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

Slowing Down the Crazy Train

We are falling into new rhythms in our home. They really hark back to our early years, with a few key changes. I get up and swab down the house first thing every morning, since Papa has already taken his shower and moseyed out the door to work (yes, he's still working. Thank God but then oh my word it's in the public sector, that....). The pollen's out the Yazoo, and of course this year of all years it's plumb snowing yellow. We're sneezing and snogging and trying with Trojan-like-discipline not to touch our faces. Seriously, I want to run wild and just cut loose scratching my nose. Oh, the heights. 

Of course, we're laundering any and everything that touches our bodies. I hate laundry, always have. Why does it keep multiplying?! I resist all of those "invisible" tasks that require repetition and consistency. Why would I cook, when I could take the same amount of time and paint a beautiful picture that would last more than 15 minutes? In this post-nest-period of our lives, we have fallen into easy, muddy ruts. Eating out all the time, relaxing way too much in our recliners (why in the heck did I buy those things?), and rushing from one convenience to the other. Where did our family meals go? Where did our garden and chickens go? Where did Wednesday night prayer meeting go? They went with the tyranny of the urgent, with the easiest path possible while still trying to work, maintain the American dream and navigate way too many Amazon clicks. 

Then the Lord said stop. Just stop. All the little, unseen tasks that actually are the things that bring serenity begin to take precedence. Cooking. Slowing down. Wiping down the little specks that have been long neglected. Reading. Stretching. Sleeping late on Saturday. Leisurely walks. Calling folks. Praying. Writing. Dusting. Sitting on the front porch with my people, waving at neighbors going by. Enjoying the cat curled in my lap. Each night, when everyone has gone to bed but me, I go out to our back porch and look at the night sky. Did you know there's a grouping of three planets going on right now in the eastern horizon? It looks like the Star of Bethlehem, it's so big. The other night, I saw it -- huge and resplendent. There was no traffic, the air was clean and sweet. Below it, the moon was a sliver of gold. I had been fretting and worrying, parking my brain on the internet all day. But when I drew in the stillness and beauty of the moment, I raised my arms to the heavens and praised the King. "If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land." II Chronicles 7:14.  I need healing, every day. I know we all do.

Spring in the Quiet

My house was made for this. When you open the front door and the back door, a breeze makes its way from start to finish. I recognized this as I was making a cup of tea in the kitchen, where it seemed as if a fan was blowing on me. But no, it was the good, fresh breeze coming through. It was Saturday, we were all energized by the sunshine and the fact that we were tired of binge-watching British cop shows. I grilled burgers and veggies for lunch and we ate on the back deck. Then we tackled the workshop, a dark, scary place where creatures take up residence and cardboard boxes go to hide. The boxes mate and grow in there, until they almost block the garage door and threaten to fall in on our heads. While my husband dug through his tools with our future son-in-love, planning to give him as many as he could (to get started on housekeeping)...I hauled sketchy, cob-webby Amazon containers into the light. The pile mounted higher than I feared. I know that I should have recycled them, but my bin was already overflowing and I was frankly sick of seeing these monsters take over our workspace. So I did the dastardly deed: I burned them. 

My family knows that I'm a bit of a pyromaniac, 'tis true. There's something a little too fascinating about the beautiful flames, how they take away the garbage, how they provide wonderful warmth. I have happy memories of bonfires, romantic nights, comfort against a cold winter. I was thrilled to get shed of these lumps of thick, brown cardboard. I resorted them to the blaze, jubilant as they slowly disappeared into the sky. The neighbors might not have been so tickled. One of my son's a firefighter. I'll have to ask him how to atone for these sins. 

In a very short while, we had cleaned up and rearranged the whole shop. Marcus pulled away with a trunk full of tools. Ken and Liz and I took our darling Maggie out for a spin around town (Maggie is Ken's golfcart...she lives on Magnolia Street with us, hence the "Mag..") and I must admit, I haven't enjoyed hardly anything as much as I did that ride. The air was fresh and clean (well, except for the smoke wafting from our yard), the sky was crystalline blue, there was precious little traffic, and the neighbors were all out in force in their yards...waving and cheering us on. It was a small town, old school afternoon. Our world is changing and we have no clue what that is going to mean. We have so much technology we are now slaves to it. But maybe we will pull back to the earth, to the rich sky, to the neighbors across the way... to remember what our hands were made for, to remember from whence we came and to who created us. Passover, Easter, starlight...thinking of these things.

Sleep Sweet

There's nothing quite like when your nose itches and you're not supposed to scratch it. I never noticed how much my nose itches until they told us "don't touch it." Add a CPAP machine to that and then you really don't know what to do. All this silliness but then I read about Italy. Then I wonder if we're next. Then apparently, we are. 

I'm considered an immuno-compromised person, with diabetes, overweight (still, but I'm working on it), and a past history of MRSA infections. They say that folks have two defaults, in their sin areas -- either you tend towards anger/bitterness or fear/worry. I'm the fear gal. So when all of a sudden, we are bombarded with reasons to be fearful, when they increase incrementally every day, and the economy starts to tip....my heart shrinks and I begin running around saying the sky is falling. Each day last week, I couldn't put my finger on why my stomach started hurting -- there was a knot in there that was getting worse and wouldn't untangle. I talk about trusting God all the time, but then the rubber meets the road.

It just about undid me when I discovered that even our church was shutting down Sunday services for the next two weeks. I knew it had to be serious, if they did that. The pastor sent a link for a virtual morning service, along with a liturgy, verses and hymns to sing -- requesting that our church body "meet" at 10:30 in our individual homes. We hunkered down to have church the old-fashioned way, like they did in the New Testament days (except for the technology, of course!). Our future son-in-love joined us in the living room. I think we were all cranky and tired. Emotional upheaval is more exhausting than digging a ditch. 

The sermon was on point, bringing clarity about what really matters. He was talking about realities, whether there's a virus or not...about eternity, about how we're all gonna die sooner or later, about where the truth lies, and about who (or what) we put our confidence in. I thought of my Daddy up there in heaven, probably chuckling at my fingernails screeching across the floors of life, so afraid to let go of what I can see. I was encouraged once again, to hold all things loosely, look at eternity, look at one day at a time...but especially to abide in this moment and truly trust the Maker of the universe. We all need to do the things our Mamas taught us: wash your hands, don't pick your nose, quit messin' with your face, cover your face when you sneeze,  clean the doorknobs and don't be spittin' on the sidewalk. Get outside in the sunshine, open the windows and air out the house. My sponsor gave me this sweet bit of advice last night: "Sleep tight. The Captain is on the bridge." 

Where's Mama?

If I can't get my Mama on her house phone, I call her cellphone. I'll wait 30 minutes or an hour, then do it again. If that doesn't raise her, I call my sister. And then my brother. They both live within about ten minutes of her. If much time at all goes by, one of us will head over there. She'll have her hearing aids off or she's not home, headed to Emerson to eat lunch at Doug's Place with her friend Sally. Today when we started the calling drill, we were all about frantic. Then I remembered she was at the AARP, getting her taxes done. Much later, she started calling my phone every few minutes. I was on a conference call and couldn't answer. Turn about's fair play. We get all aggravated but then relieved that she's just living her life. 

Speaking of the phone, I hate wasting time. When I crank up my car, I'm slipping those earbuds in and making my calls. Why wait until I'm sitting around to do it? Might as well multi-task. I live in my car a lot, buzzing from property to property, shopping, running errands and who knows what else. I have a hard time understanding why moving right into the middle of town made no difference in my mileage. Thankfully, Ken keeps our vehicles oiled up and they last forever. Maybellene, why can't you be true? I fear the people who sold me this last cream puff of a Ford Explorer would be horrified if they saw how many miles and bread crumbs have accumulated in it. But I sure love her candle-apple-red party suit.

Life is whizzing by. I'll soon be to my sixtieth birthday, but I honestly feel like my fortieth was last summer. I remember the pink outfit I had on, and how fun it was. Some days I still get a little scared when people talk about being adultish...I might have to do that someday and it frightens me. Then I remember my age and my Daddy saying that he didn't like old people (I believe he was 78 when he said that). If you concentrate on that (being old), you might just get there. So for now, I'm gonna light my strawberry lemonade candle and think about puppies. Good night and sweet dreams...

Babies Grow Up...

I remember the yard sale to beat all yard sales. The old lady had about 50 cats strowed about her property, and at least 20 of them inside the house. She talked about how they had their own room, but it seemed to me they were taking over the whole property. It smelled like a sewer. I'm an animal lover, but sometimes folks lose all their good sense when it comes to cats. But meanwhile, this lady had the best junk I've ever come across. There was furniture, silver, quaint knick-knacks, all very beautiful and cheap. Back in one of the rooms was the most adorable Victorian bed -- it had a high headboard and a gorgeous footboard, all curvaceous and sweet. Perfect for our then four-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. It needed some love. I stole it for $100, took it home and dunked it in obnoxious chemicals until all the ugly came off it. Then I whitewashed it and had to glue it back together. All that processing did a number on it. It was smaller than a standard full-size bed, so the Original Mattress Factory made a custom mattress for it. I bought new sheets and bedding, painted her room soft, blush pink and set her upstairs like a big girl. She had begged to be near her three brothers, who were (and still are) akin to a three ring circus. She says now, "All I had to do as a kid was hitch my wagon to theirs and watch the parade." Being the baby and the only girl has its advantages.

Well the baby girl is getting hitched in a few weeks. I helped her and her fiance find a house to start off their life together and we closed on it today. He's going to move in now; Liz is going to stay with us until they get married. I keep reiterating that to people. It's old-fashioned these days to wait for anything, much less THAT. Grace of God. 

Last Saturday, we were packing up some of her extraneous things to go ahead and put in the house. We acquired a queen-sized bed for her to sleep in here until she moves, and took down the sweet little Victorian bed to put into storage. As it was loaded into the truck, my heart skipped a beat. The finality of the changes that are starting to come hit me between the eyes. We raise our children to grow up, mature, become responsible and then leave. When that day comes, the world changes for us forever. That don't mean it's easy.

My job as a mother has shifted many times. Each season brought its joys and stresses, but there's nothing like knowing that what you are doing is important. Raising our children was, to me, the most meaningful job in the world. My responsibilities were obvious, with both the pains and rewards exquisite. The horizon for us women after our children have flown is broad and full of possibilities, but I find that there's simply nothing that compares to the sowing and reaping of investing in the life of a child. 

She's not a youngling...she's already a woman, educated, well-employed, decisive, responsible. I thank God for bringing such a wonderful man for her to marry, and I'm enjoying the heck out of shopping and planning her wedding with her. I'm gonna get through it. But she's still my baby. They all are...