Breathing Deep

Warm spring day. Porch fans are turning, everything is green and fragrant. Bees are buzzing, kitten is purring at my feet. The two cottages across the street are blessed with residents who have turned their little yards into havens for wildflowers, birds, and various types of gatherers. Sitting on my front stoop, I chide myself for not doing this every day. My daughter and I chew the fat for awhile on the phone, with chatty baby voices in the background. Four-year-old Ethan announces: "The pool opens in 8 days and then Yaya is going to teach me how to swim!" This, from a conversation he overheard a few months back. Don't ever promise a toddler something unless you plan on doing it (even if he just overheard it). 

I'm so very thankful for the sweet neighborhood we live in. My plan was for our children to grow up in the country, which they did. Then the latter plan, after the Great Downturn of 2008, was to get shed of debt and downsize. We got lucky, upsized rather than downsized, with the cash we had -- to a 3000 square foot ancient Victorian house, smack-dab in the middle of town. It's a great Papa and Yaya house, if I can keep my refrigerator stocked. After all those decades of cooking, I find it way too easy to pop over to town and get food that someone else cooked. The progeny seems content to have pizza, chicken nuggets, and occasionally Yaya's spaghetti. Someday, I might have to get back to the kitchen in a more intentional way. But tomorrow's another day. I'll think about it tomorra...  

One of our conversations on the stoop today was about Cave Spring, Georgia, where we initially planned to have our daughter's wedding. There's a wonderful park there (Rolater) where you can rent the chapel, a two-story old schoolhouse for the reception, and an inn where you can put up your whole family -- all for very reasonable rates. Covid shut the venue down, three weeks before her wedding. We still muse about it a lot...we pivoted and had a much-smaller soiree in our backyard. A blissful, happy day that will sit sweet with us forever. I like to occasionally visit Rolater Park and shop in the tiny town there. There's something kind and gentle about the times I've visited. I might need to go back soon and soak my feet in the spring water that runs out of the hill. 

We've got a loaded weekend ahead -- babysitting grandkids, a funeral for Ken's uncle who died suddenly, Sunday church and then a picnic on Memorial Day (I guess I'll break down and bake a cake). The circle of life parades all around us. Two neighbors ill with cancer; a grandbaby due at the end of next month; uncles dying; plants blooming. To everything there is a season. Turn, turn, turn... 

   

Floodgates of All Kinds

In general, no one expects it to flood (well, there's Noah, and hardly anyone believed him, either). In the great flood that happened here in 2009, we didn't realize what was happening that dark, stormy night. We'd had lots of recent rains, and then it rained a whole 'nother day and night. The sound of it beating on our metal roof was soothing, as we lay down to sleep. Persistent, even roaring, but we thought nothing of it. Ken got up very early to get ready to work, left out while it was still dark. The sky was black as soot and it was still raining buckets. At the time, he was driving a Ford Focus (the really tiny model). He's never been known to take it slow on a curve (yes, that's how I'm going to die), and he hugged the big one coming down the hill from our house at the creek. Well before the bridge, a man in a truck was parked in the middle of the road with his flashers on. Ken skidded to a stop, just in time to see that the creek had turned into a boiling inferno, way past its banks. 

Sometimes I ponder how many times I've nearly been swallowed by many unknown dangers that pass me by. God gave Ken another chance at life that day.

We were stuck at home, Ken, Liz (a senior in high school) and I, for several days until we could get through. We had no idea how many creeks were hemming us in until they swelled up like the Colorado River. Several people died, doing just what Ken almost did. It was surreal, how quickly we reverted a hundred years, without the means or knowledge to truly survive (if the conditions had persisted). I've always thought of us Nortons as tough birds, but then when there's no clean water and your house is completely run on electric power (and there is none), you get humbled real quick. 

There are other floods, tsunamis, wrecks, disasters that come along -- not literal ones, but unexpected sea changes throwing us for a loop. Currently, our church is going through such a disaster, where a pastor has lied, criticized other pastors and even our elders, and had hidden agendas through fake social media accounts. Such a strange way to get dethroned. Usually it's some sexual sin, a hidden affair, embezzling funds that takes down those in leadership. I don't even know if I should talk about it, but it's splattered all over the internet already. What I do know is this: no one is infallible and we all sin, whether we want to admit it or not. "Little" white lies can turn into big ones and can leach the mortar out of a relationship. This I know: man is fallible, God is not. The church is full of hypocrites and I am one. We all need saving, because our hearts continually stray.  "I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help comes from the Lord, which made heaven and earth..." from Psalm 121. These are spiritual promises, in the midst of another kind of flood. My heart is seated on the rock, not on shifting sands. 

God's Grace

I will never forget the day that I found out I was a mother. Amongst many details, I knew that my body had shown some changes in recent days. My formerly flat chest seemed to be blooming, and I was literally glowing heat from the inside out. I was afraid to hope, when the doctor drew blood from my arm (which was how they figured these things out, back then). It took days before they called and confirmed that I was carrying our first child. Emotions rushed all over me -- exhilaration and trepidation mixed with the unknown. Could I do this? Could we afford it? How could I, this artsy, fly-by-night semi-hippie have the gravitas needed to be consistent enough to keep a baby alive? How many of my pets lived, only because my Mama fed them? Fears assailed me, but I wanted to stand on the roof and shout with all the joy that came bursting out of my heart. I was of the generation of women who were told that our most important job was to be equal with men, get careers and become "somebody." Domestic bliss was a bad phrase. Mind you, that wasn't how my parents raised me, but that was the message all around us, at school, in advertising, in society. We weren't supposed to be wanting a baby that much. But it was my dream, after all the years of posturing.  

I went to the library and took out books about babies, especially the ones with pictures of what they would look like in utero. I imagined our little bean in there, doing flips and growing tiny fingers and toes. One book in particular got checked out over and over (I eventually bought a copy, during my third pregnancy), because I wanted to keep looking at the changes that would be happening. I felt in my heart he was a boy. We never got a sonogram -- they weren't routine back then. He grew and grew, and I began wondering how I would be able to get him out. The doctors kept saying that he was measuring normal, and would probably weigh between 7-1/2 and 8 pounds, but I knew there was a whole lotta boy in there, and not of mild temperament. He pushed and shoved around like he was ready to stand up. That summer, it was horribly hot and we didn't have central air conditioning. We had an old, rickety window unit in the living room. To my shame, I took to making homemade ice cream (it was a banner year for Georgia peaches) and would sit in front of the A/C eating dishes of it to keep cool. When there were chances to get into water with anybody, I was there. I remember racing my Mama and her friend across the Powder Springs pool, a week late, and winning. These things matter. 

In quiet moments, Ken and I would pray for our baby. We so wanted to raise him right and felt scared and unprepared. My vision for this child was that he would be a light in the darkness, bold and true. We decided to name him Jonathan Uriah, which means "God's gift and flame of God" (and he is just that). He came out flaming and yelling, all 10 pounds, 8 oz of him. Then came the flurry of three more huge babies in rapid succession, with us working on dilapidated houses in- between. During pregnancies, I had a "vision" for each one -- their personalities were strong and obvious, even before they were born. Daniel Josiah - "God is my judge and The Lord Heals" (that man is a wonderful juxtaposition of tough and sweet); Jesse Caleb - "God is real and God is faithful" (our youth pastor son who wholeheartedly loves Him); Elizabeth Hope - "God is my oath and Hope" (our devoted, steadfast, funny girl).  God gives babies to us when we're young, otherwise we'd never make it. Even with my youth, I remember feeling so profoundly tired in those years that all I wanted for Mother's day was a night in a hotel room and sleeping as long as I wanted. Young mothers know what I'm talking about. 

The days are long, but the years are fast, says the old saying, but it's true. In a flash, they were grown and having their own babies. In my youth, I thought of 40-year-olds as old, and grandparents as folks who rocked on the front porch and not much else. Little did I know that youth was fleeting and that there's a whole lot going on besides rocking chairs, then suddenly your babies are the 40-year-olds. I didn't count on not being able to climb scaffolding when I was 100 (it's probably because I quit doing it all along the way). 

What I do know is this: not everyone gets to have babies, and not everyone wants them. My heart aches for those who want them but can't. Our family didn't have a big, fancy party for this holiday, but what I received is simply the best. Four conversations with my four children, some of them deep into the night. Four precious people, flawed and still perfect to me, who make the world a better place. Jewels, money, careers, pfffft. This is the stuff dreams are made of...