coming down with a bad cold. He didn't want to worry me. However, we don't have that kind of marriage, we tell each other everything--good or bad, we don't keep secrets. So, he wrote me a long email and filled me in on the details. After another good cry and a lot more praying I finally went to bed knowing that he would eventually make it home, just not on my time--but God's.
Thankfully I have some awesome friends who kept tabs on me--they called and prayed with me, and sent me texts and emails. My kids kept me busy, and I kept up with normal daily living. I prayed a lot. The fact that he had malaria really bothered me. The next couple of nights I had trouble sleeping and would just lay in bed and pray.
He was almost home when I received another phone call. After 4 flights, and only 1 to go--his last leg was canceled due to weather. He was stuck in Chicago. So close and yet...
There were no flights to Cleveland on any other airlines for 2 days! 2 more long days. He was done! I could hear it in his voice. It's funny how when one is down and out, the other steps in to pick up the pieces. There I sat all alone in Cleveland with him just a mere 6 hours away--talking him off the ledge (so to speak) and telling him it would all work out. He wanted to rent a car right then and drive those last 6 hours home--at night, in a snowstorm. No, I don't think so. I insisted he get a hotel room, rest up, shower and rent a car the next morning.
About an hour later my phone rang again--I'm on a plane going to Detroit. Detroit? That way I'm closer to home. His plan was to spend the night in Detroit, rent a car the next morning and drive for 3 hours and be home. It was all working out! That is when he realized that he didn't have his drivers license with him. He'd left it home--who needs a license in Congo, right? Anyway, it was just another item that might get stolen. No license, no rental car. He felt trapped. He almost sounded panicked which scared me a little.
I really believe that for both of us, that moment in time was the hardest part of the entire trip. 3 hours from home, in the middle of the night and no way to get home. I begged him to check into a hotel and call me the next morning and I promised we'd work things out. In my mind, I was just planning on driving to Detroit and picking him up. In his mind, he was already making plans to book another flight--no matter the cost. I thought we had a plan. I thought he'd go to sleep, but no--at 1:30 in the morning my phone rang again--I have an early morning flight to Cleveland, pick me up at the airport.
Oh my goodness, at this point, I thought the guy had left all his marbles in Congo! Go to sleep I said--go to sleep! You sound crazy! He promised he would, so we hung up and the next morning I was at the airport and picked up my nutty husband. He looked a little manic--I'm not going to lie. But, he looked so happy to finally be home. His normal 30 hours of travel time to Congo had turned into almost 60 hours of travel to get home.
Yes he has malaria, yes he has a bad cold, and yes he's extremely tired. But, he's home, and our little family is now reunited. I will take care of him, make sure he takes his meds, and make sure he sleeps.
This is the saga of traveling to Africa. It's always something, right? For us, though it isn't half as bad if we travel together. Plain and simple--we don't like being apart from each other. Maybe this will end up being his last trip to Congo, maybe not. Maybe I'll go next time--if there is a next time, maybe not. I learned that I have absolutely no control over my life or the lives of others. I've learned that God has complete control and that I have to rely on Him for all things. So, I will. I'll pray and go on living this awesome little life of mine. And for a few weeks at least, I'll savor these times with my husband. And I'll hope that for awhile--well, that he won't bring up going back to Congo until I've fully recuperated from this little excursion. Yes, I did just say that. Until I have recuperated. You see, he doesn't have to recuperate, not really, for his heart is there--in Africa, with the people of Congo. I just hope he waits awhile before going back. It's hard on me. It really is.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Coco Chanel # 4
There's this dog, you see. And she kinda stole my heart. I tried so hard not to let it happen. I thought to myself--I'll just like her a lot. I will hold her and hug her, feed her and walk her, train her and be good to her, but I won't love her. Nope. I am going to keep that love all bottled up for the dog I just lost. I just couldn't risk hurting that much again.
For that is how much I love my dogs and that is how much I hurt when they die.
So, for me, it was just too risky. My heart was hurting too badly to take on anything else. And yet...it happened anyway. That little bi-black sheltie pup looked into my eyes and said it first. In her own little doggie puppy way, she said it first. I love you, mom.
Now, what do I do? Not love her back? As she desperately tries to please me? As she lets me do just about anything to her--nail clipping, tail brushing, bath giving--you know all those mean things that dog moms do? When she stares at me expectantly waiting for her next command--how can I not love her?
And then it hit me. She has healed my little broken heart. She has made me--yes, made me love her. That sneaky little thing. At just 9 months old and just a mere 6 months after losing my last sheltie, this little girl has made me love her. She is the cutest, most cuddly little thing. Always licking, always jumping (hence the agility training) always by my side--she has let me know that in no uncertain terms, she will stick by me and be loyal to me and love me unconditionally. That's just the way dogs are.
They're sneaky like that. Those soft, fluffy, snuggly puppies. They worm their way in and then wind you around their little paws. How awesome is that? I didn't even see it coming.
Yes, when God creates you, makes and molds you, and you just happen to be a dog person (I realize some people aren't) I believe that he uses said dogs to teach you (me) life lessons. Lessons about love, compassion, empathy and even loss. At least that is how He works many times in my life. He works through my love of animals, most specifically dogs.
So my new pup Chanel keeps me very busy, we're in training. She also sits with me when I cry--which I tend to do a lot. She makes me laugh when I need it the most. She is the ever loyal friend. And as long as she'll have me, I'll be her ever loyal mom, loving her way past the end.
You see, I tend to love my dogs forever. God made me like that. And it's OK. It really is.
For that is how much I love my dogs and that is how much I hurt when they die.
So, for me, it was just too risky. My heart was hurting too badly to take on anything else. And yet...it happened anyway. That little bi-black sheltie pup looked into my eyes and said it first. In her own little doggie puppy way, she said it first. I love you, mom.
Now, what do I do? Not love her back? As she desperately tries to please me? As she lets me do just about anything to her--nail clipping, tail brushing, bath giving--you know all those mean things that dog moms do? When she stares at me expectantly waiting for her next command--how can I not love her?
And then it hit me. She has healed my little broken heart. She has made me--yes, made me love her. That sneaky little thing. At just 9 months old and just a mere 6 months after losing my last sheltie, this little girl has made me love her. She is the cutest, most cuddly little thing. Always licking, always jumping (hence the agility training) always by my side--she has let me know that in no uncertain terms, she will stick by me and be loyal to me and love me unconditionally. That's just the way dogs are.
They're sneaky like that. Those soft, fluffy, snuggly puppies. They worm their way in and then wind you around their little paws. How awesome is that? I didn't even see it coming.
Yes, when God creates you, makes and molds you, and you just happen to be a dog person (I realize some people aren't) I believe that he uses said dogs to teach you (me) life lessons. Lessons about love, compassion, empathy and even loss. At least that is how He works many times in my life. He works through my love of animals, most specifically dogs.
So my new pup Chanel keeps me very busy, we're in training. She also sits with me when I cry--which I tend to do a lot. She makes me laugh when I need it the most. She is the ever loyal friend. And as long as she'll have me, I'll be her ever loyal mom, loving her way past the end.
You see, I tend to love my dogs forever. God made me like that. And it's OK. It really is.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Easter Musings
While watching the news this morning it occurred to me that everyone was using the word Easter. All the newscasters were using it, and also every commercial that was broadcasted mentioned their Easter sales. Many restaurants were advertising their lovely dinners, etc. I kind of liked it.
I watched Easter services from around the globe, hearing people talk about church, even hearing the phrase--Christ is risen. Yes, I heard that too, from broadcast television. At first, I was stunned. Did they just say that on the news? Christ is risen? Huh.
I think I was so surprised because I had just become somewhat accustomed to hearing the word holiday over and over again during Christmas time. Holiday tree, holiday sales, holiday everything. And yet--the word Easter not holiday was used this morning. I'm not complaining--I'm just pondering this bit of information and trying to figure out why. Why is it so different? Why does the word Christmas offend, while the word Easter does not? I'm a little confused.
It seems that no one (at least in the secular world) wants to talk about the birth of Christ and yet everyone (at least in the secular world) talks about His resurrection. Can a person believe in one without the other? I've heard more about the resurrection of Christ via television this past week than I've heard in a long time. And I don't watch religious TV. So I am baffled.
I was told by the media et al, that all the world wants to celebrate Christmas, er, I mean holiday time. They want to share in the gift-giving, meal planning, lights, and decorations, but please do not offend them with the C word. Nope, do not even call that silly old tree a Christmas tree--it is now a holiday tree henceforth.
So, can you understand my confusion? Why is Easter so different? I do believe that Christians celebrate both equally, and so does the secular world, with Santa and the Easter bunny running neck and neck. Also noted this morning was the sale of candy--with Easter candy sales even topping those candy sales of Halloween! What?
And guess what else I found out? Most major retailers are closed today! Closed! I did find some pharmacies that are open though. I checked. However, don't you remember all the stores that were vowing to stay open on Christmas Day for those last minute shoppers? I do.
All this information is messing with my little pea brain. It's about to explode with all the questions I have swirling around inside. Why is Easter so much easier than Christmas for the world to hear about?
I wonder, is it because it contains hope? Hope that one day Christ will return for His church? Hope because He really did arise from the dead? Hope because at Christmas He was just a baby, but at Easter, He was a man--a man who could really save us? I don't know. Maybe it's just too hard for some to believe or even care about a little baby--maybe that's why they are offended by the word Christmas. I'm not sure. However, how can one be offended by the word Easter, when Christ is offering hope and life to all?
Yes, maybe that is my conclusion. Jesus who rose from the dead--is the one who saves us from death. He is our hope, our salvation, and our peace. There isn't one thing "holiday" about it.
It's Easter. And not just for Christians--it's Easter for all. Hope for all. Christ for all who believe.
Maybe the thought of hope is an easier pill to swallow. Maybe believing in a baby is just too much to ask of some.
This Easter, I will try to remember that--as I go out today for lunch with my grandkids. I will try hard to share God's love for this fallen world, I will try my hardest to be like Jesus and pray for those around me. Maybe in some small way via a smile or kind word, I can reflect the love of Christ and show them what Easter is really all about. Maybe I can give someone a little bit of hope today.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Again Congo
I realize that I have not blogged in several weeks. I just haven't been in the mood to write. My emotions have been all over the board, up and down--ever changing. I'm not really used to that. I am usually more stable. However, these past few weeks have been hard. And good. Yes, they've been good too. That's why things have been so topsy-turvy for me. Sometimes I feel as though I am riding a roller coaster, and I hate roller coasters, I really do. I tend to like flat surfaces. Easy, steady, comfortable--you know, safe.
Yes, it's been a long few weeks for me. You see, my husband once again is in the Congo. The DRC, the continent of Africa. As I've watched him make purchases, pack his bags and talk incessantly about this trip, it's been tough--for me. Not for him. He's been so excited that it's been hard to bring him back into reality, reality being me. Because after all, isn't it always all about me? No? OK, I guess not.
So, for these past few weeks, I've tried hard to be supportive. When he told me that he wanted to go back to the Congo, back into that dangerous country, fly on old unsafe planes, stay in missionaries homes that have guard shacks, and eat foods that I can't even imagine--what was I to say? I guess I did what most spouses would do--I said, do it, go, I'll pray for you. And then behind closed doors, I cried. I didn't really want him to go. Not really. I hate the thought of him being in any kind of danger, especially when our own government suggests that we not go. But, go he did.
It's just been a few days but so much has happened that I don't even know where to begin. So, I'll start with this part. He wanted to fly through Brussels to visit our friends on his way to Africa, but alas, there were no available seats. He was so disappointed. He ended up making flight arrangements via Paris. And then look what happened that fateful horrible morning in Brussels! I was so concerned for our friends who live there, I immediately had to make sure that they were all ok, which thankfully they were. I didn't hear from my husband until a few hours later that day to even share stories with him. It seems that half their missionary team flew through Brussels and are now stranded there until tomorrow or the next day. But, at least they are all fine. Some have lost their luggage, they are all tired and wondering what will happen next, etc. My husband sounded exhausted, but at least he was able to make contact with me. I am so thankful for that.
This time around he is working on a project to bring electricity to a local hospital. Can you even imagine checking into a hospital without electricity? I can't. However, I've seen the pictures and wow, I am so grateful for where I live and the modern conveniences that I've grown up with. So very thankful for all I take for granted in this modern world. And yet for some, it's not so modern.
I've noticed that my prayers for him and the team are very different this time around. There is an urgency to these prayers of mine. It's hard to explain. I'll just have to pray as God directs me I guess. There's really nothing more that I can do than that. I realize that I have absolutely no control over what goes on in this world. All I can do is pray.
I am wondering now how many more trips there will be. Is this the last one? Or just another one of much more to come? I know where his heart is. It's with the people of Congo. He loves them. It shows in his facial expressions as he speaks of them. So why would I ever talk him out of going?
He just called. A local missionary lent him his phone. He is missing home, and although he's hot, tired, a little dehydrated--he sounded happy. They are working hard on this project. The rest of their team will hopefully be joining them in a few days. I hope they make it. I hope they get to experience what he is feeling. Joy, happiness, thankfulness and most of all obedience to his God. He is doing what God has called him to do. He is content. He is in Congo. Need I say more.
Yes, it's been a long few weeks for me. You see, my husband once again is in the Congo. The DRC, the continent of Africa. As I've watched him make purchases, pack his bags and talk incessantly about this trip, it's been tough--for me. Not for him. He's been so excited that it's been hard to bring him back into reality, reality being me. Because after all, isn't it always all about me? No? OK, I guess not.
So, for these past few weeks, I've tried hard to be supportive. When he told me that he wanted to go back to the Congo, back into that dangerous country, fly on old unsafe planes, stay in missionaries homes that have guard shacks, and eat foods that I can't even imagine--what was I to say? I guess I did what most spouses would do--I said, do it, go, I'll pray for you. And then behind closed doors, I cried. I didn't really want him to go. Not really. I hate the thought of him being in any kind of danger, especially when our own government suggests that we not go. But, go he did.
It's just been a few days but so much has happened that I don't even know where to begin. So, I'll start with this part. He wanted to fly through Brussels to visit our friends on his way to Africa, but alas, there were no available seats. He was so disappointed. He ended up making flight arrangements via Paris. And then look what happened that fateful horrible morning in Brussels! I was so concerned for our friends who live there, I immediately had to make sure that they were all ok, which thankfully they were. I didn't hear from my husband until a few hours later that day to even share stories with him. It seems that half their missionary team flew through Brussels and are now stranded there until tomorrow or the next day. But, at least they are all fine. Some have lost their luggage, they are all tired and wondering what will happen next, etc. My husband sounded exhausted, but at least he was able to make contact with me. I am so thankful for that.
This time around he is working on a project to bring electricity to a local hospital. Can you even imagine checking into a hospital without electricity? I can't. However, I've seen the pictures and wow, I am so grateful for where I live and the modern conveniences that I've grown up with. So very thankful for all I take for granted in this modern world. And yet for some, it's not so modern.
I've noticed that my prayers for him and the team are very different this time around. There is an urgency to these prayers of mine. It's hard to explain. I'll just have to pray as God directs me I guess. There's really nothing more that I can do than that. I realize that I have absolutely no control over what goes on in this world. All I can do is pray.
I am wondering now how many more trips there will be. Is this the last one? Or just another one of much more to come? I know where his heart is. It's with the people of Congo. He loves them. It shows in his facial expressions as he speaks of them. So why would I ever talk him out of going?
He just called. A local missionary lent him his phone. He is missing home, and although he's hot, tired, a little dehydrated--he sounded happy. They are working hard on this project. The rest of their team will hopefully be joining them in a few days. I hope they make it. I hope they get to experience what he is feeling. Joy, happiness, thankfulness and most of all obedience to his God. He is doing what God has called him to do. He is content. He is in Congo. Need I say more.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
My Dog Ate Your Handbag
Oh, the horror. Can you even imagine how I felt?
This is what happened. My daughter and I have a love of handbags. If you don't share the love, you won't even begin to understand what I am writing about. You have to genuinely love handbags, and not just any old handbag--I'm talking designer bags. You know, the good stuff. Why I have this affliction is beyond me. My mother didn't have it (although she does like purses) she doesn't care about the designer aspect of them. My daughter and I though--well, we are lost in handbag designer heaven. Or hell?
So, as any mother and daughter sometimes do--we decided it might be fun to swap a couple of our bags for a few months and see if we like each other's purses before investing in another handbag. Brilliant idea! As we traded, I set her handbag up on my puppies crate to use later and walked away. And that's when it happened. We had left for a few hours of shopping and fun, and when I returned home I realized that my little dog had jumped up and grabbed my daughter's handbag and had chewed the tabs on either end of the zipper, and also on a couple of other areas. I was devastated. How could that have happened? She'd never gotten anything off her crate before, was she even tall enough to reach?
I knew that I would eventually have to fess up to my daughter. So, with sweaty palms, I told her what happened. I also told her to send it to the store for repair, and that I, of course, would pay for the damages. Which, came to the tune of $425. Gulp. I couldn't believe it. So today I mailed her a check and hopefully, before long she'll have her handbag returned to her--good as new.
I guess the reason I am writing about this is twofold. One, puppies are crazy and will destroy many items if left unattended. Even if attended, they sometimes manage to damage our things (or treasures) right under our noses. I think of myself as being a darn good dog mom. I obedience train, crate, leash, socialize my dog, etc. However, sometimes stuff just happens. And two, things are things. I want to always remember that. Things are nothing more than things. This little puppy of mine brings me more joy than I am able to put into words. She makes me happy. I smile when she walks into a room. She's silly and clumsy and loving all at the same time. And what's a handbag anyway? They can be replaced (or in my case repaired) whereas my little puppy? Well, now that would be a horrific thought.
So, as I mailed the check to my daughter today, I kissed the money goodbye, gave my puppy a hug and let bygones be bygones. I will, however, keep her crate clear of any valuables.
I learned a hard lesson. And I'm OK with that. Lessons learned have value, and are sometimes costly, but never are they worthless. Mine aren't anyway. However, next time I hope they aren't so expensive, right?
No, no, bad dog!
This is what happened. My daughter and I have a love of handbags. If you don't share the love, you won't even begin to understand what I am writing about. You have to genuinely love handbags, and not just any old handbag--I'm talking designer bags. You know, the good stuff. Why I have this affliction is beyond me. My mother didn't have it (although she does like purses) she doesn't care about the designer aspect of them. My daughter and I though--well, we are lost in handbag designer heaven. Or hell?
So, as any mother and daughter sometimes do--we decided it might be fun to swap a couple of our bags for a few months and see if we like each other's purses before investing in another handbag. Brilliant idea! As we traded, I set her handbag up on my puppies crate to use later and walked away. And that's when it happened. We had left for a few hours of shopping and fun, and when I returned home I realized that my little dog had jumped up and grabbed my daughter's handbag and had chewed the tabs on either end of the zipper, and also on a couple of other areas. I was devastated. How could that have happened? She'd never gotten anything off her crate before, was she even tall enough to reach?
I knew that I would eventually have to fess up to my daughter. So, with sweaty palms, I told her what happened. I also told her to send it to the store for repair, and that I, of course, would pay for the damages. Which, came to the tune of $425. Gulp. I couldn't believe it. So today I mailed her a check and hopefully, before long she'll have her handbag returned to her--good as new.
I guess the reason I am writing about this is twofold. One, puppies are crazy and will destroy many items if left unattended. Even if attended, they sometimes manage to damage our things (or treasures) right under our noses. I think of myself as being a darn good dog mom. I obedience train, crate, leash, socialize my dog, etc. However, sometimes stuff just happens. And two, things are things. I want to always remember that. Things are nothing more than things. This little puppy of mine brings me more joy than I am able to put into words. She makes me happy. I smile when she walks into a room. She's silly and clumsy and loving all at the same time. And what's a handbag anyway? They can be replaced (or in my case repaired) whereas my little puppy? Well, now that would be a horrific thought.
So, as I mailed the check to my daughter today, I kissed the money goodbye, gave my puppy a hug and let bygones be bygones. I will, however, keep her crate clear of any valuables.
I learned a hard lesson. And I'm OK with that. Lessons learned have value, and are sometimes costly, but never are they worthless. Mine aren't anyway. However, next time I hope they aren't so expensive, right?
No, no, bad dog!
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Same Time Next Year
Do you know what I am hoping for next year? I am hoping for stability. I know that sounds a little melodramatic, however, this past year has hit me a little hard. There have been way too many changes for me. To some they might seem like simple changes, to me, they were more like life changes. And to tell you the truth, I am tired. I feel emotionally worn out and I would like for things to become simple. Quiet, calm, unchanging...am I asking for too much? Probably.
It's not going to keep me from praying that way though. I don't want anyone to die, I don't want to move, I don't want to lose another dog, and I don't want to be lonely. What I do want is this--I want lots of time with family and friends. I want to travel, and I want to play/train my new puppy. I want to eat healthily and I want the pain in my hip to subside. I'm thinking that all these things sound reasonable.
And there is one thing I know for sure, one stable thing. God has never ever failed me. Does that mean that everything will be just how I want it to be, or go just how I want it to go? No. It just means that like this year, He will walk me through all the processes of change. If there are any. Which I hope there aren't. However, you and I both know that there will be. There always is. Change. I won't be alone though, no matter what happens, no matter if I move again (gasp) or if someone I love dies, or if, if, if--God will shield me. From what? Myself. He will shield me from me. I need that more than anything. I need to realize on a moment by moment basis that He is in complete control of my life and others around me. And I need to accept those changes in my life as good things because all good things come from Him and Him alone.
So, in all my talk about stability, maybe I should be trying harder to be aware of all the work that God is doing around me. Maybe this year, I'll be more in tune with what He's doing in my life and others, and maybe just maybe by this time next year--I'll be just a little wiser. Maybe.
It's not going to keep me from praying that way though. I don't want anyone to die, I don't want to move, I don't want to lose another dog, and I don't want to be lonely. What I do want is this--I want lots of time with family and friends. I want to travel, and I want to play/train my new puppy. I want to eat healthily and I want the pain in my hip to subside. I'm thinking that all these things sound reasonable.
And there is one thing I know for sure, one stable thing. God has never ever failed me. Does that mean that everything will be just how I want it to be, or go just how I want it to go? No. It just means that like this year, He will walk me through all the processes of change. If there are any. Which I hope there aren't. However, you and I both know that there will be. There always is. Change. I won't be alone though, no matter what happens, no matter if I move again (gasp) or if someone I love dies, or if, if, if--God will shield me. From what? Myself. He will shield me from me. I need that more than anything. I need to realize on a moment by moment basis that He is in complete control of my life and others around me. And I need to accept those changes in my life as good things because all good things come from Him and Him alone.
So, in all my talk about stability, maybe I should be trying harder to be aware of all the work that God is doing around me. Maybe this year, I'll be more in tune with what He's doing in my life and others, and maybe just maybe by this time next year--I'll be just a little wiser. Maybe.
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
This Christmas
What a strange year this has been. Everything was seemingly normal until 6 months ago when wham, everything changed. Our lives as we knew them were turned upside down. Sometimes I like that. I like when things change and there's an air of expectancy, you just know that something fun is about to happen. That wasn't the case this time.
No, we had gone and done exactly what I never wanted to do. I had plugged in and made friends in the new little town we had moved to 5 years ago. How dumb was that? We knew we weren't staying long. As I've said before, I thought maybe 2 or 3 years, tops. And then we'd move back to where we'd be closer to our kids and grandkids. However, those 2 or 3 years turned into 5 years and my heart (at least a piece of it) now belonged to them. Them being the friends and neighbors we made while living there. You'd think I'd learn, but no. I like people, and I like to make friends, and I really like to explore my surroundings, and then I fall in love with all the above.
Why do I do that? I know it's only going to hurt when I leave. I guess it's just the way God made me. I'm a plugger inner. Who knew? So, for 5 years I either spent Christmas in our new little town or we'd go to one of our kid's houses. Either way, it never felt normal. To me, it felt strange and temporary, almost as if we were all staying at a hotel. And while that may sound like fun, it's not. Not at Christmas. I need those warm fuzzy feelings of hearth and home. I need the smell of cookies and firewood, trees, and bread to make it feel like Christmas.
One of our Christmases we did manage to all end up at our house, 14 of us. It was so much fun for me that I almost forgot that we all lived in different towns and cities and states. Almost. After they all went home I cried. I missed my old house, my old life, and my kids.
This past August we moved back to Ohio, close to 2 of our kids and only 6 hours away from another. That might sound like a long way away, but after a 13-hour drive to visit them, well, this seems like a cake walk. I am over the moon with happiness to be so close to my kids. I love it. I love everything about it. The babysitting, the visiting, the lunches and dinners, the holidays. It's wonderful. Almost.
What I didn't realize is that this Christmas I would be desperately missing my friends and neighbors. I thought (I hoped) it would be an easy transition. After all, isn't this what I wanted? Didn't I want to live close to my children and grandchildren? And yet, even though the answer to that question is a resounding YES, I still miss and long for my friends. What a strange year this has turned out to be.
One might think that the moral of this story would be to avoid friendships altogether--if you live a nomadic life such as mine that is. But that just isn't my personality or character. I happen to make friends wherever I go, whether it's on vacation or a business trip or a move across the country. I am the type to plug in, make friends, hunker down, and nest. That's what I do, I nest. And I'm OK with that. For I have found that over these many years of bouncing around, and all these years of collecting friends, and all these years of meeting the most incredible people, well, I wouldn't change a thing. They have influenced my life in ways they'll never know. I wouldn't be who I am today without them--they have been such a huge part of who I have become.
So, this Christmas I am asking that you allow me to be a little sad. I'm OK. I just miss my friends. It isn't that I don't love my family or that I didn't want to move back to Ohio. It's just a very simple fact of life--when you make friends and move away from them, something deep down inside is missing. I'll hold on to my memories though and hope and pray that they'll come visit me. And I them. For I deeply love them and can't imagine a life without them.
Merry Christmas everyone. Hold tight to your friends and family this year. For you never know where you'll be next year. You just never know.
No, we had gone and done exactly what I never wanted to do. I had plugged in and made friends in the new little town we had moved to 5 years ago. How dumb was that? We knew we weren't staying long. As I've said before, I thought maybe 2 or 3 years, tops. And then we'd move back to where we'd be closer to our kids and grandkids. However, those 2 or 3 years turned into 5 years and my heart (at least a piece of it) now belonged to them. Them being the friends and neighbors we made while living there. You'd think I'd learn, but no. I like people, and I like to make friends, and I really like to explore my surroundings, and then I fall in love with all the above.
Why do I do that? I know it's only going to hurt when I leave. I guess it's just the way God made me. I'm a plugger inner. Who knew? So, for 5 years I either spent Christmas in our new little town or we'd go to one of our kid's houses. Either way, it never felt normal. To me, it felt strange and temporary, almost as if we were all staying at a hotel. And while that may sound like fun, it's not. Not at Christmas. I need those warm fuzzy feelings of hearth and home. I need the smell of cookies and firewood, trees, and bread to make it feel like Christmas.
One of our Christmases we did manage to all end up at our house, 14 of us. It was so much fun for me that I almost forgot that we all lived in different towns and cities and states. Almost. After they all went home I cried. I missed my old house, my old life, and my kids.
This past August we moved back to Ohio, close to 2 of our kids and only 6 hours away from another. That might sound like a long way away, but after a 13-hour drive to visit them, well, this seems like a cake walk. I am over the moon with happiness to be so close to my kids. I love it. I love everything about it. The babysitting, the visiting, the lunches and dinners, the holidays. It's wonderful. Almost.
What I didn't realize is that this Christmas I would be desperately missing my friends and neighbors. I thought (I hoped) it would be an easy transition. After all, isn't this what I wanted? Didn't I want to live close to my children and grandchildren? And yet, even though the answer to that question is a resounding YES, I still miss and long for my friends. What a strange year this has turned out to be.
One might think that the moral of this story would be to avoid friendships altogether--if you live a nomadic life such as mine that is. But that just isn't my personality or character. I happen to make friends wherever I go, whether it's on vacation or a business trip or a move across the country. I am the type to plug in, make friends, hunker down, and nest. That's what I do, I nest. And I'm OK with that. For I have found that over these many years of bouncing around, and all these years of collecting friends, and all these years of meeting the most incredible people, well, I wouldn't change a thing. They have influenced my life in ways they'll never know. I wouldn't be who I am today without them--they have been such a huge part of who I have become.
So, this Christmas I am asking that you allow me to be a little sad. I'm OK. I just miss my friends. It isn't that I don't love my family or that I didn't want to move back to Ohio. It's just a very simple fact of life--when you make friends and move away from them, something deep down inside is missing. I'll hold on to my memories though and hope and pray that they'll come visit me. And I them. For I deeply love them and can't imagine a life without them.
Merry Christmas everyone. Hold tight to your friends and family this year. For you never know where you'll be next year. You just never know.
Friday, December 18, 2015
Making Adjustments
I'm thinking that I just might be one of these types of people who learn a little differently or a little more slowly than most. I tend to be a slow processor or a visual learner. Even when God drops something profound into my heart, it takes me a while to assimilate and make it a real part of my learning experience. And then, eventually, I grasp it fully and move on.
It's happening like that now. Slowly and surely adjustments are being made to my life. I'll be honest with you though, sometimes those adjustments hurt. I really don't like them much. However, afterward? Well, afterward I find that in looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way. Those adjustments save me in so many ways. As I was sitting in Bible study the other morning surrounded by friends old and new, God began to speak to me, in his soft, clear, strong voice--He talked while I listened. I really didn't hear much of what was said for the rest of the morning by the other ladies--for I was stuck. Stuck on what He was showing me. We had just read the verse in the Bible about Him being the vine and we are the branches--and then my brain took off. That's kind of how God works with me. He's very patient, kind and loving, He never pushes me, He just waits for me to keep up and learn. I appreciate that.
I think the best way to describe this exercise is to explain it this way. I have a new puppy. She is 6 months old and I've named her Coco Chanel #4. She is a bi-black Shetland Sheepdog. I could tell you the whole long boring story behind her naming but I'll make it short. She's my 4th sheltie and I wanted a Chanel handbag for my 60th birthday--thus the dog and her name. So, as I do with all my new puppies I signed us up for puppy training classes. Puppy 101. It consists mainly of simple commands and socializing said puppy. She's learned to sit, down, stand and come--with heal and stay in the near future--Puppy 102 when she graduates. I'm not kidding. And yes, there will be a 3 and a 4, as I continue to train her for future agility and obedience courses and shows. We're going all the way with this puppy, she's fast and she's smart, and for the most part pretty compliant.
And while it might sound like I am talking about puppy training here, I'm not. Not really. I'm actually talking about the way God trains me. I've been in classes with Him my entire life. From the minute I accepted Him into my heart I've been in training. I've learned to sit, come, down, heel, stand, and just about any other command that He might throw my way. Yes, I've been obedient for the most part--as far as I know. However, along the way, in classes 1-10 maybe not so much. I'm thinking I probably pulled on the lead, lagged behind, raced forward, downed when I should have sat, etc. I think you get the point. And yet, He never once hit me, kicked me, yelled at me or got rid of me. He was patient, kind, understanding, gentle and loved me unconditionally. Yes, once in awhile He jerked up on my choke chain, He might have even given me a stern NO, or two, but never, ever, out of hatred. No, it was always out of love.
And that's kind of how I am with my new puppy. First off, she has managed to worm her way into my heart. And secondly, I am training her out of love. I want her to be obedient, as much for her benefit as mine.
So, back to the branches thing. What God showed me that morning was the importance of me always remembering that He and He alone is the vine. It's when I take that role upon myself that I find I get into trouble. I'm the branch. I need to remember that. It's a very simple analogy. However, one I believe that most of us humans complicate. And I think that that morning God was gently reminding me of my place. At His side, not pulling or lagging. Just right beside Him, my eyes looking up to His face, waiting for my next command.
I watch my little puppy do this at 6 months old. She sits there next to me, looking, waiting, willing, trusting. I wonder--can I do that with my God? That was my real lesson that morning. One of teaching. And no, you're never too old to learn, I am proof of that.
It's happening like that now. Slowly and surely adjustments are being made to my life. I'll be honest with you though, sometimes those adjustments hurt. I really don't like them much. However, afterward? Well, afterward I find that in looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way. Those adjustments save me in so many ways. As I was sitting in Bible study the other morning surrounded by friends old and new, God began to speak to me, in his soft, clear, strong voice--He talked while I listened. I really didn't hear much of what was said for the rest of the morning by the other ladies--for I was stuck. Stuck on what He was showing me. We had just read the verse in the Bible about Him being the vine and we are the branches--and then my brain took off. That's kind of how God works with me. He's very patient, kind and loving, He never pushes me, He just waits for me to keep up and learn. I appreciate that.
I think the best way to describe this exercise is to explain it this way. I have a new puppy. She is 6 months old and I've named her Coco Chanel #4. She is a bi-black Shetland Sheepdog. I could tell you the whole long boring story behind her naming but I'll make it short. She's my 4th sheltie and I wanted a Chanel handbag for my 60th birthday--thus the dog and her name. So, as I do with all my new puppies I signed us up for puppy training classes. Puppy 101. It consists mainly of simple commands and socializing said puppy. She's learned to sit, down, stand and come--with heal and stay in the near future--Puppy 102 when she graduates. I'm not kidding. And yes, there will be a 3 and a 4, as I continue to train her for future agility and obedience courses and shows. We're going all the way with this puppy, she's fast and she's smart, and for the most part pretty compliant.
And while it might sound like I am talking about puppy training here, I'm not. Not really. I'm actually talking about the way God trains me. I've been in classes with Him my entire life. From the minute I accepted Him into my heart I've been in training. I've learned to sit, come, down, heel, stand, and just about any other command that He might throw my way. Yes, I've been obedient for the most part--as far as I know. However, along the way, in classes 1-10 maybe not so much. I'm thinking I probably pulled on the lead, lagged behind, raced forward, downed when I should have sat, etc. I think you get the point. And yet, He never once hit me, kicked me, yelled at me or got rid of me. He was patient, kind, understanding, gentle and loved me unconditionally. Yes, once in awhile He jerked up on my choke chain, He might have even given me a stern NO, or two, but never, ever, out of hatred. No, it was always out of love.
And that's kind of how I am with my new puppy. First off, she has managed to worm her way into my heart. And secondly, I am training her out of love. I want her to be obedient, as much for her benefit as mine.
So, back to the branches thing. What God showed me that morning was the importance of me always remembering that He and He alone is the vine. It's when I take that role upon myself that I find I get into trouble. I'm the branch. I need to remember that. It's a very simple analogy. However, one I believe that most of us humans complicate. And I think that that morning God was gently reminding me of my place. At His side, not pulling or lagging. Just right beside Him, my eyes looking up to His face, waiting for my next command.
I watch my little puppy do this at 6 months old. She sits there next to me, looking, waiting, willing, trusting. I wonder--can I do that with my God? That was my real lesson that morning. One of teaching. And no, you're never too old to learn, I am proof of that.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Watching God
Yes, I am a God watcher. I have been watching Him since I was about 5 1/2 years old. I watched Him change my parent's lives. I watched Him change the lives of other adults around me too. And I watched Him meet my basic needs and then some. Always. Never once did He let me down.
As I sit here today thinking about God during this time of year--Autumn, I always wax nostalgic. I become even more aware of all the things in my life that I am thankful for. My gratitude swells, my eyes mist over, and my heart leaps in my chest when I think of God and all that He has done for me.
Not to dwell too much on my childhood (but just enough to make my point) I watched God move in and through my life. I watched Him draw me to Him, and then I watched as He protected me, provided for me, and comforted me. He was always there, just a breath away. All I ever had to do was call for Him. I would and still do feel His presence immediately.
Yes, I am a God watcher. As an adult, I have watched Him heal my family and friends, mend their marriages, and provide them with jobs. It's kind of funny though--as I prayed for them, there was never any doubt in my mind that He was not hearing me. No, I knew that I knew, that He heard every word I spoke. And I also knew that if it was in any way going to benefit the people I love, well, He would answer my prayers for them.
As I raised my own little family, I watched Him work in the hearts and lives of my children. And now, the same, with my grandchildren. My prayer is that they too will become God watchers. And that they will come to rely on Him the way I do.
When it came (comes) to pray for me, it's much the same. I pray, He hears. I then watch as He works. It's always been that way, and I see no reason for it to change or be any different. As long as I keep watching, I'll keep seeing. Notice that I did not say--as long as I keep watching, He'll keep working. Nope. I meant what I said the first time. He is always working, He'll never stop working. And I am always watching. I've got my eyes on Him. That awesome father of mine. He hasn't failed me yet.
I'm watching Him right now. I'm watching as He heals my heart--it's a little broken. I miss my friends, and right now I'm watching Him add to my collection. I'm making new friends. I'm watching Him watch me as I play with my new little puppy. He watched me all those nights as I cried myself to sleep mourning the death of my beautiful little Sheltie--yes, He cared enough to watch over me even then. He's watching me heal, from the inside out. He's right there watching me smile, and laugh, run, and play with my new little pup. And I feel Him smiling. He wants me happy. He's my father.
To have this kind of relationship with God is life changing. I rest in His arms, He holds me and protects me, and I really don't worry about too much at all. What I do is watch. Because I am a God watcher. And He is a me watcher. How about that? He's watching over me. Every single minute of every single day. For the rest of my life--He's watching over me.
That is what I see and feel as I look at autumn colors and feel those cool fall breezes and close my eyes and smell wood burning in fireplaces and hear the crunch of leaves under my feet as I walk my little dog. God is watching me, and I am watching Him.
Grateful, thankful, humbled before God my father--as I watch Him.
As I sit here today thinking about God during this time of year--Autumn, I always wax nostalgic. I become even more aware of all the things in my life that I am thankful for. My gratitude swells, my eyes mist over, and my heart leaps in my chest when I think of God and all that He has done for me.
Not to dwell too much on my childhood (but just enough to make my point) I watched God move in and through my life. I watched Him draw me to Him, and then I watched as He protected me, provided for me, and comforted me. He was always there, just a breath away. All I ever had to do was call for Him. I would and still do feel His presence immediately.
Yes, I am a God watcher. As an adult, I have watched Him heal my family and friends, mend their marriages, and provide them with jobs. It's kind of funny though--as I prayed for them, there was never any doubt in my mind that He was not hearing me. No, I knew that I knew, that He heard every word I spoke. And I also knew that if it was in any way going to benefit the people I love, well, He would answer my prayers for them.
As I raised my own little family, I watched Him work in the hearts and lives of my children. And now, the same, with my grandchildren. My prayer is that they too will become God watchers. And that they will come to rely on Him the way I do.
When it came (comes) to pray for me, it's much the same. I pray, He hears. I then watch as He works. It's always been that way, and I see no reason for it to change or be any different. As long as I keep watching, I'll keep seeing. Notice that I did not say--as long as I keep watching, He'll keep working. Nope. I meant what I said the first time. He is always working, He'll never stop working. And I am always watching. I've got my eyes on Him. That awesome father of mine. He hasn't failed me yet.
I'm watching Him right now. I'm watching as He heals my heart--it's a little broken. I miss my friends, and right now I'm watching Him add to my collection. I'm making new friends. I'm watching Him watch me as I play with my new little puppy. He watched me all those nights as I cried myself to sleep mourning the death of my beautiful little Sheltie--yes, He cared enough to watch over me even then. He's watching me heal, from the inside out. He's right there watching me smile, and laugh, run, and play with my new little pup. And I feel Him smiling. He wants me happy. He's my father.
To have this kind of relationship with God is life changing. I rest in His arms, He holds me and protects me, and I really don't worry about too much at all. What I do is watch. Because I am a God watcher. And He is a me watcher. How about that? He's watching over me. Every single minute of every single day. For the rest of my life--He's watching over me.
That is what I see and feel as I look at autumn colors and feel those cool fall breezes and close my eyes and smell wood burning in fireplaces and hear the crunch of leaves under my feet as I walk my little dog. God is watching me, and I am watching Him.
Grateful, thankful, humbled before God my father--as I watch Him.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
My Belgian Lace
This week we said goodbye to our beautiful Shetland Sheepdog. She was only 10 years old and she had cancer. We've known since January when a large tumor was removed from her lower back. I guess I should be thankful--she lived another 9 months. Everyone (the Vets) were surprised at how well she was doing. Right up until the very end, she played, loved her walks, and was seemingly happy. However, those last couple of weeks--well, things went downhill quickly. I won't go into detail, but we knew, we just knew, our baby dog was in pain. She wanted us to let her go.
Putting a dog down is one of the hardest things in life for me. I am a total and complete dog person. I grew up with dogs, my kids grew up with dogs and now as an empty nester, I still have dogs. I will always have a dog. And I have loved this dog, my Lacey, with all my heart. She was super intelligent, very intuitive and completely and unconditionally loving. We took her everywhere with us, we traveled with her, romped through parks with her, took long car rides--yes, she was a trooper.
Each and every time I go through this horrible ordeal of losing a dog, I wish I had never owned one.
And then I go and do it all over again. Because I love them. Their hearts are so big, their love so undying, how can one not love (or have) a dog? So, if you are not a dog lover, you will probably have a very hard time relating to this blog post. And that's OK. But, I have to write about it. This is part of my everyday life. My life with my dog. I have sacrificed many things for my dog. Time, money, trips--you name it. I did it willingly because I love my dogs.
God has given us, no, blessed us with such companions. I am so thankful for that. I know that in time I will grow to love my newest little sheltie. I know that she too will hold a special place in my heart. And even though I am telling myself--don't love her quite so deeply, I will. I know I will. For I am a sheltie mom--through and through. I just love them.
So, Monday afternoon at 2:45 I hugged my Lacey girl goodbye for the very last time. After she died, I sobbed for 24 hours straight. Now I'm down to making it a few hours without breaking down crying. I'm almost afraid to go anywhere or do anything for fear of crying. Everything reminds me of her. I miss her so much.
I'm getting better though. I'm letting myself have time to grieve. I'm allowing myself to feel sad. I know that as each day passes, I'll feel a little better. I know she is pain-free, I know that she felt tremendous love and I know that God put her on this earth just for me.
And I am so thankful for a husband who understands. He has held me when I cried my eyes out and he has cried right along with me.
I do know that this pain is real. This love for my Lacey girl is real. And I also know that God will heal this pain, and mend my broken heart. He always has, He always will.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
City Glasses
I have a major defect in my personality. My daughter told me it's called City Glasses. It's a malady known to/by optimists. I think we all (optimists, that is) might be guilty of it. Although most of the time I seriously doubt that we are even aware of this affliction. And some might agree that not all afflictions are bad, no, some are rather good, some are ones to strive for and some are ones to cherish. I do, I cherish my optimism, I truly do. For without it, I'm not so sure I would have emotionally survived my life thus far. It's been a gift. And I'm thankful for that gift.
Why is it called City Glasses? Well, because when I have had to move, and move I have, I have embraced each and every city. With arms wide open, I rush in, grab on and hug each city with all my might. For me, it's a form of self-preservation. I guess I have a tendency to view my new city through rose-colored glasses. I have to, otherwise, I would die inside, and then before long, there would be nothing left of me that would be vibrant and alive, and that surely is not my personality at all.
So, I put on my rose-colored city glasses and I look at my new city and I find everything there is to find that is positive. New restaurants, parks, festivals, etc., if it's there, I'll find it. I'll know more about my new city in one year than most long timers will ever know. I embrace it, research it, enjoy it, and look forward to my future. Yes, sometimes it's hard. Sometimes, it is almost downright impossible and yet, I do it. I find something. In each city, I find something.
So, with my city glasses on, I move forward. It isn't that I forget about my old city, or that I've changed my mind as to the previous discoveries in my old city. I am, however, moving on. I have to--to remain positive.
Here is my advice--for what it's worth. Wherever you live, wherever you go, whatever God has called you to do--put on a pair of City Glasses. View things through God's eyes rather than you own. Look at people and places with new eyes. Embrace your surroundings and ask yourself this--what can I glean from this experience? If I'm here for a day or a lifetime--what can I learn?
In a nutshell, that's what I do. Right or wrong, it's how God has shaped my personality and attitude over the span of my life. It's the ability to refocus and lean into my surroundings. And I like it. I like my City Glasses. They are so pretty.
Why is it called City Glasses? Well, because when I have had to move, and move I have, I have embraced each and every city. With arms wide open, I rush in, grab on and hug each city with all my might. For me, it's a form of self-preservation. I guess I have a tendency to view my new city through rose-colored glasses. I have to, otherwise, I would die inside, and then before long, there would be nothing left of me that would be vibrant and alive, and that surely is not my personality at all.
So, I put on my rose-colored city glasses and I look at my new city and I find everything there is to find that is positive. New restaurants, parks, festivals, etc., if it's there, I'll find it. I'll know more about my new city in one year than most long timers will ever know. I embrace it, research it, enjoy it, and look forward to my future. Yes, sometimes it's hard. Sometimes, it is almost downright impossible and yet, I do it. I find something. In each city, I find something.
So, with my city glasses on, I move forward. It isn't that I forget about my old city, or that I've changed my mind as to the previous discoveries in my old city. I am, however, moving on. I have to--to remain positive.
Here is my advice--for what it's worth. Wherever you live, wherever you go, whatever God has called you to do--put on a pair of City Glasses. View things through God's eyes rather than you own. Look at people and places with new eyes. Embrace your surroundings and ask yourself this--what can I glean from this experience? If I'm here for a day or a lifetime--what can I learn?
In a nutshell, that's what I do. Right or wrong, it's how God has shaped my personality and attitude over the span of my life. It's the ability to refocus and lean into my surroundings. And I like it. I like my City Glasses. They are so pretty.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Birthday Love Letter
Normally I wouldn't do this. I wouldn't post something that someone else wrote to me. However, this is different. This is a love letter from my husband. It means more to me than any gift I have ever received--ever. The reason that I and posting it is because I want my children and grandchildren to know what kind of man their father and grandfather truly is and was. I want them to be like him--to love someone the real way, the right way, the Biblical way, unconditionally. There really isn't a day that goes by that I do not thank God for him. He is and always will be the only one for me. I hope and pray that this letter touches their hearts the way it did mine.
To: The Love of my Life September 16, 2015
It seems almost unbelievable that we have been together for over 43 years and now find ourselves celebrating your 60’th Birthday. I can’t imagine a life without you. You have blessed me so much over the years that a simple note will never capture or convey it all. I want to at least share a few ways you have made this life of mine the happiest and loving I could ever want.
Funny, I wrote a dozen lines and when reading it back it sounded like a press release about a new CEO . Scrapped that…
“Take II”
I love you in so many ways I cannot even begin to express them. You are beautiful – yes beautiful and charming. You are unique, not the cookie cutter person that some are attracted to, and that is one of your best qualities and one of many things I love about you so much. You love me unconditionally and that has meant we were together for better or worse, through thick and thin. Easy words to say when the romance is fresh but tough to live out – you showed me how to do that and words can never express what that has meant to me. A love for a lifetime, a companion through all times, and my best friend. I even tear up writing this because you mean that much to me, you are truly the greatest love in life one can have this side of heaven.
Aside from falling in love with a cute brunette that drove me crazy every time I thought of her (and you still do) I never imagined the other important things a soul mate would mean over the long haul. You are my most ardent cheerleader, mentor, spiritual advisor, friend, companion, lover, helper, and guide when times are tough. Your wisdom and tenacity see us through. I would never be the professional, man, husband, or father I am today if it were not for you and your loving care and wisdom. I am who I am because of you.
You are the best parent a child could ever imagine and that meant my children would grow up in a balanced, structured, loving, and God fearing household. How does a love-struck boy dating a girl ever think of that or have a clue what a mother would be like? You are the reason our family is a loving thriving example of God’s ways.
So here we are, celebrating your 60’th year. And I get the feeling you are just getting started. I get so excited thinking about our next “60” or whatever God chooses to give us. Travel, dining, exploring, and yes, even shopping are in our future…
So here’s to the most beautiful, vivacious, hippest, and young grandmother anyone will ever meet.
I love you so much.
It seems almost unbelievable that we have been together for over 43 years and now find ourselves celebrating your 60’th Birthday. I can’t imagine a life without you. You have blessed me so much over the years that a simple note will never capture or convey it all. I want to at least share a few ways you have made this life of mine the happiest and loving I could ever want.
Funny, I wrote a dozen lines and when reading it back it sounded like a press release about a new CEO . Scrapped that…
“Take II”
I love you in so many ways I cannot even begin to express them. You are beautiful – yes beautiful and charming. You are unique, not the cookie cutter person that some are attracted to, and that is one of your best qualities and one of many things I love about you so much. You love me unconditionally and that has meant we were together for better or worse, through thick and thin. Easy words to say when the romance is fresh but tough to live out – you showed me how to do that and words can never express what that has meant to me. A love for a lifetime, a companion through all times, and my best friend. I even tear up writing this because you mean that much to me, you are truly the greatest love in life one can have this side of heaven.
Aside from falling in love with a cute brunette that drove me crazy every time I thought of her (and you still do) I never imagined the other important things a soul mate would mean over the long haul. You are my most ardent cheerleader, mentor, spiritual advisor, friend, companion, lover, helper, and guide when times are tough. Your wisdom and tenacity see us through. I would never be the professional, man, husband, or father I am today if it were not for you and your loving care and wisdom. I am who I am because of you.
You are the best parent a child could ever imagine and that meant my children would grow up in a balanced, structured, loving, and God fearing household. How does a love-struck boy dating a girl ever think of that or have a clue what a mother would be like? You are the reason our family is a loving thriving example of God’s ways.
So here we are, celebrating your 60’th year. And I get the feeling you are just getting started. I get so excited thinking about our next “60” or whatever God chooses to give us. Travel, dining, exploring, and yes, even shopping are in our future…
So here’s to the most beautiful, vivacious, hippest, and young grandmother anyone will ever meet.
I love you so much.
Happy Birthday,
Jerry
Jerry
Monday, September 7, 2015
This Mother's Heart
I have 3 adult children. I view them as adults. I do not tell them what to do, nor do I boss them around. I raised them to be independent, self-sufficient, hard working, kind, loving people. And they are. All three. They are that and more. And yet...there is this place in my heart where they remain my little ones. It's hard to explain, to say the words out loud, but I understand. I know what I mean.
Deep down in my heart, they are still my babies. They always will be. And by that I mean--they will always be a part of this mother's heart.
These crazy thoughts of mine hit home last week when my oldest, my daughter, had to have neck surgery. Two of the discs in her neck were crushed, so surgery was her only option. While I tried hard to remain strong and reassuring for her, I failed. Big time. Fail 101.
When she first told me of her symptoms, I prayed for her. She was in so much pain, and after two different doctors gave her the same diagnosis, she was told that she was facing surgery. I encouraged her as best I could over the phone and then after hanging up--I cried buckets. I was afraid. I thought of all the horrible things that could go wrong and I begged God to protect her. And then God would comfort me. He would tell me not to be afraid--fear not. He would tell me how much more He loved her than I do--after all, He died for her. He would tell me so many things, and afterward, after praying, I would feel better.
Surgery was inevitable. She asked us to come down and help with the house and grandkids while she was in the hospital and recuperating. Of course, we said yes. It was an honor for us to help in any way that we could. We arrived a day early to have a little fun before she would be housebound. We shopped a little, ate a lot, and tried not to think about what was on the horizon. However, Monday morning came. We were all up early, saying our goodbyes, hugging and crying. Most likely all thinking the same thing--what if...what if.
I tried so hard to be strong. To not cry, but as I stood there hugging my daughter, as her husband was waiting to take her to the hospital, I couldn't help it, I cried. And there she was--comforting me! Isn't that just like a daughter? She kept saying it'll be OK. It'll be OK. I was so very afraid for her. I held her a little longer, cried a little harder and then released her into God's arms for protection.
That morning I got my 2 oldest grandkids off to school. With lunches packed and new clothes laid out, they were off to their first day of the new school year. As a child, I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for them. Fortunately, they don't yet comprehend the horrors of a surgery gone bad. They fully trusted us as we told them that everything was going to be just fine.
When we got the phone call later that morning from our son-in-law that all went well, we were so relieved. I thanked God over and over for the outcome and that evening we all went to visit our daughter/mom at the hospital. She looked tired and drugged up, but good.
This mother's heart can't begin to describe the gratefulness I felt towards God in that very moment. I was thankful for so many things--she wasn't paralyzed, she lived through it, she didn't have a heart attack or a stroke, her vocal cords weren't damaged, and on and on. So very thankful. So very grateful.
We stayed for a week. We cleaned, took care of the grandkids, went grocery shopping, cooked, but most of all we watched as our daughter healed. Her husband stayed home from work and took great care of her. She's doing wonderful, healing up and making progress each day. Yes, we are thankful.
It's funny though--all that mom stuff. It comes up at the strangest times. This mother's heart. No matter the outcome of that surgery, no matter her age, no matter, well, anything really, she is still and always will be my little girl, my daughter, my friend. I will always be there for her, always take care of her, and always give her my heart. Always.
Deep down in my heart, they are still my babies. They always will be. And by that I mean--they will always be a part of this mother's heart.
These crazy thoughts of mine hit home last week when my oldest, my daughter, had to have neck surgery. Two of the discs in her neck were crushed, so surgery was her only option. While I tried hard to remain strong and reassuring for her, I failed. Big time. Fail 101.
When she first told me of her symptoms, I prayed for her. She was in so much pain, and after two different doctors gave her the same diagnosis, she was told that she was facing surgery. I encouraged her as best I could over the phone and then after hanging up--I cried buckets. I was afraid. I thought of all the horrible things that could go wrong and I begged God to protect her. And then God would comfort me. He would tell me not to be afraid--fear not. He would tell me how much more He loved her than I do--after all, He died for her. He would tell me so many things, and afterward, after praying, I would feel better.
Surgery was inevitable. She asked us to come down and help with the house and grandkids while she was in the hospital and recuperating. Of course, we said yes. It was an honor for us to help in any way that we could. We arrived a day early to have a little fun before she would be housebound. We shopped a little, ate a lot, and tried not to think about what was on the horizon. However, Monday morning came. We were all up early, saying our goodbyes, hugging and crying. Most likely all thinking the same thing--what if...what if.
I tried so hard to be strong. To not cry, but as I stood there hugging my daughter, as her husband was waiting to take her to the hospital, I couldn't help it, I cried. And there she was--comforting me! Isn't that just like a daughter? She kept saying it'll be OK. It'll be OK. I was so very afraid for her. I held her a little longer, cried a little harder and then released her into God's arms for protection.
That morning I got my 2 oldest grandkids off to school. With lunches packed and new clothes laid out, they were off to their first day of the new school year. As a child, I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for them. Fortunately, they don't yet comprehend the horrors of a surgery gone bad. They fully trusted us as we told them that everything was going to be just fine.
When we got the phone call later that morning from our son-in-law that all went well, we were so relieved. I thanked God over and over for the outcome and that evening we all went to visit our daughter/mom at the hospital. She looked tired and drugged up, but good.
This mother's heart can't begin to describe the gratefulness I felt towards God in that very moment. I was thankful for so many things--she wasn't paralyzed, she lived through it, she didn't have a heart attack or a stroke, her vocal cords weren't damaged, and on and on. So very thankful. So very grateful.
We stayed for a week. We cleaned, took care of the grandkids, went grocery shopping, cooked, but most of all we watched as our daughter healed. Her husband stayed home from work and took great care of her. She's doing wonderful, healing up and making progress each day. Yes, we are thankful.
It's funny though--all that mom stuff. It comes up at the strangest times. This mother's heart. No matter the outcome of that surgery, no matter her age, no matter, well, anything really, she is still and always will be my little girl, my daughter, my friend. I will always be there for her, always take care of her, and always give her my heart. Always.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Weather--As I See It
In the past 6 decades of my life (oh gosh, did I just say that?) I have had the privilege of living in 4 different States--2 of them twice. I'm still not sure if that's a good thing or bad, or if I should even cop to that fact, but I will. Yes, 4 States. California (2 times) and Florida, Ohio (2 times) and Illinois. So with the knowledge, I've gained from my living experiences in these States I am declaring myself the Seasonal Weather Queen. At least for the areas that I've lived in.
Let's start with California since that is where I started. I was born in Northern California and lived there for almost 45 years. Therefore--expert. Wouldn't you agree? I lived predominately in the valley--hot, dry and also extremely foggy. Foggy? Yep, I said foggy. Here is how the seasons went down where I lived. January and February--foggy, sweater weather. March--get out the swim suit. April through September, wear the suit and sweat because most of the time the temps are near 100 degrees or hotter. If I had to make a determination on if there was a Spring where I grew up, I'd say it was March and April. The flowers bloomed, the grass was green, the weather was comfortable.
However, by the time May arrived, I was usually in summer hell. And each day it just kept getting hotter. We would make outdoor plans and I would be panicking on the inside. I hate the heat. By September, I was dreaming and praying for Fall. Autumn in Northern California was October and November. I would wear sweaters and pretend it was cooler--as sweat rolled down the center of my back. Yep, still kind of hot. We'd decorate though and bake and think about those cool Fall crisp days--happening somewhere other than where I lived. The leaves on the trees would turn brown and fall off, there just wasn't any real "color" where I lived. And then there would be Christmas. And it was still warm. Warm enough for our kids to play outside on Christmas Day, warm enough for me to have the windows open because the oven was making the house too hot, warm enough for me to finally give up and throw off my sweater and replace it with a cooler shirt instead. Seasons in California? Hot and Fog. Yep, just those 2. But, that's just my opinion. That's just as I see it.
And then there was Florida. We lived in Ft Lauderdale for 1 year. 1 year too long. Let me be frank, I hate the heat. Throw in humidity and I am suicidal. Put me in Florida for a year and you are left with a whacked out basket case. No, to be fair, there was 1 month, I think, that I might have liked living in Florida. Maybe. What I do remember is this--it's hot, humid, sticky, rainy (every afternoon at 3:00) and there were the notorious Palmetto bugs, i.e. gigantic beetles! And by gigantic, I mean some were 3 to 4 inches long, I kid you not. Yep, I hated Florida. I hated that it was so warm that we went to a park on Thanksgiving, to the beach on Christmas Day, and went camping in February. Florida has 1 season--humid. No colors, no mountains, no waves on their ocean. It's a monotone state and it's just not for me. That's just how I see it.
On to the Mid-West. Oh my, oh my, is it different from California! We moved to Ohio in 1999 for the first time. I can vividly remember landing at the airport with our 3 (almost adult) children. It was freezing--literally. And as we disembarked with teeth chattering, well, let's just say that I'm glad we were in public, or I'm not sure what they (the kids) would have done to me. We had just landed at the beginning of a long Cleveland winter. 6 long months of snow, ice, and wind. I loved it. They hated it. And me. They hated me. This is how winter shakes down in Cleveland. November through April is Winter, May, and June--Spring, July and August--Summer, and September and October--Fall. You can pretty much set you calendars to this, it was that way the first 11 years that I lived there. Long cold snowy Winters, just how I like them and short Summers, just how I like them. It does get humid sometimes in the summer. But nothing like Florida. Nope, we had glorious fall colors, waterfalls, hiking trails and even our Lake Erie had waves! Weird, huh? It sort of reminded me at first of Lake Tahoe, meeting up with the Pacific Ocean. Maybe they had a baby and called it Ohio? Maybe?
When we moved to Chicago 5 years ago we noticed that the winters were shorter, which meant the summers were longer. Bummer. And whether this is true or not, it seemed more humid there. Double bummer. I hate Summer, and I hate humidity. But, I think I have already stated that fact.
So, Winter started mid-November and went through March, then came Spring which went through May. Summer started up in June and it was warm through September, which left October and part of November for Autumn. not too bad, if you like longer summers, which I don't. While living there we did have a couple of mild summers--low humidity, cooler evenings, and boy, did I love that. However, I was in the minority. Even on the news broadcast, the news anchors would complain--where's summer, where's the heat? I'd yell at the TV--go to Florida, you crazy people! I really did yell that.
We are back in Ohio now. And this time it's for keeps. I plan on retiring with my long Winters and short Summers. I love my 100 plus inches of snow every year. I love my crazy weather, my wind, sleet, rain, and drizzle. I don't miss the fog, nor the humidity. I now get my cold Thanksgiving Day mornings, my white Christmas, my fireplace, and also, just a couple of months of warmer weather--not too much, however, but just the way I like it. At least that's the way I see it.
It's interesting to me how weather affects our moods. Some are happiest in the Winter. Me! And some in the Summer. Everyone else. And that's OK. If we all work together and try hard not to complain too much when it isn't our "season" we might just make it through. After all, it changes. Right?
Let's start with California since that is where I started. I was born in Northern California and lived there for almost 45 years. Therefore--expert. Wouldn't you agree? I lived predominately in the valley--hot, dry and also extremely foggy. Foggy? Yep, I said foggy. Here is how the seasons went down where I lived. January and February--foggy, sweater weather. March--get out the swim suit. April through September, wear the suit and sweat because most of the time the temps are near 100 degrees or hotter. If I had to make a determination on if there was a Spring where I grew up, I'd say it was March and April. The flowers bloomed, the grass was green, the weather was comfortable.
However, by the time May arrived, I was usually in summer hell. And each day it just kept getting hotter. We would make outdoor plans and I would be panicking on the inside. I hate the heat. By September, I was dreaming and praying for Fall. Autumn in Northern California was October and November. I would wear sweaters and pretend it was cooler--as sweat rolled down the center of my back. Yep, still kind of hot. We'd decorate though and bake and think about those cool Fall crisp days--happening somewhere other than where I lived. The leaves on the trees would turn brown and fall off, there just wasn't any real "color" where I lived. And then there would be Christmas. And it was still warm. Warm enough for our kids to play outside on Christmas Day, warm enough for me to have the windows open because the oven was making the house too hot, warm enough for me to finally give up and throw off my sweater and replace it with a cooler shirt instead. Seasons in California? Hot and Fog. Yep, just those 2. But, that's just my opinion. That's just as I see it.
And then there was Florida. We lived in Ft Lauderdale for 1 year. 1 year too long. Let me be frank, I hate the heat. Throw in humidity and I am suicidal. Put me in Florida for a year and you are left with a whacked out basket case. No, to be fair, there was 1 month, I think, that I might have liked living in Florida. Maybe. What I do remember is this--it's hot, humid, sticky, rainy (every afternoon at 3:00) and there were the notorious Palmetto bugs, i.e. gigantic beetles! And by gigantic, I mean some were 3 to 4 inches long, I kid you not. Yep, I hated Florida. I hated that it was so warm that we went to a park on Thanksgiving, to the beach on Christmas Day, and went camping in February. Florida has 1 season--humid. No colors, no mountains, no waves on their ocean. It's a monotone state and it's just not for me. That's just how I see it.
On to the Mid-West. Oh my, oh my, is it different from California! We moved to Ohio in 1999 for the first time. I can vividly remember landing at the airport with our 3 (almost adult) children. It was freezing--literally. And as we disembarked with teeth chattering, well, let's just say that I'm glad we were in public, or I'm not sure what they (the kids) would have done to me. We had just landed at the beginning of a long Cleveland winter. 6 long months of snow, ice, and wind. I loved it. They hated it. And me. They hated me. This is how winter shakes down in Cleveland. November through April is Winter, May, and June--Spring, July and August--Summer, and September and October--Fall. You can pretty much set you calendars to this, it was that way the first 11 years that I lived there. Long cold snowy Winters, just how I like them and short Summers, just how I like them. It does get humid sometimes in the summer. But nothing like Florida. Nope, we had glorious fall colors, waterfalls, hiking trails and even our Lake Erie had waves! Weird, huh? It sort of reminded me at first of Lake Tahoe, meeting up with the Pacific Ocean. Maybe they had a baby and called it Ohio? Maybe?
When we moved to Chicago 5 years ago we noticed that the winters were shorter, which meant the summers were longer. Bummer. And whether this is true or not, it seemed more humid there. Double bummer. I hate Summer, and I hate humidity. But, I think I have already stated that fact.
So, Winter started mid-November and went through March, then came Spring which went through May. Summer started up in June and it was warm through September, which left October and part of November for Autumn. not too bad, if you like longer summers, which I don't. While living there we did have a couple of mild summers--low humidity, cooler evenings, and boy, did I love that. However, I was in the minority. Even on the news broadcast, the news anchors would complain--where's summer, where's the heat? I'd yell at the TV--go to Florida, you crazy people! I really did yell that.
We are back in Ohio now. And this time it's for keeps. I plan on retiring with my long Winters and short Summers. I love my 100 plus inches of snow every year. I love my crazy weather, my wind, sleet, rain, and drizzle. I don't miss the fog, nor the humidity. I now get my cold Thanksgiving Day mornings, my white Christmas, my fireplace, and also, just a couple of months of warmer weather--not too much, however, but just the way I like it. At least that's the way I see it.
It's interesting to me how weather affects our moods. Some are happiest in the Winter. Me! And some in the Summer. Everyone else. And that's OK. If we all work together and try hard not to complain too much when it isn't our "season" we might just make it through. After all, it changes. Right?
Monday, August 24, 2015
This Feels Right
I have so many mixed emotions roaring through my little brain right now. It's confusing and yet, not. It just feels right. This move of ours. It's hard to explain. Because on one hand, I am heartbroken and lonely and I desperately miss my old life. My friends, my house, my neighbors, my church, my book club, my Bible study, etc--my old life. What I used to do and have...I miss. Horribly. To the point of depression. Kind of. Well, more like sadness.
I've been praying about it. A lot. Because on the other hand, this just plain feels right. As I meet new neighbors, walk new streets, drive through the forests, watch my grandchildren play--it just feels right. And how can one be depressed when it feels right? Right? So, I pray.
I don't deny my feelings, nor do I wallow in them. I do, however, take them out and examine them. I hold them in my hand and then hold them up to God. And He very gently explains things to me. Like--it's ok to be lonely, to miss your friends and your old life. It's ok. He's very understanding of my feelings, He always has been.
However, my heart is happy when I "run into" my grandchildren at lunch or in a store and they run up to me yelling--Grandma! It just feels right--as though that is how it should have been all along. Living close by, babysitting, watching their sports games, having an impromptu lunch or dinner, yes, all those things should have been happening all along, but, they didn't. There was an interruption of 5 years. 5 years, 5 long years of separation. And I do wonder why. I think about it quite a bit. Why? Why 5 years? Why did I have to miss so much? I need to stop thinking about those 5 years. I need to focus on the here and now, but I can't. Those 5 years felt right too, in some strange weird way, they felt right too. The people I met, friends I made and places that I discovered would have never taken place had I not moved away for 5 years. It's a conundrum for sure. It makes my brain hurt.
Being happy and sad at the very same time, being content and yet heartsick, being thankful and yet sometimes sorrowful, these feelings of mine keep me on the verge of tears. At a moments notice I can see, smell, or touch something that throws my mind backward into time and before I know it, I have tears dripping down my cheeks.
There is nothing I can do, not really. I am trying hard to just roll with it. I am settling into this new little house and making it my own. I am making plans with my children and I am enjoying meeting up with old friends. Yes, this just feels right. Sometimes lately, I forget that I ever moved away, and sometimes, I remember--all at once. And then it's hard again.
As I sit here typing away on my laptop, I am wondering--how do I feel right now, this very minute--how do I feel? I feel good, I am happy, I am content and thankful, joyful and grateful. Yes, this just feels right. To have known and loved people from coast to coast, how could that not feel right?
So, my prayer today is one of appreciation. I truly appreciate all that God had done for me, through me and in me. Yes, this feels right. I am home.
I've been praying about it. A lot. Because on the other hand, this just plain feels right. As I meet new neighbors, walk new streets, drive through the forests, watch my grandchildren play--it just feels right. And how can one be depressed when it feels right? Right? So, I pray.
I don't deny my feelings, nor do I wallow in them. I do, however, take them out and examine them. I hold them in my hand and then hold them up to God. And He very gently explains things to me. Like--it's ok to be lonely, to miss your friends and your old life. It's ok. He's very understanding of my feelings, He always has been.
However, my heart is happy when I "run into" my grandchildren at lunch or in a store and they run up to me yelling--Grandma! It just feels right--as though that is how it should have been all along. Living close by, babysitting, watching their sports games, having an impromptu lunch or dinner, yes, all those things should have been happening all along, but, they didn't. There was an interruption of 5 years. 5 years, 5 long years of separation. And I do wonder why. I think about it quite a bit. Why? Why 5 years? Why did I have to miss so much? I need to stop thinking about those 5 years. I need to focus on the here and now, but I can't. Those 5 years felt right too, in some strange weird way, they felt right too. The people I met, friends I made and places that I discovered would have never taken place had I not moved away for 5 years. It's a conundrum for sure. It makes my brain hurt.
Being happy and sad at the very same time, being content and yet heartsick, being thankful and yet sometimes sorrowful, these feelings of mine keep me on the verge of tears. At a moments notice I can see, smell, or touch something that throws my mind backward into time and before I know it, I have tears dripping down my cheeks.
There is nothing I can do, not really. I am trying hard to just roll with it. I am settling into this new little house and making it my own. I am making plans with my children and I am enjoying meeting up with old friends. Yes, this just feels right. Sometimes lately, I forget that I ever moved away, and sometimes, I remember--all at once. And then it's hard again.
As I sit here typing away on my laptop, I am wondering--how do I feel right now, this very minute--how do I feel? I feel good, I am happy, I am content and thankful, joyful and grateful. Yes, this just feels right. To have known and loved people from coast to coast, how could that not feel right?
So, my prayer today is one of appreciation. I truly appreciate all that God had done for me, through me and in me. Yes, this feels right. I am home.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Weddings and Miracles
Yes, I've seen them, I've seen them both. Lots of weddings, and yes, even lots of miracles. Not everyone can say that, at least the miracle part. I can though. As I've written before, I saw a miracle just last November. A huge miracle, a miracle that not one person can argue with. A fantastic God-sized miracle. And the other night, I witnessed that miracle getting married.
Aside from my own wedding, and those of my children, I think this was the most beautiful wedding I have ever attended. The atmosphere of this particular wedding was different from most.
There was something going on, not an electricity, not an expectancy, something very different. Maybe it was a relief. I shall have to ponder this as I write. Maybe by the time I'm done, I'll have it figured out.
A few weeks before the wedding I received a phone call from the bride and was asked if I would do the scripture reading. I was stunned. And honored. And felt completely inadequate. Who was I to be asked to read at this most awesome occasion? I stammered a little over the phone and then, of course, said yes. I remember praying hard after that. I surely did not want to ruin her wedding in any way. And if you know me at all, you know I am not the most coordinated person in the world. Oh no, not me. I am clumsy to a fault. So, pray I did. I asked God for 2 things (that I remember anyway) 1) that I would not cry as I read, and 2) that I would not trip. Neither happened, He heard my prayers.
This wedding took place in a very beautiful vineyard, out in the open, with the bride and groom under an arbor made of driftwood like branches. Flowers and ribbon were intertwined, and it in its simplicity reminded me of the couple. As I walked up to take some photos (I was also asked to snap a few landscape pics) I thought of Jacki and Chris--a simple love made so complex by their story of Jacki's miraculous healing. That's what I thought of as I looked at those branches--their lived were braced together by God, so much more than most young couples getting married. Why? Because they had survived the unimaginable--they almost lost each other and had not that miracle occurred, Chris would be alone. And Jacki would be with God. Yes, I believe that Arbor was significant in many ways--at least to me.
The wedding reception took place under a beautiful white tent, decorated with gorgeous flowers that I could not stop taking pictures of--the tables were laden with them. Friends and family sat talking, smiling, and I'm sure thinking about what could have been. Had not the miracle taken place. I was. I was thinking about it all night. As I saw the looks being passed back and forth between bride and groom, friend to friend, parent to parent...I think we were all thinking about it--all except the bride. For she had no recollection of it at all. She (fortunately) does not remember a thing. She doesn't remember her parent's forlorn faces and tears. She doesn't remember all those who prayed night after night that God would intervene. She does, however, remember the miracle and the look of praise and thankfulness on the faces of all those who love her. She saw it the night of her wedding. We could not hide it. Our faces reflected God's miracle. How could they not, she was standing right before us.
As I got up to read scripture that night, I said that I was never surprised by anything that God does, but that I was always amazed. Yes, we serve an awesome and amazing God. He never surprises me, because He always does what He says He will do, but He does amaze me, oh yes He does.
You see, last weekend I went to a wedding. And I saw a miracle. And I was amazed. That's the word I was looking for, a feeling of amazement.
Beautiful banquet tables...
Pastor Jim and the gorgeous arbor...
Couldn't get enough of the flowers...
The vineyard view was so pretty...
A makeup refresh for the bride...
Sisters...
A very happy and thankful groom...
Wedding dance...
The happy couple...
A bride and her maids...
The wonderful sunset over the vineyard said it all--the heavens declare the glories of the Lord.
Aside from my own wedding, and those of my children, I think this was the most beautiful wedding I have ever attended. The atmosphere of this particular wedding was different from most.
There was something going on, not an electricity, not an expectancy, something very different. Maybe it was a relief. I shall have to ponder this as I write. Maybe by the time I'm done, I'll have it figured out.
A few weeks before the wedding I received a phone call from the bride and was asked if I would do the scripture reading. I was stunned. And honored. And felt completely inadequate. Who was I to be asked to read at this most awesome occasion? I stammered a little over the phone and then, of course, said yes. I remember praying hard after that. I surely did not want to ruin her wedding in any way. And if you know me at all, you know I am not the most coordinated person in the world. Oh no, not me. I am clumsy to a fault. So, pray I did. I asked God for 2 things (that I remember anyway) 1) that I would not cry as I read, and 2) that I would not trip. Neither happened, He heard my prayers.
This wedding took place in a very beautiful vineyard, out in the open, with the bride and groom under an arbor made of driftwood like branches. Flowers and ribbon were intertwined, and it in its simplicity reminded me of the couple. As I walked up to take some photos (I was also asked to snap a few landscape pics) I thought of Jacki and Chris--a simple love made so complex by their story of Jacki's miraculous healing. That's what I thought of as I looked at those branches--their lived were braced together by God, so much more than most young couples getting married. Why? Because they had survived the unimaginable--they almost lost each other and had not that miracle occurred, Chris would be alone. And Jacki would be with God. Yes, I believe that Arbor was significant in many ways--at least to me.
The wedding reception took place under a beautiful white tent, decorated with gorgeous flowers that I could not stop taking pictures of--the tables were laden with them. Friends and family sat talking, smiling, and I'm sure thinking about what could have been. Had not the miracle taken place. I was. I was thinking about it all night. As I saw the looks being passed back and forth between bride and groom, friend to friend, parent to parent...I think we were all thinking about it--all except the bride. For she had no recollection of it at all. She (fortunately) does not remember a thing. She doesn't remember her parent's forlorn faces and tears. She doesn't remember all those who prayed night after night that God would intervene. She does, however, remember the miracle and the look of praise and thankfulness on the faces of all those who love her. She saw it the night of her wedding. We could not hide it. Our faces reflected God's miracle. How could they not, she was standing right before us.
As I got up to read scripture that night, I said that I was never surprised by anything that God does, but that I was always amazed. Yes, we serve an awesome and amazing God. He never surprises me, because He always does what He says He will do, but He does amaze me, oh yes He does.
You see, last weekend I went to a wedding. And I saw a miracle. And I was amazed. That's the word I was looking for, a feeling of amazement.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Hello New House
Dear New House,
I've decided to try and like you. No, you won't measure up (for probably some years) to my old house. After all, it took almost 5 years for that house to measure up, so you should at least give yourself that long--to measure up. Try not to get your feelings hurt. I did say I'd try, and I am a person of my word.
So far the thing I like about you is your size. It's also the thing I don't like about you. On one hand, you are easy to get around in and clean, on the other hand, you lack storage. However, my goal was to downsize and downsize I did. After selling and giving away almost half of my possessions, I am desperately trying to "fit" into your space. You are making it hard.
I also like the fact that lawn care and snow removal are included in my home owners dues, along with many more features than I had before. That's a positive for you, you should take that and run with it. It's a pretty big deal. With your indoor/outdoor pools, tennis courts, gym (not that I'll use it) fishing pond, playground and hiking trails, well, you've earned major points. Also, being backed up to a national forest is a big plus. But, please remember, I used to have a river, a beach and a very cute downtown.
All in all, I'm trying hard to like you. I've painted your laundry room and half bath, I've unpacked the majority of my personal items, and now I guess it's up to me to make friends in this new neighborhood. Maybe in time, they will be just as important to me as my old friends, I highly doubt that though. You haven't met my old friends, they are and always will be--amazing.
I will walk your streets, hike your trails, enjoy your waterfalls and take loads of pictures. I will present myself as friendly (I can't help that, it's who I am) and I will decorate my little heart out to make you feel warm, inviting and comfy. Paint, flowers, hearth and home--that's my motto for you.
I promise to cozy you up and to offer coffee to all who enter. It's your job, however, to make them feel welcome. To wrap your little arms around them (that's what my old house did) and to make them feel special. That's very important to me--hospitality. If you can do that we will eventually have a great relationship. I'm not saying that every once in awhile I won't get a little peeved with you, because you know I will, I'm just saying that if you do things my way, we'll get along just fine. In time. Time is important. Give me time to grieve the loss of my old house and my old friends. If you can do that--we are in business.
In closing, new house--I'm going to give this move my best shot. If you can do the same, we will become great friends. Deal?
Your new owner...
I've decided to try and like you. No, you won't measure up (for probably some years) to my old house. After all, it took almost 5 years for that house to measure up, so you should at least give yourself that long--to measure up. Try not to get your feelings hurt. I did say I'd try, and I am a person of my word.
So far the thing I like about you is your size. It's also the thing I don't like about you. On one hand, you are easy to get around in and clean, on the other hand, you lack storage. However, my goal was to downsize and downsize I did. After selling and giving away almost half of my possessions, I am desperately trying to "fit" into your space. You are making it hard.
I also like the fact that lawn care and snow removal are included in my home owners dues, along with many more features than I had before. That's a positive for you, you should take that and run with it. It's a pretty big deal. With your indoor/outdoor pools, tennis courts, gym (not that I'll use it) fishing pond, playground and hiking trails, well, you've earned major points. Also, being backed up to a national forest is a big plus. But, please remember, I used to have a river, a beach and a very cute downtown.
All in all, I'm trying hard to like you. I've painted your laundry room and half bath, I've unpacked the majority of my personal items, and now I guess it's up to me to make friends in this new neighborhood. Maybe in time, they will be just as important to me as my old friends, I highly doubt that though. You haven't met my old friends, they are and always will be--amazing.
I will walk your streets, hike your trails, enjoy your waterfalls and take loads of pictures. I will present myself as friendly (I can't help that, it's who I am) and I will decorate my little heart out to make you feel warm, inviting and comfy. Paint, flowers, hearth and home--that's my motto for you.
I promise to cozy you up and to offer coffee to all who enter. It's your job, however, to make them feel welcome. To wrap your little arms around them (that's what my old house did) and to make them feel special. That's very important to me--hospitality. If you can do that we will eventually have a great relationship. I'm not saying that every once in awhile I won't get a little peeved with you, because you know I will, I'm just saying that if you do things my way, we'll get along just fine. In time. Time is important. Give me time to grieve the loss of my old house and my old friends. If you can do that--we are in business.
In closing, new house--I'm going to give this move my best shot. If you can do the same, we will become great friends. Deal?
Your new owner...
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Goodbye House
It's funny, I knew when I moved in, I wouldn't live there long. I had the feeling all along that my time there would be 3 to 5 years, tops. At least that's what I thought, that's what I told myself to keep from getting so sad. You see, I had to move away from my kids and grandkids for a time. And it was pure torture. I hated it. I cried. I prayed. I begged God to let me move back. And I knew that eventually, I would move back--however, it just wasn't happening fast enough for me. At least I thought that way 3 years ago. And then something happened to me at a women's conference called Triennial. God got ahold of me, (that's what I like to call it) and He did a major attitude adjustment on my heart and all was well with the world--for the last couple of years.
And then it happened. We sold our house.
I didn't really like my house at first. For one thing, it wasn't a 1928 Tudor-like my old house. It was smaller and newer, and it wasn't in the right town! So, I held things against it. I blamed it for a lot of stuff. I'd mutter under my breath--you know, whiney stuff, complaining stuff, silly stuff. I didn't even realize then that I was dealing with an ungrateful heart. Nope, it was all about me back then.
After my little attitude adjustment though, God began to show me some things. Little things. Things to be grateful for. Like for example--when I'd have friends over, and I would gaze around the room and see their faces, I would feel such a deep love for these friends of mine. Sitting there in my little house, all cozy, an appreciation would surge through me, and it would almost bring me to tears.
Or when a neighbor would drop by for coffee, we'd sit and visit and I'd think to myself--I just love my neighbors, and again, I'd almost be brought to tears. I remembered all the Christmas parties, and summer patio parties, and BBQ's and I would get all nostalgic. Yes, I did have some wonderful times in that little house. I had just forgotten. Silly me.
And then it happened. We sold our house.
A few days ago, we drove away for the last time. My husband and I each in our separate cars, suitcases in the back, dog tucked it, moving van loaded--we drove away, and I had to say goodbye to my house. And I did. I literally said out loud, goodbye house. And then I cried. Some of those tears were happy ones, full of awesome memories, and some were sad ones because I didn't realize what a great little house it had been to me until the last couple of years. Pulling away, I asked God to forgive me. And I thanked Him for all those wonderful times in that sweet little house on the river, in the most beautiful little town that I had ever lived in, with some of the most loving friends and neighbors that I had ever known.
Yes, I said out loud (so that my house could hear) goodbye house, and thank you for taking such good care of me.
And then it happened. We sold our house.
I didn't really like my house at first. For one thing, it wasn't a 1928 Tudor-like my old house. It was smaller and newer, and it wasn't in the right town! So, I held things against it. I blamed it for a lot of stuff. I'd mutter under my breath--you know, whiney stuff, complaining stuff, silly stuff. I didn't even realize then that I was dealing with an ungrateful heart. Nope, it was all about me back then.
After my little attitude adjustment though, God began to show me some things. Little things. Things to be grateful for. Like for example--when I'd have friends over, and I would gaze around the room and see their faces, I would feel such a deep love for these friends of mine. Sitting there in my little house, all cozy, an appreciation would surge through me, and it would almost bring me to tears.
Or when a neighbor would drop by for coffee, we'd sit and visit and I'd think to myself--I just love my neighbors, and again, I'd almost be brought to tears. I remembered all the Christmas parties, and summer patio parties, and BBQ's and I would get all nostalgic. Yes, I did have some wonderful times in that little house. I had just forgotten. Silly me.
And then it happened. We sold our house.
A few days ago, we drove away for the last time. My husband and I each in our separate cars, suitcases in the back, dog tucked it, moving van loaded--we drove away, and I had to say goodbye to my house. And I did. I literally said out loud, goodbye house. And then I cried. Some of those tears were happy ones, full of awesome memories, and some were sad ones because I didn't realize what a great little house it had been to me until the last couple of years. Pulling away, I asked God to forgive me. And I thanked Him for all those wonderful times in that sweet little house on the river, in the most beautiful little town that I had ever lived in, with some of the most loving friends and neighbors that I had ever known.
Yes, I said out loud (so that my house could hear) goodbye house, and thank you for taking such good care of me.
Friday, July 17, 2015
A Piece of Me
I read an interesting quote a few days ago, and in my opinion, it was true insight into whom I have become over the last 5 years, it read;
"You get a strange feeling when you leave a place like you'll not only miss the people you love, but you miss the person you are at this time and place because you'll never be this way ever again"
Azar Nafasi
Without even realizing it, I have changed. I have grown. It's one thing to acknowledge that throughout our lives as we mature. However, it's quite another to believe it, at least it is that way for me.
So, to break down this quote, to simplify it and absorb it, I guess I need to analyze my feelings and emotions and thoughts. One by one, line by line--for yes, it has moved me that much.
I do get a strange feeling when I leave a place. I wonder if I'll be remembered and if I'll be missed? I wonder if I've done all that God had intended me to do? Or have I missed the mark? Did I bail too quickly? Did I pray hard enough, long enough? Was I kind, loving, forgiving? Or is that strange feeling sometimes upon leaving--one of regret, guilt, and shame? These are the things I've pondered of late. Have I accomplished anything at all during my time in that "place?"
Will I miss the people that I have grown to love? Yes, I truly will. For in just 5 short years in Chicagoland, I chose to love people--to open myself up to them. I was vulnerable, open, and defenseless to all manner of criticisms as well as compliments, etc. And yet, I believe that over time they loved me back. They became my friends. They grew to understand, accept and love me too. We, in a sense, became like family. I will miss these family members more than I could ever express in words. Do they know that? Can they feel that? Do they hear me when I tell them my truth?
I want these friends of mine to understand how much my knowing them has changed my life. I have become better, different, more loving and caring. I have "grown up" because of them. I have changed. Yes, even at my ripe old age--I have matured in a more significant way that I have in the past. Or maybe it's just that I recognize it more. Maybe that's it.
Yes, I will miss the person whom I have become because of them. I like me better now. I am more comfortable with myself. Why? I think it's because they accepted me for who I am. With all my quirks, and weirdnesses--they liked me anyway. Which in turn, made me like me--just a little bit better. Since knowing these friends, I have also accepted myself--and believe me that is huge. Huge! For I am the hardest person to please and accept--when it comes to me. I am hard on me. I don't measure up, I never have. Self-confidence is not my strong suit. I do however have confidence in my God, and sometimes people tend to get those two mixed up.
So this place in time, this road in my life, will never be traveled upon again. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I've gleaned all that I can from "this place", maybe I've done all that I could do, said all that I could say and prayed all that I could pray. I guess--it's done.
I will leave a piece of me here. And I will take a piece of all of you with me. Forever. No one can ever take it away. No one can ever replace you. No one can ever change me back. For you have been left with a piece of me. And I think, no, I believe that that is exactly how God intended it to be.
Thank you, my friends, for taking such good care of me. I'll miss you forever.
"You get a strange feeling when you leave a place like you'll not only miss the people you love, but you miss the person you are at this time and place because you'll never be this way ever again"
Azar Nafasi
Without even realizing it, I have changed. I have grown. It's one thing to acknowledge that throughout our lives as we mature. However, it's quite another to believe it, at least it is that way for me.
So, to break down this quote, to simplify it and absorb it, I guess I need to analyze my feelings and emotions and thoughts. One by one, line by line--for yes, it has moved me that much.
I do get a strange feeling when I leave a place. I wonder if I'll be remembered and if I'll be missed? I wonder if I've done all that God had intended me to do? Or have I missed the mark? Did I bail too quickly? Did I pray hard enough, long enough? Was I kind, loving, forgiving? Or is that strange feeling sometimes upon leaving--one of regret, guilt, and shame? These are the things I've pondered of late. Have I accomplished anything at all during my time in that "place?"
Will I miss the people that I have grown to love? Yes, I truly will. For in just 5 short years in Chicagoland, I chose to love people--to open myself up to them. I was vulnerable, open, and defenseless to all manner of criticisms as well as compliments, etc. And yet, I believe that over time they loved me back. They became my friends. They grew to understand, accept and love me too. We, in a sense, became like family. I will miss these family members more than I could ever express in words. Do they know that? Can they feel that? Do they hear me when I tell them my truth?
I want these friends of mine to understand how much my knowing them has changed my life. I have become better, different, more loving and caring. I have "grown up" because of them. I have changed. Yes, even at my ripe old age--I have matured in a more significant way that I have in the past. Or maybe it's just that I recognize it more. Maybe that's it.
Yes, I will miss the person whom I have become because of them. I like me better now. I am more comfortable with myself. Why? I think it's because they accepted me for who I am. With all my quirks, and weirdnesses--they liked me anyway. Which in turn, made me like me--just a little bit better. Since knowing these friends, I have also accepted myself--and believe me that is huge. Huge! For I am the hardest person to please and accept--when it comes to me. I am hard on me. I don't measure up, I never have. Self-confidence is not my strong suit. I do however have confidence in my God, and sometimes people tend to get those two mixed up.
So this place in time, this road in my life, will never be traveled upon again. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I've gleaned all that I can from "this place", maybe I've done all that I could do, said all that I could say and prayed all that I could pray. I guess--it's done.
I will leave a piece of me here. And I will take a piece of all of you with me. Forever. No one can ever take it away. No one can ever replace you. No one can ever change me back. For you have been left with a piece of me. And I think, no, I believe that that is exactly how God intended it to be.
Thank you, my friends, for taking such good care of me. I'll miss you forever.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Week of Lasts
This week is my week of lasts...last week to, fill in the blank. Last week to have lunch with a friend, or go to dinner with a neighbor. It's my last book club, my last get together with my Bible study small group friends. And it's my last Sunday at our church. Yes, it's my week of lasts. I will never again walk this same path again, it is the last. The end. And that makes me sad.
It has me waxing nostalgic. I am reminded constantly of other times, past times, my memories are flooding through my head at warp speed. Almost to the point of being unable to stop them. 5 years of a mountain full of wonderful memories of awesome friends in a remarkable town.
Between the town, our church, our neighbors, and friends--between Chicago and outlying suburbs--I believe that we have been blessed abundantly. It's overwhelming. For it is my last week to--cook in my little one butt kitchen, sit and look at my river, walk through my neighborhood, walk the river walk, eat at my favorite restaurants, read in my living room, use my famous coffee bar, Friday morning coffee with friends, neighborhood parties, and oh so much more. Yes, it is a week of lasts. I am so very thankful for all I have been blessed with, all those I've met, all that I have experienced while living here. I shudder to think of what I would have missed out on had I not moved here 5 years ago.
It's funny though, I remember moving here 5 years ago, kicking and screaming (OK, really just crying and pouting) I hated what was happening to me. I was being torn from my family and friends--moving to parts unknown and I was desperately heartbroken. And here I am again. Almost (but not quite) in the same position. And although this time I am not kicking and screaming, I sure am crying. My heart sure is breaking. I hate to leave my little life here. I have grown to not only love my friends, but I have grown to love my little town. And now, I have to say goodbye. I have to leave...again!
So yes, this is my week of lasts. One of the saddest weeks of my life. I hate goodbyes. I hate leaving. I hate this week of lasts. I really do.
It has me waxing nostalgic. I am reminded constantly of other times, past times, my memories are flooding through my head at warp speed. Almost to the point of being unable to stop them. 5 years of a mountain full of wonderful memories of awesome friends in a remarkable town.
Between the town, our church, our neighbors, and friends--between Chicago and outlying suburbs--I believe that we have been blessed abundantly. It's overwhelming. For it is my last week to--cook in my little one butt kitchen, sit and look at my river, walk through my neighborhood, walk the river walk, eat at my favorite restaurants, read in my living room, use my famous coffee bar, Friday morning coffee with friends, neighborhood parties, and oh so much more. Yes, it is a week of lasts. I am so very thankful for all I have been blessed with, all those I've met, all that I have experienced while living here. I shudder to think of what I would have missed out on had I not moved here 5 years ago.
It's funny though, I remember moving here 5 years ago, kicking and screaming (OK, really just crying and pouting) I hated what was happening to me. I was being torn from my family and friends--moving to parts unknown and I was desperately heartbroken. And here I am again. Almost (but not quite) in the same position. And although this time I am not kicking and screaming, I sure am crying. My heart sure is breaking. I hate to leave my little life here. I have grown to not only love my friends, but I have grown to love my little town. And now, I have to say goodbye. I have to leave...again!
So yes, this is my week of lasts. One of the saddest weeks of my life. I hate goodbyes. I hate leaving. I hate this week of lasts. I really do.
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