Scruffy Love

"We're getting a dog!" My Daddy called me one afternoon, as excited as a little boy. I asked him if he was sure, and where was he planning on getting it. Their house, new to them, had a literal postage stamp of a yard. Mama had never allowed an animal in the house, so I wondered how that was going to work out. I have to give her a lot of credit, though. She's the best housekeeper I've ever known. You can eat off the floors, seriously. And even though animals were never her thing, because she loved us she always allowed us to have a menagerie of animals. There were protests about the mess, the hair, the aggravation, but she also was usually the one to feed them. Then when I was grown, I had four kids so they could feed my animals. This worked out beautifully for me.

My parents assured me they would find a responsible breeder and not go finding some rescue dog with problems. They have 21 grandchildren, for heavens' sake. They looked all over, but kept complaining about how expensive the puppies were. One day, they arrived at my house with this Thing. I asked where they got him; they said, "The Pound." His face looked like a brillo pad, with wire sticking out everywhere. His teeth protruded in a crazy underbite. He looked like a Shitzu mix, with terrier springs in his legs and a sprinkling of dachshund that somebody let in the back door. Daddy named him Rhubarb, after the local DJ that he loved to listen to. They took him to the veterinarian, who discovered the dog had Parvovirus, an often fatal illness. I thought they'd put the dog down, but no, they brought him home and nursed him back to health. 

We couldn't believe that my parents had a house dog. When we'd visit, Rhubarb would run all over us and the furniture, finally landing on my Daddy's lap. They thought he was the cutest thing they'd ever seen. He was taken for walks, car rides and family outings. But then the big bomb came out: he was also sleeping in their bed with them every night. These were my parents. The people who were in their late 70s and had never allowed any creature inside the house. They were smitten. It was adorable.

When Daddy died suddenly in September of 2018, our entire family, including the dog, just about crawled down in the grave with him. We still can't believe it's true, and we only cope by remembering where he is and then telling funny stories about all the wonderful things he did. I was at Mama's house a couple of weeks ago, sanitized and properly distanced for a short visit, when several other family members happened to show up too. I thought Rhubarb's head was going to explode, he was so thrilled to see that many humans at one time. He did his runabout, then landed in Mama's lap. I got a little misty, thinking about how much joy that little dog brought to Daddy...but now how thankful I am that he's there for her. We wondered how it would work, after Daddy was gone. Rhube stayed with my brother's family for some days, but finally Mama was ready to have him back. When you go to visit her, her face lights up as he jumps in her lap, and he curls right up next to her every night. He has been a godsend, one of those creatures that God makes and blesses with a touch of extra grace. It's the little things...

Labor of Love

It all started in late December of last year...my daughter's engagement to a fine, God-fearing man. Planning a DIY wedding is not for the weak-minded. We immediately began searching for the perfect invitations. These days, there's internet overload, with Pinterest, Etsy, and virtually millions of ideas. But we're cheap, so we scrounged all over and found a beautifully embossed, cream-colored invite (that included a satin ribbon to tie it all up with) at Michael's. With our 40% off coupons in hand (you can only use one at a time), we traveled all over the immediate South to find enough of them. They've sat prettily in their boxes until a couple of weeks ago. With the coronavirus mess, we have been unsure of what to do. Will the wedding be at her original venue with lots of folks, or will it be in our backyard, with only immediate family scattered at 6-foot intervals? They were already printed, so we made an executive decision: send 'em! We put a little slip of paper inside each one that said to check on the website for updates, just in case.

Months ago, I took a refresher course in calligraphy, buying new supplies and practicing for hours. We bought champagne-colored wax and a special seal with "N" on it, to gussie up the envelopes. With much pain and suffering, I eked out the sprawling words in a new wedding font at the drafting table in my studio. The playlist on my iPhone varied from Jack Johnson to Mozart, depending on the mood of the hour. Liz was hunkered down at the dining table, working from home and polishing up the guest list in her spare time. I was hunkered down, trying to write fancy words while squashing my ribs into pretzels. After they were finally addressed, I think it took two days for us just to assemble them, with the blistering hot wax flourish at the end (minus not a little skin off our fingertips). We packed them all up in two big boxes and hauled them into the Post Office. I peeked inside first, to see if our favorite Post Office Lady was there. If she hadn't have been, we were headed back home until we could stand in her line. This was too emotional a day for us to have some cranky person tell us our wax seal was verboten or that we were a pinch over on postage. Thankfully, she was there and blessed us with her kind words and hopeful wishes for Liz's wedding day. I felt hesitant to hand them over...it was like they were our little babies and how could we just leave them with someone else? In the end, I released my grip on the box and let them go. 

I cried a little when we got to the car. What was that about? Then I realized, this was about my daughter. That dear woman, beautiful and strong. She has dreamt of her wedding day all of her life. As a little girl, she would ask me to buy her bride's magazines. We would look at pictures of bridesmaids dresses. "Mama, these are the colors I want at my wedding someday...here is a  hairstyle I love...I wonder what kind of dress I will wear?" Every wedding that we've been involved in (which has been considerable), she is right there at my elbow, helping decorate and plan. Her quiet, private demeanor belies all the deep thoughts that run through. We have seven weeks to go, only seven. Both of our lives will change forever. She is the last of our four children at home, our only girl, and she's been here awhile. After college, she settled into a busy HR career and took her time choosing a husband. There were those who thought she shouldn't live with her parents, but I'm grateful. She paid rent, helped us out around the house and made me laugh. We will always be the best of friends, but I'm going to miss her and our late nights terribly. To everything there is a season. 

Of all times to get married, it would fall on this crazy year. She has had the best of attitudes, missing out on all the hoopla that normally precedes a wedding: no showers, no bachelorette party, no bridesmaids luncheon. I see her bearing it with strength and class. I don't know if I could be so resolute, proof being that I'm not resolute now. A few days ago, we finally forced ourselves to walk out into our backyard, to think about an alternate plan to the venue that we had all hoped for. The birds were fluttering, mad with spring fever...the clover underfoot smelled divine. The leaves looked like fresh mint and tiny bees buzzed sweetly as we walked around. There's a little rise between our yard and our neighbor's...the perfect spot for a wedding. We imagined her walking from the house to meet her groom on a summer's day, with flowers and lanterns and music. The cares of this world fell away. I thought about the marriage supper of the Lamb...how that a wedding is a picture of Christ and His Church. As of right now, we have no idea how it's all going to pan out, but we do know: "...do not be anxious, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek after all these things and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself..." Matthew 6:31-34.  

I'm gonna lay it down right there.

Selling Dreams

Eight years ago today, I woke up in my new old house. It had been a tumultuous ride, selling our dream home out in the country. Years of it on the market, struggling to survive during the downturn of '08 (and also the downturn of Lucent Technologies, the parent company Ken had worked for for 22 years). When it finally went under contract and we had a few weeks to pack up and process what our new normal was going to mean, I laid prostrate across my floor most nights and cried. My grown children were also grieving, even the ones that were already married. This home had been birthed out of our hopes, sweat and labor. When folks say they built their own home, I don't think they did it like we did. We actually, really, built it. On five gorgeous, rolling acres. It's where the thick of the years happened with our children: kids romping in the woods with their dogs and B-B guns, the advent of hormones, friends, possibilities. As they cracked open the world, their eyes opening to the future, we rode along together in both laughter and turmoil. Adulthood for our four children began to loom...there were jobs, college, sports, dating, the tug of the world, the tug of God. We had seen highs and lows, lost employment, extremes of health and sometimes the desecration of expectations. Such is life. I'm grateful we've done some, even in the ditches. So when it came down to letting go of this particular dream, our hearts were stricken. It seemed a failure, a defeat. We waved the white flag and had to let go, in order to save our ship. 

After our beloved Bonny Oaks farm went under contract, I hit the floor running to find a home. We had few requirements at that point, but one big one: it had to cost $125,000 or under. That's what we would have left after closing...our accumulated wealth in one felled swoop. There were no savings, no 401K anymore, no rich uncle. I would look at a dozen or so, pick out three or four that I liked, then haul Ken over to see them. We looked at scads of houses and nothing resonated, though in the end we were not going to be picky and one of them would have to do. After exhausting numerous searches one morning, I thought, "Where do we really want to live?" I tried to not look at anything above our means, but that day I put one criterion in the search box: Villa Rica. Up popped this darling Victorian that was above our price range. I went right over to see it. The lockbox was on the back door, a Renaissance Revival confection with carving and stained glass. It opened to the laundry room, where an Art Deco light fixture glowed down at me, for all the world like the Star of David. Every corner I turned, there was another surprise. Gorgeous mouldings, five fireplaces, highly-crafted hardwood floors, more stained and leaded glass, 12-foot ceilings and a front porch to die for. The garish, ugly wallpaper and colors were no deterrent...I'm the Paint Queen, dontcha know? 

I wondered what Papa would think. This house was on the corner of a busy intersection, right in town. He always relished the extreme privacy we had out in the country. I figured there was no way he'd go for this diva. That evening, I took him to see about three homes, this one last. I remained impartial in my heart, knowing it was a long shot. And besides, it was listed for a good bit over what we could pay. But the second Ken saw our Magnolia Rose, he was smitten. From the sweeping, park-like backyard to the craftsmanship and the delectable porch, there was nothing else to be had. We didn't have any grandkids yet, but he said this was to be our Grandpa and Grandma house. The offer was submitted: $125,000.00 cash. The seller came back and said sorry, no can do....(but I can owner finance the rest). We knew we had to stick tight to our numbers. There was nothing to do but dive deep and trust God. We let it go. He came back and said yes. During our due diligence period, he released another $2,000.00 for repairs. 

There was still a'grieving to be done. The next weeks left my stomach shredded and many tears shed. I actually ended up in the hospital two days after we moved in. Even the sweetest of blessings can carry heartache with them. I thought of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I'm not comparing my little pity party to the Lord of the universe, but again, it says in the scriptures that He bears my sorrows and that He can relate to my trials. He sweat drops of blood and pleaded for the Father. What He did, for His peoples' sake, was the greatest gift of all, but it came with torture, bloodshed and death. And then I thought of Him in the boat with His disciples during that massive storm. He was taking a nap while it raged. But don't think He didn't know what was going on. With one word, He stilled the storm and fussed at them about their lack of faith. As I pondered these things in the days after our move, the light broke through. We are way too connected to our things, what we can see. Thankfulness, gratefulness, letting go of the temporal...these things will see us through. Yes, even now.

Easter Thoughts in the Valley

I awaken and hear the birds carrying on with a massive party. The scent of fresh-mown grass wafts in at the window. I open up the house, though I shouldn't because the pollen is over 4000 today. I just can't resist. The sweet breeze and the dulcet tones make me hopeful, remind me of a precious childhood not long ago. I know I cling too tightly to this earth, but it's what I can see. "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible." Hebrews 11:1-3. The invisible, mysterious forces behind creation and behind the unknown... we think we understand stuff, but how little we do. If I took a lifetime, I'd never read all the books in our little Villa Rica library. Why do I think I can fathom the depths of God, His ways and mercy? His Word is my anchor and my food and drink, however. Every time I dip in, I marvel at its rich truth, new every morning. It's unlike any and all the books I've ever read (which are considerable). It seems like a diamond, with different facets each way I turn it, relevant for any situation, season or trial I come upon. Ageless, timeless, pertinent right now-- come joys, sorrows, death or babies. I've been young and now am getting old, but I've never seen the righteous forsaken. 

Our cats are very excited because we are spending a lot of unhurried porch time with them. The bumblebees are curious and looking diligently for a weak spot in the fascia. There's a new litter of something in the old fireplace beside me, scratching and making me nervous. It's taking every ounce of my resolve to keep from getting another puppy. Spring does that to you, this year more than most. I'm praying more often for my dear grandchildren, scattered to their various homes. Our normal Easter egg hunt and ridiculously-unhealthy baskets will have to wait. I'm mailing them chocolate, but it's gonna be a week late. The grown children will have to be disappointed (can you believe they still expect an Easter basket?!) 

Meanwhile, I've noticed that the earth keeps turning and the moon keeps coming up. The birds and animals are cranking out eggs and babies. The sky is still and bluer than usual, with less pollution covering it up. I know we are hurting, but I also know that we will be ready to work after our extended vacation. "I will life up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." Psalms 121