Finding Christmas Joy

I peel back the backing on the first of three electrodes and place it three fingers down from my collar bone.  For many years I’ve been checked for missed heart beats, but recently they have become more frequent and have lasted longer, so now the changing of electrodes every other day for 30 days has become my new normal.  There’s no denying that a few of the episodes lately have frightened me.  The pounding, skipping, and erratic heart beat a few weeks back hurried me to my cardiologist and now, here I am with a heart monitor for the entire Christmas season.

I like to finish all my Christmas preparations early so that I can truly focus on my personal walk toward the manger each year.  This year has been no exception, barely a week into the month and the tree is up and decorated, the halls are decked, presents are mostly wrapped, stockings grace the mantle, and the cards and Christmas letter are signed, tucked into envelopes and ready to be dropped in the mailbox.  Prepared, but not peaceful, ready but not restful, every missed beat causing me anxiety and sadly robbing me of some of the joy I normally feel this time of the year.

It’s hard to admit my faith is that shallow sometimes.  I’ve tried to focus on the Lord, to trust Him for every day He gives me and to not let my anxiety rule my head, or my heart in any sense of the word.  The truth is every skipped beat reminds me that I’m not immortal physically, that one day I have to say goodbye to loved ones and to the life that I know and find so comfortable in its familiarity.  That’s especially difficult to think about this beautiful time of the year, so filled with family and friends.  Happily, rest and some increase in medication will probably go a long way to making my ticker a bit more stable.  But, in the meantime I’m hoping to find that missing joy.

It is hard to make changes, to leave the familiar for the unfamiliar, to relinquish comfort and peace for hardship and sacrifice, but isn’t that what God’s Son did on that starry night over 2000 years ago.  I can’t imagine leaving the beauty and magnificence of paradise for this broken and torn world, and yet that is what we celebrate this time of year, the birth of a Savoir who left the throne room of heaven for a straw lined manger in Bethlehem.  Thankfully that reality has done more to change my thumping heart than any other.

So many people are dealing with difficult challenges, losses, and other hardships, so I hope we can join hands, calm our hearts (even those missing a few beats here and there), and follow the star to the Savior this special season.  That’s where the missing joy can be found and it’s what I’m wishing for all of my precious family and friends this Christmas.  Hoping there will be peace on earth and in your heart and mine . . . do you think that will show up in my cardio output! I hope so.

Packing up the Memories

I looked around the empty rooms.  The built in shelves emptied of books, shadows dancing on newly exposed hardwood floors, our voices echoing under the high ceilings, I’d never seen this house empty.  Packers and movers had filled and moved box after box the last three days.  We had rolled up the rugs and taken the trash to the transfer station, and now it was time to turn the key in the door for the last time. How could this tiny house hold so many memories?

I needed to take one last look around.  I leaned into the kitchen.  It looked so big without the table and chairs, but the “brick” flooring; red checkered wall paper and curtained windows still looked cheery in the afternoon sunshine.  Closing my eyes I could see my grandmother by the stove, stirring the big pot of chili she always had waiting when we arrived for our visits.  Beyond the kitchen I knew there would be pies and other goodies on the enclosed back porch.  In later years my Uncle’s tea pot collection had graced the area beneath the window.  Best of all, with my eyes still shut, I could almost hear the chatter around the table nights as we “little” ones lay in the front room going to sleep.  That’s how we learned all about our family history and the amazing history of the small Indiana town where my parents had met and married, where my grandparents had set up house, where I had visited every year of my life.

Taking a step back into the main room of the house I glanced over to where the piano had been until just a few hours before.  That piano, with my Uncle at the keyboard filled that little house with music for as long as I could remember.  I had even tickled those keys from time to time.  My eye’s moved to the empty bookshelves, we are a family of avid readers, I think it’s in our genes, summers I had pulled books off those shelves to enjoy during some of the time we spent visiting my grandmother.  She had worked for Donnelly’s publishing company, and so the shelves’ contents flowed into other areas and rooms over the years.  I sent up a little prayer that the future occupants would refill those shelves with new tomes.

The sun splashed across the front room as I peeked through the doorway.  This room had transformed many times over the years, primarily a bedroom when I was younger it had become a living room once my Uncle had moved in.  I could see the rose bush covered in pink blossoms outside the front windows, late for summer roses, but flourishing none the less.

I didn't walk into the bedroom, my grandmother had taken her long braid down in there every night, my Uncle and Aunt had been born in that room.  I thought I’d seen enough, I could tell it was time to close the front door, turn the key and finally walk away.  I didn't make it to the door before my eyes blurred and filled.  Bob wrapped me in a big hug.  He didn't try and stop the flow, tears slipped silently down my cheeks and onto the floor.  So, I left those tear drops on the hardwood, turned the old doorknob, and put the key into the lock, I wasn't just closing the door, I was closing an era.

I stood on the front porch and looked at the big tree just beyond the railing; I had played under that tree many times. Memories of running off the porch and to the end of the lot to wave to the engineers, who blew the train whistle as they clickity clacked down the tracks behind the house, made me smile.  Despite the late fall weather some branches still held their yellow leaves, and they whispered goodbye as the wind blew through them and rustled the golden blanket surrounding the trunk.  Walking to the car a big brown squirrel chattered down at me, I felt like he was letting me know he’d be around to watch over things. We pulled off the lot one last time and drove past the street sign on the corner, I watched the house grow smaller and vanish. I knew at that moment that I’d never really leave 710 Tuttle Avenue behind, I had packed up and taken all the wonderful memories with me, and they were safe in my heart.

Time to Reboot!

                          Sign I fell in love with on the wall of the crab shore at the beach.

I love computers when they work and work well. However, when they don’t I become easily frustrated, irritated, frazzled, and want to give them the boot, so that’s what I usually do . . . reboot!  Lately I've felt a lot like a computer that’s not working, and because of that I have become frustrated, irritated, and frazzled.  My mind is slow, my recall is poor, I’m on overload and wish I had a reboot button.

Sadly I stop functioning well when I go into overdrive.  My days have been really full recently, full of events, good and bad, that have come one on top of another, fast and furious.  There is no end in sight, it’s called life, and I am trying figure out how to reboot and reload and keep abreast of it all.

                                              Me, leaning on a firm foundation :)
Several things have helped me regain my grip.  First of all I realized I wasn't spending much time in prayer or the Bible.  For someone whose faith is central, that quickly takes a toll.  Quiet time conversing with the Lord, reading His Word and lifting cares, concerns, and loved ones up to Him quickly lightens my daily load.  It’s nice to remember I’m not alone in shouldering all that life brings to bear each day.  Verses like Psalm 62:1, “My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation, he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.” , encourage me. Scripture may not mean much to a non-believer, but to me, it is a great comfort and starts my day with a promise of rest and strength for all the hours ahead of me. I’m a great advocate of meditation, it’s like hitting the “refresh” button.

                                         Me and Bob at the beach

Another thing that helped me get back on top of my game was some self-pampering.  A trip to the beach with my honey and some close friends, listening to waves and sea gulls, talking, laughing, eating, resting, and breaking my normal routine turned out to be the ultimate “reboot”.  I’m not one for running away from problems and concerns, but I am for shelving them temporarily when the load gets particularly heavy. The unexpected death of my brother-in-law was the straw that broke the camel’s back; I could hardly wait to feel the sand beneath my feet.   My energy level rose each day at the beach and I returned home renewed.  I highly recommend mini, restorative retreats.

Finally, to keep things from heating up, I’m trying to slow down and take things a day at a time and not look too far ahead.  Just like my computer needs to be turned off to cool down from time to time, I’m learning to turn my brain off from time to time, letting it cool down and reload.  Sometimes just throwing a load of laundry in so I can check something quick off the “to do” list, gives me a lift. Other times, I need something more substantial, like quality time with my kids, grand kids  husband or friends to refill my tank, I’m an extrovert and people are my pepper uppers.

Me and Aubree at the petting farm

                                              Me and my grand daughter Katie

The world is not going to stop turning, life is not going to slow down. Every moment is important, I definitely need to hit the  “save”  button from time to time so I won’t forget any memories or waste any time, but for now, rebooting was most important, and I’m back online.  

                                     Me and my dear Australian friend, Chris

"Fragile" Handle with Care

“Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look at what they can do when they stick together.”


Yesterday, for the first time ever, I raised my right hand, took an oath and then took the witness stand.  I was in court to testify as a collaborative witness for a friend who had finally reached the end of a long journey, the termination of her marriage.  I sat there looking around the courtroom. This was not a happy day for me, and I felt uncomfortable watching the scene unfold.  Tension was high, and it was a relief to have this part of the process over when we exited the courtroom.  I knew her life going forward would be better, but this experience reminded me of how very fragile life and its parts are.

Two days ago I attended the funeral of a remarkable woman, a friend from church.  She fought a three year battle with cancer that inspired everyone whose path she crossed.  She was witty, compassionate, courageous, strong and brave, but life is fragile and her passing was yet another reminder that this life is fleeting and we only have the guarantee of this moment. That’s a hard lesson for her daughters and three precious granddaughters to learn at their young ages.

For several years I have prayed for two little boys, from two different families who are battling Leukemia.  Their lives should be full of soccer practices, birthday parties with school mates, making big splashes in pools, and silly faces in mirrors, but instead they spend hours hooked to monitors with tubes pushing healing drugs into their little bodies.  Their day to day health is very fragile, their parents never know when they will need to grab the overnight bags that stand ready by the door and head to the hospital for emergency treatments.

These reminders can be painful and sometimes frightening.  It’s hard to watch a marriage crumble or be reminded of how fragile life is for young and old. Thankfully, I don’t face these hard places by myself.  My faith, my family and my friends are there to lift me up and remind me that I am never alone in this precarious journey called life.  I am also so thankful that the pendulum usually swings both ways, and for every sorrow there seems to be a blessing.

Last weekend my great nephew was baptized.  It was such a special moment as his father’s father took this precious little boy into his arms, and gently sprinkled his tiny head, a grandfather and a pastor, committing his grandson to the Lord.   I was also filled with the joy of new life as I watched my fifth granddaughter’s little heart beating on the sonogram monitor, safe in her mother’s womb a few days ago.  We had sent a precious saint homeward this week, but new life was also abounding.

The day in the courtroom was difficult, but today Bob and I will attend a wonderful celebration of marriage, the 60th anniversary of a very special couple.  Despite the fact that some couples won’t survive the sometimes bumpy road of marriage in this fallen world, there are others who are inspirational in their devotion, commitment and love.

Many years ago, I stitched a sampler that said, “Life is fragile, handle with prayer.”  It’s simple, I know, but its truth has seen me through some hard swings of life’s pendulum.  Today, I will celebrate this special anniversary with my sweet friends and embrace these happy moments. In the future, I will hold fast to my faith, family and friends when life sends challenges, because in realty, it’s me, not life, that’s breakable, and without a UPS box and packaging, stamped “fragile”, I know it’s that firm foundation that’s going to get me safely to my final destination.  Praying all my family and friends will handle and be handled with care and prayer, because your fragile selves are precious to me.

The Butterfly Theory

"Love is like a butterfly: It goes where it pleases and it pleases wherever it goes."

Things have been exciting at our house lately; we have two new grandchildren on the way in the coming year.  We have also recently welcomed two, adorable great nephews into the clan.  All these new little lives are a blessing, and yet sometimes I worry about all that they will face in the future.  I have been thinking a lot about how their parents will need to prepare them and raise them for this time.  One thing I know, the next generation is going to have to be strong, strong in mind, in heart and in spirit.

In many ways, I think equipping today’s children for life will be a bit like preparing an army for battle.  These little ones will need to know about all the enemies that will try and destroy them and use them for their own gain.  They will have to work harder than some in the past to uncover truth, real truth, not the “truth” the media and others will try to force feed them.  They will have to protect their hearts and spirits from those who reject their beliefs and seek to undermine their faith and moral fiber, while professing tolerance.  They will need to train for might so that they can protect those who are even more vulnerable. Perhaps most difficult, they will need to fight their battles with love, patience, caring, and integrity, and that takes a lot of discipline and strength.  It’s a daunting task, but not impossible.




This morning I heard a devotional about the “butterfly theory”

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butterfly_effect


Which in very basic terms means that even a butterfly’s fluttering wings eventually move the air and molecules in another part of the world.  In other words, EVERYTHING that we do affects something or someone else.  I was reminded that all that I do can change the world for good or bad and affect others positively or negatively.  It is sobering to think that one way or another, everyone my grandchildren and others in the next generation come into contact with(or even those they don’t) ,can change the course of their little lives.  I realize I can’t control what others do, but I can control what I do, to a certain extent.  I can speak kindly, hold firm to my faith and beliefs even when it’s not popular and do it kindly.  I can continue to love those I don’t always agree with, I can keep my words and dialogue civil even in debate and disagreement. I know that I fail sometimes, but in other words, when I flutter my wings I hope they eventually move the world around me in the right direction.  And, that my grandchildren benefit from that example.

I am also praying that those I know will embrace the high road. . .flutter kindly my friends. . .move the world in a positive direction. . . you too are responsible for the way the next generation (including my little ones) world's unfold, and I’m counting on you.

Laugh Lines

"If wrinkles must be written on our brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should never grow old."  James A. Garfield

Nora’s soft little finger ran across the skin under my eye.
 “What are all those lines and bumps around your eye, Grammie?” she asked.
I laughed,
 “Those are wrinkles, Nora.”
“Ummm,” she responded.  “Why do you have them?”
I decided to go with the short answer.
 “Well, Grammie is getting older, and when you get older you usually get wrinkles.”
That answer was enough for my little granddaughter. She hopped off my lap and skipped off to play with her sisters.

Later that day, while washing my face before bed I glanced at the mirror.  Who was that woman gazing back at me?  She looked familiar, like an older version of the woman staring into the mirror, the one whose body I lived in.  I moved closer to the mirror to have a better look.  Wow, when had all those wrinkles and lines and bumps and puffy areas appeared?  I used my fingers to smooth out the skin around my peepers, yup, that was better.  I could definitely see why some people decided to have a little “work” done on their faces as they aged, but that just isn’t my style.  I released the skin and the wrinkles settled back in like old friends, looking like they had lived there at the sides of my eyes forever.  No wonder Nora had asked about the bumps and lines.  I rummaged through my makeup basket and pulled out the night cream.  Lot of good this is doing, I thought, I was ready to go big guns, wage all-out war against these invaders, and all I had was what was left of the white goo in the bottom of the green jar in the palm of my hand.  I finished at the sink and slipped into bed.  Maybe war wasn’t the answer.

I stared into the darkness, I remembered saying to Nora, “Well, Grammie is getting older, and when you get older you usually get wrinkles.”  It hadn’t bothered me at the moment, but here in the dark, with Bob already snoozing next to me, I realized I really didn’t like the sound of those words.  Being a breast cancer survivor, I am thankful for every day God gives me, and yet, I just wasn’t prepared for aging.  I started thinking about how the lines and creases had etched their way into my face.  Lots of smiling I was sure had caused the lines at the corners, I have lots to smile about.  Fun family times, laughing till I cry with friends and my sisters, weddings, baptisms, new grandbabies, yes, lots of smiling had probably caused those lines.  Some sobering moments and sad moments were likely the reason for some of the puffiness and tired look under my eyes, things like, losing parents, fighting illnesses, worries about the state of the world and the future my children and grandchildren would be facing.  In the dark I realized the lines and wrinkles and furrows were part of a story, the story of my life.

Thankfully I fell asleep deciding it would not be necessary to take up arms against the uninvited signs of aging I had glared at in the mirror that evening.  I decided to embrace them instead.  Don’t get me wrong, I still use my night cream before settling in for the night, but next time one of my little ones notices some new lines or creases on Grammie’s face and wonders why they’re there, I’m just going to say, “honey, those are part of my story!”  I’m just not prepared to age, I’ll deal with that when I’m old-- and who knows when that will be.

Derecho = Terror

I don’t think I’m what you would call the “adventurous” type.  I do like to try new things and experience new places, I like to meet new people and become acquainted with new cultures, and I love learning about all kinds of things.  This week, I learned something new firsthand: I learned what a Derecho is.  According to Wikipedia, a Derecho is, “a widespread and long-lived straight-line windstorm that is associated with a fast-moving band of severe thunderstorms. Derechos are generally convection-induced and take on a bow echo form of squall line. They travel in the direction of movement of their associated storms, similar to an outflow boundary (gust front), except that the wind is sustained and generally increases in strength behind the front. A warm-weather phenomenon, derechos occur mostly in summer, especially June and July in the Northern Hemisphere. They can occur at any time of the year and occur as frequently at night as in the daylight hours.”  My definition of a Derecho is somewhat different. My definition is “sheer terror”.

On Friday evening, June 29th, 2012, I became an adventurer against my will.  Having spent a great evening with Bob watching our beautiful granddaughter Aubree, we headed home in separate cars.  Storms were predicted, but all was calm and dry as we started out.  Within 10 miles of home things changed, suddenly and furiously.  With no warning, my car was slammed into the adjacent lane as 70 mile an hour winds and blinding rain arrived like a high speed train from my left.  Branches and highway barrels bounced around the freeway, narrowly missing those of us frantically trying to stay in our lanes and find safety under underpasses.  The underpass where we sheltered only provided minimal relief. Talking to Bob on the cell phone to plan our next move was next to impossible, as the storm was so loud we had to shout to hear one another.  With tornado predictions forecast on the news station, we headed back on the road, determined to reach home and safe shelter.  Trees and large limbs littered the six-lane freeway, and the wind never once abated.  I thought that my heart would pound right out of my chest (I’m happy to report that it didn’t).  Branches and debris banged against the bottom of my car and at one point we both had to drive under the boughs of a fallen tree that dangled precariously over the barrier wall along the highway, but finally we made it home to a powerless house. I walked into the dark kitchen, hearing the wind still howling around the house, thankful to be alive, and burst into tears.

An hour later the winds abated and residents of the D.C. metropolitan area came out of storm-battered houses to survey the damage—it was extensive.  The high winds felled huge trees, several people were killed when these mighty giants blew down on their houses and cars.  The phones at our roofing business have not stopped ringing since Friday.  And so the cleanup begins.  It will be a long process.  My heart goes out to those who are still without power and dealing with the unrelenting heat that has blanketed the eastern part of the country.  These are the times when neighbors are called to come to one another’s aid.  Those with power can offer warm showers, cool shelter, and become phone charging and internet havens. We can all offer a cold drink to a hot postal carrier or trash collector, check on elderly neighbors who might not be handling the heat well, and help out in a million other ways.   Once again the resiliency of humanity is tested, and with God’s help we will weather the storm.  Stay safe my friends, and know that my future entries will be calmer as I have met my adventure quota for the year!

Babylonian Dream Team

Recently I was asked to chair the decorating committee for our church’s annual Vacation Bible School. Saying no has never come easily for me, but this time, I was not quick in responding.  My job, if I said yes, would mean transforming our ordinary fellowship hall and several cinderblock classrooms into Babylon.  This has not been my best spring and early summer health wise, and I was hesitant to take on the task, but the Lord continued to nudge me toward this commitment.  I’m so thankful He did, as I would have missed out on so many blessings had I not listened to His leading and said “yes”.

(Our church steeple at sunset on opening day of Babylon Bible Camp)


                   (Our Dir. of C M, Dawn in the green below)

                 

First order of business was to meet with our new Director of Children’s Ministries, Dawn.  Having held this position myself for four years at Atonement, I was anxious to get to know Dawn better.  Children’s Ministries holds a special place in my heart as I have served on staff, full time in this capacity at two different churches.  It’s a job that requires a lot of energy, a lot of creativity, flexibility, ability to work with and encourage a large volunteer staff and a million and one other gifts and talents.  Dawn more than meets these criteria (thankfully God equipped me and saw me through my years on the job) and I was delighted to get to know her better.  That “working” lunch was blessing number one I received as committee chair.

                                                                                                            ( Below "Daniel's House")                              
                                                                                           

Having developed a plan, it was time to meet with the committee members.  Interestingly, the committee ended up all women, powerhouses all of them.  I was awed and amazed by their creativity, willingness to serve, self-motivation and joyful spirits as they used their gifts and talents to meet the goals of our team.  Despite working full time outside of the home, Robin, with some help from her husband Mike, built and installed an amazing “city gate” to greet the participants.  Jeri, who also works outside of the home, knowing my energy hasn’t been 100%, took the “shopping list” I had made and purchased everything we needed for the big transformation. Julia spent hours making beautiful stars to lead the Bible campers from the city courtyard area to the craft stalls.   Marta, Debbie and Lynn, all willingly pitched in to make build day happen more smoothly and quickly.   Thankfully, Mike, Chuck, Bob, and Ron lent some extra muscle and reminded me that sometimes being there at the last minute can be a crucial blessing.  And that leads me to blessing two, how inspired I was by working with such a remarkable group of people, it made me want to serve more joyfully and enthusiastically when asked to help or lend a hand in the future.  The work these people did was fantastic, but the attitude in which they served was outstanding.

                          (Below, Daniel, Luke Link, and the Palace Official, Fred Carr)

Finally, with all the decorations in place the doors were opened and the Bible Campers arrived for the first of five evenings in “Babylon”.  As I walked through the “city gate” I was greeted by musicians, chefs and crafters, story tellers,shopkeepers and “tribe leaders” all in Babylonian garb (testimony to another fantastic effort by the seamstresses in the church who made over 40 costumes for the event).  There were happy children making tiny hanging gardens, beading beautiful creations, singing, and listening to the story of Daniel as told by “Daniel” and the “palace official” in “Daniel’s house”.  Blessing three was seeing the fruit of our labor come to life!  All the hard work paid off, once again, when God called he also equipped and inspired, and what a wonderful, delightful outcome occurred.

I love the way God reminds me so often that I am always more blessed when I give, than I am a blessing.  I’m so glad I said yes to being the Decorating Committee Chairperson, I loved the journey to Babylon.  Hope you enjoy some of the pictures from this event.  Hoping also that you are called to be blessed soon in your corner of the world, don’t be afraid to say YES!

                         (Our star maker, Julia and me, below)

Finding Calm on the Porch

“Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you should set up a life that you don’t need to escape from.” --Seth Godin.

I recently saw this quote and loved it.  What a difference it would make if everyone could create a daily retreat, time away from the stress and the frantic pace so many endure day after day.  Now that summer has arrived I am enjoying more and more time on the screen porch.  It’s here on the porch that I find myself letting go of the ever present worries and anxieties that weigh me down.  Surrounded by trees, flowers, fresh air and lots of wildlife, I’m able to let go.   So for this entry, I thought maybe I’d share some free floating thoughts and word pictures of life as seen from the porch just off my kitchen.  Hoping you can kick back, close your eyes and lose yourself for just a few minutes too.  I’ve snapped a few views from the porch as well . . . enjoy!

Hummingbirds flitting quickly and quietly to sip the ruby nectar in the feeder, they seem almost magical in their approach and quick retreat.  Tiny wings, moving in a blur of neon green and purple.  Can’t help stopping to gaze at them with each one’s visit to dip tiny beaks into the sweetness, which fills them till they next return.

Hydrangea’s, bursting with puffs of color.  Pink, fuchsia, purple, and white, brightening the garden path they line.

Squirrels chasing and frolicking on the fence.  Leaping from branches and performing acrobatics that make me want to applaud.  One minute racing around and around the pine tree trunk, heads and tails bobbing. They are always chattering as they spend themselves in play.  Then, sleeping flattened on the fence top, funny little faces resting, while tiny arms and legs hang sleepily motionless.

White impatiens gleam brightly day and evening and even in the moonlit garden.  Like tiny white stars scattered among the rocks around the pond.  I love to see them glowing under the stars. A night garden is so lovely.

Besides the hummingbirds, robins, doves, cardinals, sparrows, black-capped chick-a-dees, catbirds, cow birds and yellow finches provide entertainment. They love the fountain and wait in line to send the water flying as they dive and dip and bath in the cooling shower.  Then they preen, sitting in the branches above the garden and as the sunsets they sing and perform duets and trios until dusk descends and all becomes very still.

The water from the fountain makes a tiny tinkling sound, gentle, soothing.

Latter in the summer the cicadas will complete the evening choruses with their humming song, high in the trees, calling to mind my childhood in Tennessee and memories of falling asleep with windows open on cool summer nights.

Finally, the fireflies begin to twinkle in the twilight and like the others work their magic.  The day’s cares, the hustle and bustle of life fades and calm comes and soothes.

If you think this was a little dramatic, maybe even boring, a little over done and too poetic, I apologize.  I love the respite I receive on the porch, made even better when shared with Bob.  I hope that you have a gentle place full of wonderful soul soothers where you can find refreshment each day. . . and to think, summer has only just begun.

A Memorial Day Tribute to Mom and Dad

It’s Memorial Day Weekend, and the Stars and Stripes are flying high.  Friends and family across America are gathering around picnic tables and lighting up the grills.  Kids are excitedly taking their first plunges into chilly, early summer pool water, and then warming shivering bodies wrapped in oversized beach towels and sunlight.  It’s time to welcome summer, time to enjoy a long weekend, and most importantly, time to remember those who gave their lives for their country and others who we have loved and lost.

As I write this I’m thinking about my mother and father.   They both passed away in the summer, my mother seven years ago, my father five years ago, on the same date, July 9^th, two years apart.  I still miss them, I keep pictures of them in my Bible, I like looking at their smiling faces when I begin my morning quiet time.  Today I was remembering their hands, funny, but for some reason I started thinking about all that those hands did for me.

My mom had beautiful hands and they were almost always busy.  Her hands were often crocheting, holding a book, cooking (Memorial Day weekend probably stirring homemade chocolate syrup to have served warm over vanilla ice cream), and writing, crafting, gardening, or serving in some way. Her hands could type 120 words per minute and take shorthand, skills that earned her top ranking wherever she worked.  Her hands comforted me when I was injured or sick, patted me when I needed reassurance, and applauded me when I performed or accomplished something.  Her hands held my babies and two of my grandbabies, I wish they could hold all of my grandbabies and her other great grandchildren.  Oh how I love and miss those hands.

My dad had gentleman’s hands; strong, clean, long-fingered hands.  My dad was a thinker, sometimes those hands sat quietly folded in his lap, often on a book or article while he thought.  But those hands weren’t idle hands, they built the calorimeter he designed at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, they wrote reports for Nuclear Regulatory Commission, they gestured when he lectured, and like my mom’s hands they served many others.  His hands steadied me as I learned to ride a bike, jiggled the pan on Sunday nights when he made popcorn, they awed me as he used them to hold test tubes and do Science demonstrations for my elementary school class and my children’s classes too, they held the books he read to me while using funny voices for all the characters, they washed my hair and brushed my teeth when I was a child. His hands penned poetry and lovingly signed carefully chosen birthday and Valentine’s Day cards.  Oh how I love and miss those hands.

I’m looking forward to our extended family cookout this Memorial Day.  There will be three generations celebrating together.  We will enjoy hotdogs and hamburgers from the grill, play yard games, and chat on my sister’s screen porch, the rocking chairs on the porch are coveted seats and are never empty once the weather warms. I’m making a beeline for one of them.  My parents always loved these occasions; they would love seeing all their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren ages ten years to four weeks old.  I’d gladly give up the rocking chairs to them, if only . . .