Garage Sale Gifts

Mother's Day! What a bouquet of memories and emotions that day brings up for me.

As a child growing up on the edge of a field of Wyoming wild flowers, Mother's Day meant a handpicked bouquet of weeds, roots and all, proudly presented to my mom. She loveingly put them into her best vases and set them in a place of honor. They looked quite exquisite; but oh, the smell! Wyoming wild flowers smell like old swamp water when you bring them indoors. Smell didn't matter though, they were appreciated and I learned that giving is better than receiving, smelly wild flowers, that is.

As a young mother I received numerous handmade object from school and Sunday school classes. I always loved the handmade pop cycle stick projects with macaroni glued precariously in indiscernible patterns, but they only held a close second to the garage sale items wrapped in whatever paper was available, including toilet paper. I've received old jewelry boxes, books, and slightly used beauty aids. I have unwrapped blue plates, rocks and odd kitchen gadgets; all given with the light of expectation in the eyes of a child, purchased with pennies from my own pocket.

Kristen shared the tale of her neighbor boy who had a little garage sale on her curb. Six pilfered items made up his total inventory. Among those items was a Harlequin Romance and a camera. I had to laugh as I imagined one mom frantically looking for her much anticipated novel as her "me time" ticked away; and another mother unwrapping an amazing gift of a digital camera with pictures of someone elses child smiling from the mini screen. Children have little sense of personal or monetary value which is refreshing if not frustrating at times.

This year my Mother's Day will consist of a lovely dinner provided by my husband, beautifully wrapped and well thought out gifts and cards from my children, and purchasing a perfect bouquet of flowers to deliver to the cemetery. I will hug my children, kiss my grand baby and miss my mom, but it will be another memorable Mother's Day, because being a daughter and a mother is a memorable gift from God.

I wish you a Happy and Memorable Mother's Day!

Right Where I Left Me!

Here I am, sitting in my cute little office and enjoying the kind of music I like. I'm burning a candle that smells like tangerines and I'm thinking lunch will be one of my favorite foods. Yes, I have the house all to myself! Lovely. It's always been a special treat for me to have time alone. I used to live for that week in summer when Tom would take the kids camping and I would sew, watch romantic comedies, clean house and have it stay clean for a few days. And now, here I am, alone, and well...alone.

Changes in my life seem to come in bunches, kind of like bananas; and like bananas, if I don't deal with them all at the same time they go bad really fast! Graduations, weddings, funerals and the pesky physical changes of aging have seemed to be ever present for the last few years. The rush of shopping, packing, running and just trying to be everywhere at once has suddenly come to a screeching halt, and I'm finding myself thrown up against the dashboard of the empty nest. Thankfully I have the airbag of all those things I've been wanting to get to for the past twenty years. I've whittled down the "stuff" from my kitchen and all my pots and pans fit in the cupboard, my gadgets all fit in the drawers and I'm finding I don't mind cooking dinner near as much. I also have all those books I've been longing to read and even a few writing projects beginning to surface.

On the radio the other morning during a minute spot on women's issues, the announcer was talking about a woman who had "lost" herself during the years of raising her children and now that they were gone she felt as if she didn't know who she was. In a moment of panic I took a quick innovatory to see if I had "lost" myself. Nope! There I was. Right where I had left me.

Although my children have played an enormous part in my life through the years, I am happy to say I've never lost sight of who I was. The personalities that have filled my home and my heart were never so overbearing that mine got lost in the shuffle of living. I am thankful for Grace Christian School that provided an excellent education for my children when I knew homeschooling was definitely something this mom could not manage, the provision of God that supplied the funds has been miraculous. I am thankful for pastors who encouraged me and provided me with ministry opportunities that enhanced my giftings and let me shine. I am thankful for sisters/friends who wouldn't let me forget my love for a good novel, movie and cup of coffee; who laughed, cried, walked, dieted and binged with me. I am thankful for a job that allowed me to be available for my children and yet challenged me to be the best I can be. And that man of mine! He put up with my longings and yearnings for places unknown and then somehow managed to get me there (Rome is still waiting). What a ride it's been, and we are still traveling strong!

Yesterday I went past TJ's room, saw the empty walls and boxed up books and felt a pang of sorrow. The other day I dreamed Kristen and Jolene were looking down at me from the top of the stairs with little girl glee and woke feeling sad. I delight in sending Rosie boxes of goodies packaged in motherly love and miss her terribly. Jordan's family reminds me of all those times when I felt the frustration of not being enough and yet not wanting it to be any other way; knowing that somehow God would take care of the gaps. There is a measure of sadness in the emptying of the nest, but freedom too. Today I am free to share a few thoughts on my blog, run to my favorite book store and watch Dr. Oz without anyone to mock or ridicule me (TJ). When dinner rolls around I'll pull out the big pot, rethink and grab the smaller one instead. I'll say a prayer for my fledgling sparrows and know the Father is watching over them and enjoy a quiet dinner with my husband. I have found myself to be contented and looking forward to tomorrow.

Yep, that's where I am; right where I left me.

The Ultimate Fake

If people knew how inadequate and inept I am they would be shocked! It's really just the grace of God and "faking" that gets me through. It's like my new Ultimate Christmas Fake Book that has all the Christmas Carols I want to play. It gives me the words, melody line and all the chords. I just sit down at my piano and I can play just about anything in there. I'll choose a Christmas Song like, Merry Christmas, Darling (My all time secular favorite). It goes like this: "Cm, Dm, Gm, Cm,"" I'm doing great! "F7, Bb, Gm, F#+" WHAT?!!! What is an F#+? Oh well, skip that one, and on we go! Every once in a while I'll hit one of those schmaltzy chords right and I sound like I really know what I'm doing, when in actuality it was a total accident.

At times, that's how I tend to live my life. I accidentally read something about a great author and I can chat like I have a literature degree! I stumble on a recipe and the finished product looks like it was prepared by a pro, and I glow with the compliments I receive, when it was really very easy and foolproof. I have learned enough Scripture over the years to hold my own in a debate on predestination and post or pre-tribulation, but don't ask me what I Scripture I read this week, the answer may be embarrassing for me.

Jesus told the woman at the well (who was a pretty good faker herself!), "But an hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be His worshipers. God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth." John 4:23-24 NAS

No matter how you fake it, God is searching for those whose worship is sincere. May He find my heart ever true.

Thanksgiving Weekend

Friday, November 27, 2009

The fuss is over and the quiet begins. My favorite part of Thanksgiving weekend! The fireplace is burning, the snow is falling and I’m sitting in my pjs and slippers listening to the quiet. This is that slot of time that is the eye of the storm. Thanksgiving is done and Christmas season can wait until tomorrow. Nothing is pressing; no one is in desperate need of me. I can sit on my couch and just be.

Part of my tradition of the Friday after Thanksgiving is reading a book from cover to cover. I try to select one that is going to put me into the Christmas spirit and yet has a little depth to it. It doesn’t have to be a major work or on the best seller list, just a book to help me enjoy the peace. I selected the book Christmas List by Richard Paul Evans. He is one of my favorite authors. He has a way of telling a story without being wordy. His books tend to have a spiritual moral to them and a sweet romance although usually tragic, that appeals to my romantic leanings. My selection was perfect for this morning’s retreat.

I can feel the calm of the day slipping away as Tom becomes restless in the stillness. He is outside shoveling the walk and I have a feeling in the next few minutes the snow blower will fire up. This cushion of quiet I have been reveling is even now beginning to disperse. Rosie is home and she and her friend Michelle are watching a movie and the phone is beginning to ring. I can feel the pull of the laundry waiting for me, the call of worship music waiting to be organized and the whining of the dog for a walk in the new fallen snow. However, I believe I can squeeze out another twenty minutes or so from the fire in the fireplace and a moment to write my thoughts and vent my feelings before I need to budge from my couch.

I was telling my sister Carol, yesterday that it really does happen! The kids grow up and take most of their stuff with them. All of a sudden getting ready for company isn’t so panic ridden and the house seems less cluttered. She looked at me with doubt in her eyes and I placed a comforting arm around her shoulders while she leaned on me for a moment. It seems like in the last two weeks or so, this phenomenon has finally occurred at our house. The couch stays free of purses, coats, sweatshirts and Old Navy shopping bags, dishes stay in the cupboard and the washer and dryer are empty when I go to put a load of my laundry in them. The weddings were over months ago, but moving the necessary stuff from one abode to another is process. I am sure I will miss all the stuff that used to haunt the common areas of our residence, but for now I am enjoying the overlying neatness.

In less than a month I will be having yet another birthday. I just read a book by Sue Monk Kidd and her daughter Anne called Traveling With Pomegranates. She talked about turning fifty and facing the fact that her physical fertility had come to an end and she faced the realization that her life needed to take on a new type of fertility. As I read I identified with that feeling. She put so well into words what I have been feeling for the last year. Although I didn’t always agree with her methods of coming to grips with the loss of her “young woman hood” and the accepting of “older woman hood” I felt an affinity with her in this. I too stand at the place of leaving my productive years behind and entering the years that I hope creativity can become born in me. I’m praying it will be more than knitting sweaters, making new recipes and finding new ways to take advantage of the silver in my hair. Not that I will stop doing those things, I just long for more than that.

Someone who was a successful composer of worship music once said, “If you want to be creative, get close to the Creator.” That will be my goal for the next year (and every year to come). I am going to ask Him to be creative through me. What will that mean for me? I’m not sure. I hesitate to put into writing what I hope of doing before I am an old woman, I am just superstitious enough to not want to jinx my dreams. But I do know whatever I put my hand to, with the Creator’s blessing, will be enough.

The fire has died, the book is read and it’s time to begin those little tasks that will let neatness continue to reign. My Thanksgiving weekend has been full of blessings.

Grandma Day

Julian came over yesterday as it was Thursday, Grandma Day! We played in the leaves under our birch trees. Of course Julian doesn’t have any sense of the value of gold, but I always think of gold coins when I see the birch leaves scattered over lawns, and streets. They hang in the autumn sunlight in the nearly bare trees and catch the golden tones of slanted warmth and suddenly the world seems very rich. Before long Jonae arrived and I sat in the sun while her and Julian tossed those “gold coins” into the breeze and caught them in their hair. It was indeed a rich moment, a priceless memory.

I was telling my friend Judy, I never feel like I have to rush when I’m with Julian. I can walk slowly, watch two Sesame Street shows in a row, and linger over milk and cookies and feel absolutely no guilt at all! We did get an awkward look from the man shelving videos when we played “sneak up” on uncle TJ at the Library, but the guy needed loosening up a little! We stopped at the platform set up on the library lawn to do an impromptu clog dance (by the way, Danskos sound great on plywood). It was Uncle TJ’s turn to shoot awkward glances at us, but on such a glorious autumn day, SOMEONE SHOULD BE DANCING! Therefore, we danced! Time well spent.

I know grandmas should have a modicum of dignity and grace about them, mine did, but I just haven’t figured that part out yet. For now I think I’ll just enjoy the moments and hopefully the dignity and grace will come with the gray hair. It is these undignified moments that make me feel rich, bought with the “golden coins” falling from the birch trees in our yard.

My Father's Daughter

While going through my mountain of books, I found a journal entry written on the flyleaf of a Bible study I was doing. I didn't date it for some reason, but I know it was several years ago. At any rate this is what I wrote:

Some days I come to my Father as an innocent, carefree child; hugging, laughing, singing--resting.

Some days I am the disgruntled toddler who is tired and wants her own way, even though I know its not what is best and I am not going to get anyway.

Some days I am the child who adores, believes and trusts anything the Father has to say. I will do anything He asks and it is enough reward to just be close to Him.

Some days I'm the adolescent daughter who is so wrapped up in friends and things, I only have time to give my Father a quick hug and smile. I tell Him where I am off to, not waiting for His approval because I fear He may not approve and will spoil my fun.

Some days I'm the young woman standing on the edge of a dream, praying the Father will give His blessing; knowing I'll be crushed if He doesn't, but willing to risk the dream because I know He is all wise.

Some days I'm the grown-up daughter who takes time to share in the deeper knowledge of Him; to learn and understand the voice I recognize as wonderful.

Some days I am an elder daughter who just wants to rest in His presence from the cares and duties of the day.

Which ever daughter I am today, I know the Father is always the same. I am always welcome. He loves me as He finds me, and if I am willing, He changes me.

It's funny, I don't even remember jotting these words down, but they still strike a note of truth in my heart after all these years. I am my Father's daughter!

Kristen My Joy

A rainy Sunday afternoon is to be savored like an expensive bottle of wine--not that I've ever had an expensive bottle of wine, but I can imagine. that is why I am sitting here at my computer instead of snoozing in my oh-so-comfy-bed. My mind is still littered with wedding images reminiscent of the way wedding "leftovers" litter my whole house. Maybe if I write them out I will be able to move on and quit succumbing to the weepiness that threatens to overcome me whenever I think about Kristen's and Josh's beautiful moment.

The preparations were totally exhausting for everyone and we were all alternately short tempered and loving. We just never knew what to expect from the other person or ourselves. And as I sat on the front row, on the left, I found myself totally in denial as I watched my two beautiful daughters, Jolene and Rosie walk down the aisle looking like Greek goddesses along with Tori and Malinda. And then at the back door, standing with her father, was my lovely Kristen. I had told Masha, after going to several dress fittings, Kristen looked even more beautiful in her gown than Audrey Hepburn ever looked and it proved to be even more true at that moment. I can't remember if she even glanced my way--I think not--she only had eyes for the young man who had captured her heart months ago, and I kept telling myself, "This is it, this is it, the moment we've all been working toward," and I suddenly felt a great sadness. I leaned toward Tom and whispered, "This makes my heart hurt," because I actually felt a physical sort of tearing taking place in my chest. He looked at me with a look that made me know he hadn't understood what I had said, and I couldn't say it again without sobbing, so I let it go. And somehow I knew he was dealing with a ripping in his own soul.

Joy and pain are often so closely related that we cannot separate them. It is like the bone and marrow talked about in Scripture which can only be divided by a Divine sword. They mingle and separate alternately leaving us exhausted and wondering which way is up. A birth of a child is a messy pain-filled joy, the mournful relief of the home going of an elderly parent puts us in a tail spin, and the marriage of a beloved daughter brings gladness as well as sorrow to our hearts. But we know we would never change a moment. The joy will slowly overtake the sorrow and I will bring my basket-case emotions back to center and life will begin a new normal for all of us...until the next lovely bride stands at the back door (Jolene), and the roller coaster ride begins again!