Live or Die

Planes and Surgery....those two events always prompt me to assess my life in grave and serious ways. 

I really hate heights, much less hurtling through space in a little metal tube. Everybody around me looks cool and collected, bored even. They don't want me chatting them up, I've found. My kids have informed me that it is simply not done these days. I beg to differ. My whole life has been interesting because of all the wonderful, intriguing strangers I've met, who've been happy to tell me their life stories and birth experiences. Even if they are reluctant to talk at first, they usually end up spilling the beans on their innermost secrets. Occasionally, however, you just can't crack open those tough ones and I'm relegated to silence and my own thoughts of how I'm soon going to die in a fiery plane crash. And then there's trying to squeeze my abundant frame into the smallest possible space, trying not to lop over onto the other passengers. By the time I arrive at my destination, I have heartburn and muscle spasms. This is not fun.

And then there's the subject of surgery. I had a major one this last week, with a very large incision from hip to hip. I spent the days and weeks before it, pondering life and death and the end of civilization as we know it. I have found the best way to go under the knife is to be ready to die. Go ahead and go there. Make peace with all, spend time in the scriptures, pray a lot, confess my sins, have a clear view of my place with God, and then surrender to that anesthesia. I'm always surprised when I wake up. Then comes the pain and I wonder what in the heck I did this for. I was planning on death, not misery and suffering and learning how to go to the bathroom again. I have no right to complain -- my dear husband is the best nurse in the world and he took off a week to care for me. He's a much better physical caregiver than I. He thinks about things like a cool washcloth on the forehead, a fresh cup of icewater, putting meds on an actual schedule (rather than my random plan of waiting until I'm screaming in pain to take something). It's been a sweet week of spending time with him, though closings and real estate wait for no one, so he's helped me with that too.

Planes and surgeries, things looming at the edge of the universe. In truth, every day is a gazing at the precipice of eternity, 'cause we never know when our time's up. Our choices: we can live in cowering, perpetual fear of the unknown or we can just go ahead and really live and suck the marrow out of the day. Here's to life!

Sally Forth...

 With the sweet, cool air that wafted in right behind Hurricane Sally this week, I felt my heart go calm at the same time. It wasn't the weather, though I'll take it. I had a day from the underworld, where I was driving like mad all over Atlanta, multi-tasking, calling, voice-texting and more, to catch up with my post-vacation workload and lots of personal things that needed dealing with. Before and aft, I was throwing up prayers, asking God to help me, for Him to do the things that it would take for it all to work. I felt a little like I was in the Red Sea, with the waves parting just in time to give me safe passage, and then them crashing behind me while I sped down a nice, dry path in the middle. Either side of me threatened to murder me, the best thing to do being to keep my eyes on the Lord. The entire day was like the running of a gauntlet, and God kept right on ushering me through. One of those times when you can hear Him whisper, see Him move the chess pieces. He doesn't always do it that way, but I started out like a squalling baby so I guess He decided I needed a break.

Sometime during the maelstrom of my personal hurricane, I felt the calm at the eye of it. I had an epiphany...it's been two years since my darling Daddy died suddenly, and for the first time, I was able to accept that he is where he is supposed to be. Literally in the middle of this hellish day, I at once knew that he was okay, and that it was okay for me to accept that. Death brings many things, but often guilt or regret. Or it raises up the places where we haven't dealt with our relationships. Thankfully, I have few regrets or guilt when it comes to my Pa, but the wake of his passing sucked my heart to the depths, trying to figure out this hole in the universe that shouldn't be there. There I was, stuck on 285 with a thousand cars whizzing by, crying, singing and raising my hands in surrender (one at a time, ya'll). I think I will forever remember that moment, its sweetness and peace.

Funny how storms come in and wreck everything, then we have to tear down what's left and then rebuild. Better make sure that foundation's not made of sand...

Recovering From Vacation

 We rolled back into Georgia, salty, sandy and exhausted. Pa drove like a bat outa you-know-where, just trying to make it home before sleep overtook him. We had been napping all week at the beach and mid-afternoon called like a siren. Somehow, we made it back in one piece. My daughter and new son-in-love squeezed out from the mountain of luggage and headed back to their house. I'm always amazed at all the trees and greenery that greet us after our annual beach trip. Visitors to our fine state always comment on our leafy habitat. I don't think about it much until I come back from other places, then am in awe at the lush bounty awaiting. 

The old house is musty as we come in. It forgets that people live here, when we go away. It takes it a couple of days to let go of the ancient dust. I light candles and diffuse essential oils, bringing it back to life. I guess I'll open the place up, even though Hurricane Sally is bringing the Gulf right on up here to rain on us. I also always forget how beautiful my house is, then walk from room to room looking at the amazing wood on the floors and the wavy stained glass beaming at me. I'm always glad that somehow it didn't burn down while we were gone. Nothing is forever, but I'd like it to last another century.

Monday comes and I hit the floor running. There's a lot on my plate, too much to bear sometimes, and there's nothing like a nice, long vacation to make you forget all that. There should be a law that we get a second week to do nothing, after we get back home. Either way, the work doesn't sleep and I'm hoofing it to get back some sort of equilibrium. Pa and I bought a camper that I'm going to overhaul. It's sitting out in the driveway, waiting for me to kiss it with vintage-colored paints and fabrics. I've bought supplies and they're piled up in the carport, but there's property to be sold and folks to be helped. I'll think about it tomorrow. But you know I'd rather be painting.

Vacation Thoughts...

We are spending the week at the beach with our grown children and (not grown) grandchildren. The grands are about to overtake us -- there's 8 of them and 2 on the way. Next year, that means there will be 10 adults and 10 kiddos. Meanwhile, it's the sweetest time of the year when we get to hang out, all 18 of us, all at the same house. We've done this for many years, since they decided to grow up. 

It's all different now. I remember the days of years past, when we had days filled with sandcastles and sunburn at the beach. Now, I see my grown family all occupied with their littles, existing from one meal to the next, diapers and equipment galore, but each year bringing everyone bigger, funnier and more complicated. I enjoy every minute, taking in all the nuances of life that I know will pass oh too quickly. Tomorrow they'll be grown and starting the next cycle. 

This year, we have those two babies baking in their proverbial ovens. It will all change next year. Funny how life revolves...how the earth turns and brings a new wave with it. My children are, thankfully, awesome and as funny as comedians. Sarcasm is our family language, right along with deep, thoughtful theology and the walk and talk of real, raw Christianity. There are saints here, but none of them saintly. The apples don't fall far from the trees. I always end the week feeling not rested, not relaxed, but full to the brim with life and ribs hurting from laughing. 

The empty nest is simply a conundrum. The pressure is off, so many memories in the rear-view mirror. There are so many angles to take -- living sad for what is now gone, living frantic in trying to make a new path, or living with wings while enjoying what was and what will be. The energy emanating from these young folk can be overwhelming, but also energizing. God knew what He was doing when He gave children to the young. Children are a blessing from the Lord, the most wonderful of treasures. And in these crazy times, so are the simple pleasures of a communal meal, a patch of beach, a flotilla of kids in a pool. I reach across to Papa Bear and touch his big paw, a moment passing between us of sheer, blissful thankfulness. God is good.

Merrily, Merrily

 I wax sentimental quite often about my good, happy childhood. I was reminded today of one of the bad parts of that time, when someone on Facebook was asking if anyone would pony up some money to put her and her Mama in a hotel, because their air conditioning was out, and it's really hot. I laughed, but then I remembered a couple of years ago, when our A/C went out for a week or two. We took showers right before bed, turned every fan we owned towards our semi-moist bodies, threw any covers off and laid still and quiet, praying to fall asleep before we started sweating.

And that's also the way I grew up...Mama and Daddy had a little air conditioner unit in their bedroom window, and they'd shutter themselves up at night. Us kids laid with windows wide open, sprawled like old dogs across the beds. I wasn't bitter, really. Their room seemed like a refrigerator to me. Because our room was open to the outdoors, you could hear the crickets and frogs carrying on like a symphony. That'd put us to sleep pretty quick if we let it. I still love that sound. The night of our daughter's wedding, in our backyard, I heard that and it made me so happy. Sounds of home.

My sister and I never went to sleep fast, though. We'd talk and giggle as long as possible, until Mama yelled for us to hush. I couldn't bear to be apart from her. She is two years younger and was my constant companion. We had bunkbeds, until Mama just gave up and bought us a full size, because we'd end up together anyway. We got engaged at almost the same time, and got married 6 weeks apart. We started having babies every other year, five boys in a row and then the girls started getting sprinkled in there. Ken and I stopped at four, well, the Lord stopped us at four. Melanie and her husband have 11 children. She is what they call a force of nature. People ask her if she knows what causes that. She says that she finally figured out she shouldn't wash her underwear with her husband's. There's a lot more where that comes from. We also have a brother. He and his wife have six children. We're not Mormon or Catholic, just passionate Protestants. And we're taking over.

Melanie and I have a lot of people in between us, with husbands, daughter-in-loves, son-in-loves, oodles of grandbabies (17 between us right now and a couple on the way), and a lot of things going on. So our talking times are limited to chats on the phone, text messages and the occasional half-day marathons when we get to hang out. But on warm, balmy summer nights when I walk my dog under the stars, I often am taken back to those carefree days when she and I would talk and dream about our futures. God's done filled both of our arms with a lot of good stuff, along with the challenges that threaten to undo us. My heart is still linked with hers, as distant as we may find ourselves sometimes. There's a whole lot of flurrying about on both sides, but I thank God for how He seems to always bring us to peace when we are able to bring our boats alongside each other. Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream...

Winds and Waves

Today was the most alone day I have had since our nest emptied out in June, when our Elizabeth got married. Ken left early to help his Dad move into his new apartment and I went the other way, to church and then to show a house. I came home to an empty house, took my requisite Sunday nap and then piddled away the rest of the day. I watched a gloomy movie by myself, then walked the dog in the sticky, wet yard, spooked by anything that moved. So here I am, the night is getting late and Pa is still not home. His Dad is under great duress. There are many things that stress us, but losing your wife and then having to move, all within the space of a month, should be enough to unnerve him. My heart breaks for his pain.

Sitting here in my too-quiet study, I think of my Ken and how much I take him for granted. Some days are fun, some are exciting, but the steady beat of life is often like oatmeal, nutritious and sustaining, but plain. I happen to like oatmeal, especially with cinnamon and blueberries. It's comforting and healing, just like a good marriage. We have our fine days and our bad, two sinners depending on the grace of God. I have my jurisdictions and he has his. We've been together so long, sometimes I forget we are two people. The face I see the most isn't my own. It's his. I reach over during the night to touch his big, bear-like hands. They are warm, rough, strong. If I reach up and touch his lips, he always kisses my fingers, even if he's asleep. I stop and remember what I'm thankful for. If I'm smart, I tell him. He needs respect, affirmation. I more need love, back massages. We've been lucky in love, even on our worst days and in our hard seasons. I've found that true love is more like an ocean...there are tides, storms, sunshine and shadows, then days that are like a dream, with the wind gently blowing and the sea like a lake. The sand shifts with the whims of nature, but the sun still comes up, even if it's obscured by clouds. 

We have been blessed to see love lived out in our parents, both sides...abiding grace that doesn't shift with the current. What may appear like oatmeal on the surface is actually made of bedrock, smoothed and polished by the winds of adversity and time. No small feat. No small God.

Musings on an August Day

 I woke up to a rare, cool August morning. I stumbled in the dark to let the dog out. She's extra, and won't go the bathroom (or even eat) if I'm not right there with her. She's an old, retired Aussie show dog and has lived several years with my sister, outside with a pile of other dogs. When she came to live with us, I had to potty train her and adapt her to indoor living. Since she's very intelligent and saw her big chance to live in comfort, she learned quickly what the rules are. But now, she thinks she's a princess and I'm afraid she's got me trained too. She's like Velcro -- always by my side. I can't do anything without her right there with me. I happen to like that, except that it's guilt-inducing when she won't even eat unless I stay close by to let her finish. Our little forays into the yard are always accompanied by Matilda the cat. She's also apparently from royalty. They groom each other and talk about the weather. Pets are one of God's wonderful gifts.

As I stepped onto our delicious front porch, it was sweet to drink in the crisp air this morning. It made me remember that it won't always be August. Way back when we homeschooled our kids, back when folks thought we were criminals for doing it, I'd start school the first of August because it was too hot to play outside anyhow. We got more done between then and Thanksgiving than the rest of the year. By April, our brains were buzzing out the window and Pa would declare school's out. We did that for 19 years, another lifetime away. I feel for all these families that are being forced to do it now. Only God could compel me, back in the day, but I'm mighty glad we did it. Our children, now grown, are independent, Biblical thinkers and also intelligent, hard workers. And anybody that worries about socialization should examine my kids...they can mix with everybody from old folks to babies. In fact, they're actually more social because they're comfortable with people not even in their own peer group. God's grace, again. I'm not that wonderful, being impatient and flighty, prone to change and distraction. But God's a whole lot bigger than us. 

With the chaotic, swirling times we are in currently, it's easy to descend into worry and fear. It seems to invite both frenzy and lethargy at the same time. I'm trying to get my eyes off of me, get into the Word every morning... even if it's just one thorough chapter, and keep throwing my cares on Christ. Drag myself away from social media, don't get stuck watching the news, find at least one person to bless each day. We're going to get through this, no matter if it's in a pine box. It's just the truth. I'm choosing to live, not cower. As Teddy Roosevelt so aptly put it: "We are face to face with our destiny and we must meet it with a high and resolute performance of duty; let us live in the harness, striving mightily; let us rather run the risk of wearing out than rusting out." Preach.