Til the Storm Passes By

I woke out of a dead sleep to a crash and a crackling sound. The sky was ablaze with strange lights and I thought I was dreaming. I realized we were in the middle of a storm, complete with hail and lots of howling. It sounded like the porch was going to rip right off the house. I tried to rouse my slumbering husband, but he simply would not wake up. I knew he was still alive, judging from the sounds emanating from his nostrils, but the gun definitely is staying on my side of the bed now. Apparently he's not going to be any help if we get invaded in the middle of the night.

I have never seen lightning like that, in my entire life. It sincerely looked like something was burning up over the horizon, eerie flashing that had no pause. I walked through the house, staying as far away from the windows as possible, but peering out to see what was happening. It looked like a fierce storm out at sea, with no details except gray whipping water at all the portals. I could hear hail hitting the porch and sizzling sounds. It was the worst storm I can ever remember, very exciting and scary. But it did remind me of my childhood and my Daddy...

When I was a kid, if a storm came up, it was going to be dramatic at our house. My Daddy was scared to death of them. He even dug out our crawlspace to make a fallout shelter. When spring thunderclouds would crop up, he would absolutely panic. I recall him virtually throwing me down the stairs once, when he thought we were in danger. He would grab up crackers and blankets and shoo us down the cellar. I always wondered how long we could hold out with a box of saltines. 

One summer day, my Dad's family was over for a cookout, no small feat. There were eight of them, plus spouses, plus a prolific amount of offspring. I think there were over thirty cousins on that side. Everyone was milling around, talking, playing, cooking, when a terrific storm whipped up. The umbrella flew off the picnic table, the grill turned over, and all hell broke loose. My aunts began screaming and directing children to the inside of the house. I had never seen such mayhem. People were jamming into the hall and bathroom, scared to pieces. It seemed as soon as it started, it was over. Everyone laughed in relief but the party was definitely through. Later I asked my Daddy why they were all so scared. He told me of how his Mama used to make all of her children get under the bed when a storm came up. She would cry and wail and pray, scaring them that much worse. 

This was always the way it went at our house when storms came. Until something radical happened to our family. I was in my middle-school years when the Lord reached down and rescued us. My mother found new life when God gave her the grace to forgive her own mother. The same year, my Daddy became a believer, ushering their marriage into a sort of honeymoon, where before there was anger and fighting and disconnectedness. In later years, us kids were told that they had been on the verge of divorce before the Lord intervened. Everything about our lives changed. Where there had been white walls and scrubbed-hospital-clean-ire, our home literally bloomed with color, creativity and love. My Mama started sewing, painting, wallpapering. There was no more crying or screaming over spilt milk. And then there was a special bonus, that took me a good while to notice...

One sultry, dark summer afternoon the black sky split open with thunder and lightning. My heart jerked as I quickly looked to my Daddy for his next move. He looked up and smiled, then went back to reading his book. That old nature was gone and a new one had taken over. Many years have rolled by since, but I've never seen him panic with fear in a tempest again. The Allower of Storms replaced that old stony heart with a heart of flesh. I guess he knows he's safe in the arms of the Lord, no matter how the storm might turn out.

Possum Drop

The heat and air guy said that there's some kind of critter littering up our crawl space. I'm not real excited about that, but don't expect me to go poking around down there to check. I'm afraid I met the creature last night. He was calmly eating out of the cat's bowl on the front porch. I looked at him. He looked at me and kept chewing. I shooed him off and he relocated about ten feet away and waited for me to go back inside. I watched for signs of rabies (frothing at the mouth, hissing, aggressive behavior) but no. I think he wanted me to pet him. It was a possum, slick and ugly as snot. 

I remember one time, as a kid, finding a baby one in the yard. It was cute and docile and I picked it up and carried it around all day. My Mama had a fit. Later in the afternoon, it curled up and appeared to die. I cried and wrapped it in an old baby blanket. I went to get a shovel to bury it with, but when I came back it was gone. My Daddy smiled and told me about what it means to play Possum.

When I was tempted to pet the one on my porch last night (there is apparently still a child inside this body), I remembered about them being nasty creatures, carrying diseases, and the like. I also started thinking about playing Possum. There are so many scenarios in this life that could use a little of that. There's wisdom in being quiet and still, waiting until the storm passes or the bully loses interest. They say if somebody tries to abduct you, just act like you passed out and don't "help" them walk you into their vehicle. I remember one of our dearly departed 80-pound dogs, and how it took two people to carry her to the car after she died. Heaven help somebody who attempted to haul me into some conversion van with me playing Possum. It would be like a real exaggerated example of turning the other cheek. I'm not sure if they'd get mad and run over me or get tired and leave. Either way, I think I might try this tactic in other ways in the next few weeks. If anyone gets mad at me, I'll just pass out. I'm getting excited about all the prospects. 

Time To Turn Over an Old Leaf

Spring is coming, I just know it. My husband had to break down and cut the grass last weekend. I came home from an appointment to see the jeweled-green lawn shining, with that cucumber-melon smell that you can't bottle or even describe properly. Last year, some other fella was cutting it for us, something we have never paid anyone to do. By season's end it looked shabby and unkempt. Ken has always trimmed things so beautifully, I used to call it "KenLawn" when he got through. Well, we bought a nice, used lawnmower to replace last year's dead one and Ken's back in business. Hallelujah.

Our Victorian home needs a yard revival. Frank, next door, said I needed hydrangeas, so that's what's gonna happen. We'll get these fountains rejuvenated and the pond hoppin' with some new plants before Easter. My birthday is in April, so happy birthday to me. Sometimes when I stop and think about how God does everything in cycles, I also believe that we should do the same. Not everything has to happen all the time. There's a time for work, for rest, for renewal, for building up, for tearing down. I guess this is my annual spring Ecclesiastes 3 reminder ("To everything, turn, turn...there is a season, turn, turn, turn...") Speaking of that, I need to go shovel all that dead stuff in the pots over so we can get started on the new ones. But not until after the freeze we are certain to have next week. I knew an old farmer who wouldn't plant a thing until May, given Georgia's penchant for crazy weather. I'm just hoping my banana tree and that other strange tree I planted last year made it through the winter. I can already see my Confederate Jasmine waking up...I'm hoping we'll get some climbing up the columns this year. And all that gorgeous Creeping Fig I planted by the wall had better get crackin' or I'm going to weep, for sure. I've got to get me a Charleston-lookin' wall somewhere on this property.

I don't have a clue about how they decide on what day is Easter...and who decides that, but I always love musing on that time of year. It's my favorite holiday, because it's all about the redemption of my depraved soul. The most hopeful day of all. It's appropriately on April 1 this time. I love it, April Fool's Day! I told my pastor that I think Jesus really did come to save the scumbags, the fools of this world and he laughed and agreed. God's Word is precious: "For you see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, has God chosen, yes, and things which are not, to bring to nothing things that are." I Corinthians 1:26-28. And the earth just keeps on turning....

I Think Aristotle Got It Wrong

I wish I could figure out how to even want to be moderate. Moderation and minimalist are not words that describe my life. When I make spaghetti, why would I do just a little? Make a lot, then you can eat it all week (if you pause to wrap it up tight, which I rarely do). Buy in bulk. Get the super size. Go to Sam's Club and purchase the whole flat. This is the way I have shopped, cooked, painted and fixed pretty much everything. Even my kids are colossal. Our boys are 6'6", 6'5", 6'4" and our daughter is 5'10". They came here in jumbo packages ranging from 10-1/2 to over 11 pounds. I think pennies are useless and chocolate comes by the crate. 

This turns out to be a problem.

Living life from one extreme to the other can get pretty tiring. Think of big cats, how they lounge their lives away, until they pounce. Then it's on. This is my nature. I'm naturally lazy, so in order to not lollygag my existence away, I add another project, another business venture, another visit with somebody...until all I'm doing is pouncing and recovering from pouncing. This is not good. My hips are protesting and the blood sugar is rising, but heaven help if I'm gonna step foot into the gym (even though it automatically drafts my bank account every month). I run into that beautiful yoga lady all over town, with her kind, loving heart....and she invites me back to class. I'm afraid to tell her that my toenails get ingrown every time I try to put 5,000 pounds of pressure on them, much less explain the bit about planking and my belly button (don't ask). But I know, I know. I need to go back. I am pretty sure that under all this outerwear I've got going on, I'm actually skinny. Now if I could just feed the skinny one and not the other girl, she might come out and play. 

If I could think in terms of ounces, not gallons...inches, not feet...pennies, not dollars. A small cup, a tiny spoon, a miniature plate. A little here, a little there. The turtle, not the hare. This is not likely to happen, from my extensive experience with reality. If it does, I'll let ya'll know and then retire with sales from my self-help book. 

Orbits and Comets

February has got to be the worst month of the year. I think God put Christmas in the middle of winter so we wouldn't curl up and die. And then somebody came up with Valentine's Day, just to get us on through til spring. Valentine's Day is the worst combination of torture and genius ever invented. Rare is the guy that gets it right, but a whole lot of money gets spent anyways. Surely, Hallmark Cards came up with that stroke of brilliance. Ken and I couldn't wait for spring, much less June, so we had the bright idea to get married the day before Valentine's. Oh sure, it was romantic with the red and white and all. And he's never tempted to forget our anniversary. But have you ever tried to get a reservation for anything around that holiday?

For most of our thirty-six years of marital bliss, we have taken a special trip roughly around that date. We don't stress over the actual day, just do the "ish" thing (ah, these millennials). This year we went on the cheap to a friend's cabin up near Clayton, Georgia. It was only a couple of hours up there, the price was right, and besides, I like the mountains in winter. It's just tragic to try a beach trip in February. The sky's always gray, the wind is blustery, the ocean looks mean, and there's definitely nowhere to swim. But the mountains, they are beautiful, even with all the green stripped off them. You can smell smoke from the fires in the chimneys all around and there's nothing like the sight of mist on the hills in the morning. Southern winters are never predictable but we like to pretend while the leaves are off the trees. To me, there's no desperation like waiting for it all to quit and spring to get here. 

For any trip, there's thinking, planning, laundry and then the packing. I didn't have much time for any of that except throwing some stuff in a couple of bags. We dashed north before the Atlanta traffic could catch us and settled in Betsy's darling cabin before it got dark. It's the sweetest thing ever -- tucked in a hill with water splashing in a creek below. Tiny, but perfect. She's got it outfitted with just enough. Best of all, there's no cable TV, no wi-fi, and no cell service to speak of. Not even in town. I gave up trying when our waitress the next morning informed me, "You'll just have to talk to each other." I sheepishly slipped my phone back into my purse. What a trip -- we hiked, visited local sites and shopped til we dropped. No, that's a lie. Basically, we ate and slept. For three whole days. We went to bed early and turned like slugs every few hours, just to keep our achy hips from setting up like concrete. It was perfect. There are some great restaurants up there, so we didn't suffer in that category. There's also a family that seems to own the town -- their hardware store morphs into a gift shop, boutique, furniture center and even an art market, complete with brushes, canvas and paints. I bought a sketchbook and started scribbling. 

But what was best about the long weekend was in a twilight hour, where all the goody was distilled into one of those rare times that we experience in life. Our bellies were full of exquisitely-prepared mushroom swiss burgers, relaxed, the last night of our trip. We sat on the front porch, looking at the diamond-starred sky, breathing the mountain air. As we reminisced about our thirty-six years together, talking about our children, grandchildren, our parents, grandparents, God...there was peace in the conflicts, the difficulties, the goodness, the mercy. We thought of our dear friends whose cabin we were lucky to be in...how they were now divorced, how but for the grace of God we could have gone down that same path. Another year, another cycle, another road. Our lives are like the trails of the comets that burn through the atmosphere. Here today, gone tomorrow. But they leave a wake. Dear Jesus, what a wake. 

This Little Light

One of my favorite things to do these days is to sit in my car with my grown daughter and talk...we do this when we get home from shopping or being out. I don't know why, but we pull into the carport and that's when all the windows of our hearts seem to open. Sometimes a few minutes turns into an hour or more. Tonight we were talking about the real people in our lives...

Real people. People who are earthy, honest, raw. Not contrived, not self-conscious. Those are the ones you better hang onto, even if they're crustier than the others. Growing up, I never felt drawn to the frothy girls who were cute but didn't have anything meaningful to say. Enthusiasm does not necessarily equal brain cells, just like titles and education don't always mean there's any actual thinking going on. Some of the most intelligent and wise folks I've ever known are also humble, from simple beginnings, not usually caring about what anyone thinks of them. They are learners, observers, unashamed. Even if we don't agree, politically or religiously, I would rather hear what they really think (even if it's unpleasant) than to find out later I was lied to. Honesty is a wonderful commodity in short supply. Give me honesty mixed with some good ole Southern detente, and that's priceless. 

In our pastor's sermon this morning, he spoke about what it means to flesh out our Christianity, of investing ourselves in others. It's so easy to get caught up in the making of money, the bustle of busy-ness, the worries of obtaining and maintaining all our little trinkets on this earth. I don't know how that man does it, but sometimes I believe he's snuck over here and read my journal. I had a week from h-e-double-hockey-sticks -- new grandbaby Caiden ended up in the hospital (he's okay, ya'll, thank God) for a few days 'til they got his temperature regulated. So we had big sister Maddie here. I had a whole lot of stuff to do -- real estate, art jobs, appointments, a little soiree at the house, walking the dog, you know, stuff. So I promptly got a stomach virus. At two o-clock in the morning I was emailing and texting people with a can of Lysol in my hand. I cancelled every obligation I had and curled back into a fetal position in the bed. Thank God for my daughter, Liz. She babysat, brought me tea and ginger ale and walked the dog for days. I read two books and changed my life. I thought about Ground Zero, viruses and crazy people. You ever thought about why they call some crazy people "Mad"? That's because they're mad as fire at somebody or God or something and finally the mad fries their brains. Maybe that's not nice to say. I've just seen it happen. A lot. I'm trying real hard not to be mad.

It's late Sunday night and I'm sitting here thinking about an old book, taught to me by many real people over the span of my days. People who were raw, exposed, humble, passionate. People who cared and invested themselves into my life so that I could find the light, so I could shine that light off my little hill. I thank you. God knows where you are.

Let Them Eat Cake

The blue moon was a lantern in the morning sky, bringing ribbons of magenta and teal whipping behind it. The two evenings before it came, the heavens performed a stained-glass symphony rivaling a cathedral. It was some kind of lunar event that hadn't occurred in 150 years. I guess none of us will be here for the next one. The magnetic pull of the special moon and eclipse drew out the tides, the ribboned sky and coaxed grandbaby Caiden out a week early. Our son and his wife barely made it to the hospital as the moon crested and the baby arrived. We woke to a flurry of activity and new life. Uncles, aunts and cousins arrived as we all took turns visiting and ogling the sweet cheeks and the Norton sugar bowl in that dimpled chin. 

Four-year-old sister Madelyn Rose had no idea yet that her singular world was about to be rocked. She had talked incessantly about the arrival of her baby brother for months, but the reality of that interruption had yet to be understood. She stared at him and refused to kiss him. As he was placed carefully into her arms, however, she began to sing to him, a song all her own that spoke about Caiden and Jesus and love. She began to peck him with little kisses and hold his tiny hand, marveling at the "raisin" fingers and the warm powdery smell of a new baby. We all got misty-eyed at the miracle that is life and love. There's labor, pain, blood and gore all throughout our days here on earth. But then there are those crystalline, unspeakably perfect moments that stop us in our tracks and cause us to see the divine. This was one of those. 

Throughout the weekend, we enjoyed our growing family and grandkids, loud and messy, complicated and funny. After everyone left, we took a brief nap and decided to take in a movie. I didn't want to see another "guy" film so I went to a different movie than my husband and daughter, some Oscar-nominated chick flick. I have never done that. It was strange, to sit by myself in a theatre, to not have a loved one to whisper to about the intricacies of the movie. I was insulted by the treatment of God's Word and Christianity in this particular one, and by the assault on everything that is innocent. I felt invaded, polluted. I was sad that I had not stayed with my family. When we all got back to our vehicle, I was quiet, introspective, sorrowful. There are seeds of deceit that can take root in unsuspecting minds, unexplored and unstudied lies that can become patterns of thought. It is these that concern me for our society, for our young people. Bread and circuses are tantalizing and distracting, and much more easily obtained than the pursuit of truth. 

In the grand circle of life, beginnings and endings, babies, moons and tides....I pray that we will put down our circuses, our phones, TVs and devices, and look deeper and think harder about all the things that truly matter.