The Last Song of Summer

Our annual beach trip was loud, funny and not nearly long enough. Red Tide kept us pinned to the pool until Wednesday, where we drew three extended days out on the beach. The ocean has its own personality, or should I say personalities...because she is moody. One day shy and coquettish, another loud and brassy. The salt water was warm, the sun hot but the wind was chilly. We enjoyed the fool out of those days, then retreated to the house with showers, food and naps. Then there was more food, kids to bed, and the adults rounded up for talks, questions, games and laughs. We all laughed so hard one night, I think I might have broken a rib. Laughter is surely the best medicine.  

 God has gifted us with nine grandchildren so far, with number 10 on the way. But our first three were gifts from all three sons, within seven months of each other. Each son bragged in turn that his was a boy, but alas, all three of them were girls, each pretty as a picture, sweet as sugar and sassy as a jaybird. Our last day at the beach, I took a little walk with two of them. We had great fun on our turns around the sand. I told them both that I was glad I've lost fat and that I could move more easily now. Annabelle looked at me, puzzled, and said "Yaya, I didn't think you were fat." Then Eden said, "I didn't think you were, either." That's a funny thing, because our third granddaughter, Madelyn, said something similar recently as well. It was one of the sweetest and purest things they could have said to me. These beautiful children didn't see me as an object or as simply the frame that I wear. They just know me as their Yaya. What a precious gift. But then Eden said, "Yaya, I know that it must be hard for you not to eat the things we get to eat, but I'm so glad you eat right, because now you are so much more energetic!" Now if that isn't an incentive to keep on the straight and narrow, I don't know what is. 

How I bless God for these gifts of His. Time is short, life is fleeting. He sent these ten souls to us and He has kept several for Himself. There's work, sleep, stress, joy, downturns and paydays. Blessed be the name of the Lord. 

 

Contemplation Despite a Red Tide

It was one of those perfect moments. We only get a few of those, you know. You can't plan for those and you can't force them to happen. Our annual family beach trip usually produces a few, but not always. I'm always overwhelmed by the amount of planning and preparation that is involved in getting this many people to one location and one space of time. Within minutes of arrival, the sheer volume of toys, food and equipment could probably feed a third world country, though none of us would be considered wealthy. We wanted a large family and God gave it to us. There were only four children but now they're producing. We're taking over...

Last night, we waited for what seemed like hours to get a seat at the restaurant. The host asked how many and I said: "10 adults, 9 children." He said, "Are you sure?" I said yes I'm sure. Why? He said, "Well, kids actually take up a good bit of space too" while he had an extreme snarky look on his face. I wasn't sure why he did the snark, but I sensed that the subject of "children" was unpleasant to him. I wanted to slap him but restrained myself. Suffer the little children...

Finally, we had eaten, everyone had taken a potty break and we headed back to our cars. The Red Tide has taken over the Gulf, so we've had to avoid the beach. Just being in close proximity made us all start coughing. But after supper, the damp air must have tamped down the Tide, and we all walked in the sweet night air. Our cars were many paces away. Ken and I were last, trailing behind the others. There were our three sons and their wives, our daughter and her husband, and nine grandchildren aged 8 and under...all the personalities and quirks spread out in front of us. The sun had just gone down, the sky a miracle of pink and gray, massive clouds and fire. What surely was Jupiter was hanging out like a sparkling diamond. I was exulting in the amazing grace of God to give us all these good gifts, gifts of people and sun and sky. As I turned around, the moon glowed impossibly large, wrapped with mysterious gossamer threads. It was one of those moments where time seemed to stand still. There are the twin conundrums of loss and blessing, right before us. Bright, happy toddlers; sassy and savvy 8-year-old girls who are smarter than us; boys full of snakes, snails and puppy dog tails; our new grandson, not even walking yet; another boy, we are celebrating his due date in December; and then one of our daughters-in-law, suffering palpably (and we all suffer too) with the loss of Theo, who was lost at her 18-week pregnancy. This is also the time of year when we lost my Daddy, three years ago. Each beach trip we've ever taken is a time where I take time to reflect on our journey. Mercy and blessing, grace and loss. All of it a part of the circles of life. Our great challenge is to not be swallowed in the hardship, to see the greater picture and to embrace all, whether difficult or wonderful. 

  

Four Wheelin' Into Town

We have a golf cart. No one in this house plays golf. I bought it as a surprise for Ken when they started saying we could use them around town. It really gives me a kick to do these things. I've bought him a truck, a camper and this golf cart, all unbeknownst to him until he pulls up to find it in the yard. The cart is old, sold to me by a sketchy guy on a back street of Peachtree City. I got it home and the charger didn't work. With much persuasion and the threat of a bad review, the guy got me a new one. He didn't speak English, but somehow we communicated. It still had issues, but we got that mostly fixed by the fella in town who does that. 

Ken named her "Maggie." That's for Magnolia Street. He names everything with "Mag" in it. If we had another baby, I'm sure I know her name already. When our grandchildren come to visit, that's the first thing out of their mouths: "Can we take Maggie to town?!" I gladly back her out of the garage and we take off, wheeling our way on the back streets and always making it somehow to Kenny's Kreams for ice cream (not me, just them. I've had my quota). I've heard their lease is not going to be renewed. That makes my heart (and my grandchildren's hearts) sad.

There's nothing quite like a small town. I've never lived in one until these last nine years. It is nice to have neighbors who are reliable and watching out for you. I enjoy the many small shops and businesses that we have here. I try to buy my gifts from those places, rather than so much Amazon or Walmart. There's a lot of craziness around these days, and we all need to pitch in and help these folks keep their businesses afloat. I never understood the need for that, when I was younger. Now I know the value of loyalty and hard work. There's pride in crafting and building your own place and finding a niche in your community that will thrive. It's the old way. Maybe that's how we will end up...the ancient paths leading us back to sanity and the things that matter. I certainly hope so. 

There's Gotta Be Horses In Heaven

There was only one thing that I ever really wanted as a child: a horse. I didn't care about exotic trips, fancy clothes or the latest fads. I dreamt only of a gorgeous gelding, with me flying beside the car or down our road on its shiny back. The color never mattered, though black would've been nice. I ripped right through all of the Black Stallion novels like they were brownies after Sunday dinner. Then I discovered James Herriot's wonderful books, a veterinarian telling stories of his adventures, many equine, in the English countryside. Every book about horses that could be found in the public or school libraries was checked out and read voraciously by me. I drew scads of pictures of them, made lists of names for them, and circled the bridles and saddles I wanted that were in the Sears Roebuck catalog (yes, they used to have those in there). Daddy always bought the latest Atlanta Advertiser, yesterday's Craigslist in print form. You could buy anything from cars to gerbils. And horses. I would covertly sneak into the back bedroom of my folks' home, where the second telephone was located. At 10 or 12 years old, in my "adult" voice, I would call the different ads for horses and ask questions about them. I would write the details down and then casually mention it to Daddy. I know he thought I was kidding around when I would ask if we could buy one.  But I was dead serious. Every birthday and Christmas, I had one thing on my list (except for that year I put a Crissy doll, right after "horse"...).

There came a day when I was at the place that I could finally consider buying one on my own. I was living at home, working and going to college at night. One night, with great fear and trepidation, I called Mr. Zotti, our neighbor who lived next door and owned a lake and 200 acres. He was Italian and scared me to death. I asked him if I could put a horse on his land. He said yes. So I started buying Atlanta Advertisers and calling horse sellers again, this time not having to fake my adult voice. I met up with strangers in strange barns and fields, looking for the right one. I was thwarted at every turn. There were lots of misfits, most of them too small or too old for an athletic 20-year old gal with a dream. After many frustrated dead-ends, my Daddy pulled me aside one morning. He said, "Rose, I don't think this is the time for you to get a horse. I believe the Lord has something big in store for you and you might just miss it if you are tied up dealing with a horse." I was sad, but felt in my soul that he was right. I got busy with work and life, and before I knew it, Ken exploded onto my horizon and that was that. I left my childhood dream behind with no regrets. We lived for years on acreage where we could have had horses, but I was fulfilled with my good husband, our four rangy children, lots of dogs, chickens, cats and happy times. Ken would've given me one, but I never asked.

Once in awhile, I'll remember how I ached for my own horse, how I would lay awake nights with the windows open and hear the nickers of the horses next door. It brings a smile to my face, thinking of that intensely-lit torch I carried for so long. I thought I might just die if I never got a horse. But I never did, and it's sweet to know that life got along just swimmingly without one. There's got to be a lesson in there somewhere...  

Fickle Headlines

I am not a big news-watcher. I have been fussed at for not watching the news. In truth, I think that most of the things I see on TV, news or not, is a big waste of my life. Ken and I have done our share of guilt-ridden binge-watching...where it comes to the end of a series and I realize, "I could've been reading." Or talking to a real human. Or sitting on my porch pondering the Christ of the universe. Either way, when I saw my first news blip about the Taliban taking over Afghanistan, I froze. I recalled a day, 20 years ago, when our extended family and friends were enjoying our annual beach trip, where we all rented cabins and our kids frolicked in the water and played together for days. On this day, my Mama burst into our cabin and said, "Turn on the news. A plane just crashed into a big building in New York City." That moment melted into one of the worst disasters of our lives, followed by financial instability and brokenness. 

So when I heard the words Taliban, Afghanistan, Middle East...I instantly turned to fear, as many of us are experiencing even as I write this. My brain always drifts out to the worst possible scenario...it's a problem I have. Our family is right now in the middle of a terrible loss: our youngest son and his wife just lost their dear baby. She was 18 weeks pregnant when unborn Theodore Slate Norton died in utero. We've all been in a mute state of grief, feeling like we are moving in slow motion underwater. The exhaustion of mourning is indescribable. Somehow you have to get up and get going, but why? I spent a couple of days with them, where I was useless except for a few loads of dishes and laundry. My daughter and her husband gave me a ride back home last night. This morning I woke up feeling like a boulder had been rolled over onto me as I slept. 

These are the days of our lives.

The author of Ecclesiastes talks about the seasons of our days. They include the whole gamut of emotions, from giddy joy to deepest grief. What is certain is that life is uncertain. Our default is to want things to always be pleasant and for us to always land on our feet. On this side of heaven, however, there are no guarantees. We live in a cracked paradise, where only God knows the outcome. 

This misty, drippy morning, "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help com? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore." Psalm 121 

As I read these promises, I realize that these are eternal truths for His people, not temporal ones. Forevermore is a lot wider and deeper than today's headlines. My heart is at rest...

5 

 

Starry, Starry Night

I spent the day with two carloads of femininity. My Mama, my sister, her four girls and three of her daughter-in-laws. My sister has eleven children, so that was just a small fraction of that part of the family. We made our way to Atlanta town, for the Van Gogh exhibit going on there. When we arrived, we rushed the door and got hollered at, both for rushing the door and not having masks on. The cranky lady who did the hollering didn't have a mask on either and I asked her where hers was. My Mama probably didn't spank me enough. When we realized our mistake, we sheepishly backed away from the entrance and gave the others hanging around a better chance at rushing the doors. We got some miffed looks and I hope they found it in their hearts to forgive us. We were just a tad excited. We're not city folk and don't get to do these fancy things very often. 

I looked at our passel of gals, all of them beautiful, of all shapes and sizes...each one interesting in her own way. Thinkers, not just people who sashay through life. They all have agendas, noble ones. It was the nicest group of people to spend a day with, even if I didn't feel a hundred percent. The exhibition was truly wonderful. We went through the first section, which was more of a museum. I thought we were done, but then we turned a corner into a giant room where the "immersive" experience happened. It defies explanation...but it was a beautiful, moving display of Van Gogh's works on 20-foot walls, with more beauty spilling onto the floor. I simply will have to go back. Then we went into the next room, where they had paper and crayons where we could do our own little Van Gogh imitation. 

I think about that poor, mad man. Beautifully gifted by God, with so many emotions tearing him limb from limb. Seems to me, many of us artistic types are plumb crazy. Artists, musicians, poets, writers, actors, all the lot, are people who sense the world deeply, who feel and wrestle with every nuance of life. It can make you crazy or it can drive you to God, that One who makes a way in the wilderness.  Standing on the precipices of life, where the highs are so giddily awe-inspiring, to the lows where rich, dark earth can spread its depths through the soul, even if it hurts. 

I hear the rain thudding on the roof. The world is heading to sleep now, the gray mist rolling in. It's quiet here, no chatter of little ones; the husband will be very late coming in from work. I know that in my basest nature, I would be a twisted and morose spirit...that the darkness would overwhelm me with all the twinings of an art-filled soul. But no, I found out a long time ago, when He pursued me with His relentless love, that I am safe no matter where I go or what happens. I sleep sweet, in the arms of Jesus.  

Oh Say Can You See?

 My simple, carefree, sweet childhood included lots and lots of library forays. Our mother made sure we were always in the "Summer Reading Club" at the Powder Springs Public Library. The kind librarian there was always helpful and knew us all by name. But from a young age, I was known to get in trouble in the library. I'm too extroverted to be quiet for long, and the excitement (that I still feel) when surrounded by lots of books has often caused me to turn up my volume. What I especially remember, during my elementary years, was a group of biographies geared towards children. They were bound in orange or yellowish covers. I read about all manner of historic figures, from presidents to Indian chiefs. By proxy, I gained a respect and admiration for the people who laid foundations for our country...folks who had grit, determination, fire and character. 

We recited the pledge of allegiance every morning, with a flag in every classroom. During music hour, we sang songs about sheaves of wheat and all things American. Our class was a melting pot of all kinds of people, but I caught that we were one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. We prayed for the "boys in Vietnam." We prayed for the President. We prayed for peace. Those were no-brainers. So when we decided, many years ago now, to homeschool our four children, our haphazard days began with prayer, the pledge of allegiance and rousing renditions of the Star Spangled Banner on our front porch. We Nortons are not known for our singing voices, but no one can deny our enthusiasm. We also frequented the local library, where I still tended towards rebellion and mayhem with all that talking and giggling, not to mention my problem with bringing books in late. I have never understood why librarians have gotten so mad at me for having books out a few days after their due-date. I have paid many fines in my lifetime. Fines help keep libraries in the black. What's wrong with this plan?

When I think of America, I see the flag, a hand over a heart, a library, a song, fields of waving wheat, children singing, a church on a Sunday morning. I see people, red and yellow, black and white....all them precious in His sight. I roll the word "freedom" around in my mind and wonder how far things go before you lose it. Is it like boiling a frog -- where the water gets gradually warm, so slowly and cozy that there are no alarms when the first bubbles begin to rise...and then as the death knell rings it is too late to jump out? 

We are comfortable, in our cooled and heated houses (and cars, even). In the span of my life, I've known the joy of a sprinkler on a 100-degree day (as a child) to the delight of a fully-functional HVAC system in literally every building I visit (as an adult). Technology and many years of bounty in our country have left us all fat, luxuriant and entertained (but are we?) I speak for myself when I say we are spoiled. Our world of unbelievable opportunities and conveniences, we take for granted. Even the poorest among us is rich, compared to a couple of generations ago or compared to most of the world. 

Will I let my comfort, or my fear of the loss of it, hijack the heart of the message that is freedom? Wake up, oh sleeper.