November 17, 2014

standing the test of time

It is a perfect autumn day. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow on the southern plantation bathed in fall colors. A single giant oak stands as the altar for the young couple that will be joined in marriage on this day. The gathering of family and friends stand as the beautiful young bride crosses the field on the arm of her father towards the young man that will become her husband. The afternoon sunbeams reflect her smile as she approaches her groom beneath the towering oak that has stood the test of time.

It is fitting that this couple should be joined together under this oak, for as the first Psalm promises, their promises to each other today are based on their own delight in each other and in the law of The Lord. And His blessing on this day permeates the entire ceremony and celebration that follows. For who cannot help but celebrate this love that exudes promise and hope, completeness and joy.

Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the path of sinners, nor sits in the seat of the scornful; But His delight is the law of The Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; And whatever he does shall prosper.
Psalm 1:1-3

My firstborn son stands at the altar beside the groom and his brothers. They have been best friends since they were two years old. And yes both young men have had life and limb shaken up at times in their 23 years of life together. They have buried awkward moments, and now branch out to begin careers that travel in different directions. But their steadfastness of friendship and faith stand as firm as the oak they stand under as this young man makes the biggest commitment of his life.

Earlier that morning my son jokes about hitting his first home run off the groom on the pitcher’s mound in Little League. Now he laughs at how the nervous young groom paces back and forth, taking deep breaths moments before the ceremony. Later my son turns to me with a smile, saying he has never seen his friend so happy.

These shared moments of laughter and commitment branch out into this gathering of friends surrounding this family. For during the time that these two young men built a friendship over legos and big wheels so did their mothers forge a lasting friendship over playdates and Happy Meals. The circle of families that bond on this first of many upcoming wedding days span 23 years of friendship, compile 135 years of marriage, and fifteen children. We have stood shoulder to shoulder in the delivery room of our babies and at the gravesite of our loved ones. We have clapped at preschool programs and applauded college acceptance letters. We have consulted about high school dating and about the best ways to care for aging parents. We have cheered at little league games and dance recitals. We have logged late nights of tragedies and tears and episodes of Downton Abbey. We have brought each other casseroles and chocolate at just the right time. We have studied God’s Word together.

My prayer for this young couple is that they too will have friendships that stand firm in times of fruitfulness and abundance and as well of times of withering and loss when all we want to do is shrivel up and shrink away.

In coming years I hope in times of celebration our kids will continue to shout out and jump together for joy as they have on the dance floor this evening. When times are darker and colder than this freezing southern night I hope they warm and comfort each other with words of encouragement.

At the end of the celebration the young couple run into the darkness under an arch of sparklers. Friends and brothers hoop and holler out as they venture into their new life together as man and wife. As they huddle together on this night of promise may this group of lifelong companions be the next generation of light and love in a world that yearns for more….

Go out into the world uncorrupted, a breath of fresh air in this squalid and polluted society. Provide people with a glimpse of good living and of the living God. Carry the light-giving message into the night……
Philippians 2:16, the Message

October 1, 2014

Rhythms of Grace

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. (The Message)

I sit in a room full of grace.

People of grace. For they are caregivers, ones whose daily rhythms include tending to the needs of their loved ones who are terminally ill or struggling with dementia. These rhythms are forced into routine, the routine of medications, of bathing, of dressing, of feeding, of exercising, of resting, then starting over again.

These daily rhythms become wearing and confining. But in the midst of these routines they have gathered for a caregivers retreat, to find respite for a couple of days from caring for a spouse, a parent, an aunt, a grandparent.

In this room, in this circle, a drum in front of each seat, in a session that promises “Rhythm for Relief”, they have assembled, these caregivers of every age, shape and size, with unknown, but similar stories being the common ground.

It is common ground that makes a circle of drums so powerful. For even in remote areas of Africa, in Ghana, where these drums are made, the routines of daily life are communicated through the rhythm of drums. This primal beat, a sound that reflects the first sound we ever hear, the heartbeat of our mother in the womb, is a beat that reflects life before we even have awareness. Because these beats are the core of our being, there are messages sent through the rhythms of the drum that transcend words. Jason, our instructor from “Drum Magic”, has observed it in the bush of Africa. He has observed it as he holds seminars in corporate groups of America. And he has witnessed it in the classroom and in senior centers.

Here, in this circle, he begins. He tells us about the drums, each handmade with wood and goat skin by craftsmen in a tribe in Ghana. He shares from his own experience that there is nothing like the energy shared by a group united through the beating of the drums.

We sit in a large circle, all of us. We are not aware of one another’s name, yet we find a common thread as we gather in this drum circle. As it is in Africa, where villages communicate to each other the messages of daily life, we follow Jason’s lead and begin a simple beat with our fingers and palm on the hand pulled goatskins of these drums, a Welcome rhythm that he sings in a native tongue:

We are together.
Give thanks.
Kick your boots.
Dance
look look look
Let’s all get together and dance

The beat of the drums increase, the rhythms begin to vary. We follow. We turn and smile at each other. He begins to beat faster, changing up the rhythms. We begin to laugh and smile as we try to keep up with him. Some even begin to get up and dance.

He tells us this:

Tell your story on the rhythm of the drum.
Make up something that describes your day today. Tell about it on the drum.

When your make up a rhythm, you put yourself out there with out worrying about the words that your use. Just play out a thought, you feel free enough to do this on a drum.

A caregiver is normally guarded and private. But here in this circle that wall of protection is briefly broken as each caregiver expresses himself on a drum. Those who spend months and years caring for the needs of another are momentarily set free expressing themselves through an unspoken story: a drumbeat.

The group beats a steady background rhythm as each one in the circle shares, some by gentle tapping, some by pounding and banging and slapping. It is magical how this happens, for each one is somehow understood.

The cry to be understood, to be heard, is an echo of the heart. Every caregiver longs to be heard. To find community. To know they are not alone in their weariness, frustration, or grief. Even momentarily, burdens are lifted. Because somehow, through the message of a drumbeat, we experience the unforced rhythms of grace.

So we return to our homes, our rhythms, our routines of caregiving. And I hope we continue to find those unforced rhythms of grace in our days. In those days we are breathless, may we become aware of the rise and fall of our breath. In those days when tears flow, may we find comfort in the patter of the rain on the roof. In those days when we feel we cannot take another step, may we find strength in the cadence of our footsteps along the beach. And as we listen to the rhythm of the waves beating against the shore, may the rhythm of our own heartbeat bear us up to continue to care for the heart of another.

August 27, 2014

Fresh Start

His race has been called.
The swimmer approaches the blocks
Steps onto the platform, anticipating the start.
He is called to mark, fingers reach then curl around the edge of the platform
Get set….muscles fire, from toes to calves to hamstring, shoulders arms, anticipating, anticipating….

The buzzer sounds, simultaneously the machine that is the body springs forward, fingers, toes reaching reaching for aqua liquid
and once entering the channel propels forward, every muscle, ligament, tendon, breath pushing the skeleton toward the wall 50 meters ahead.

It is the start that initiates the motion.

Before this start, there is much anticipation.
There is much waiting…

in the tent, on the pool deck, waiting for the race to be called, for the heat to be called.
Before the waiting there is the warm up hours before the race.
Before the warm up there are the hours of practice
called when Morningstar still hovers
finishing as light breaks the sky
called again mid afternoon until dusk

and always repetitions
of stroke, of yards put in
building stamina and strength…

all of this
before the start.

My son’s last race was one month ago
one month before this fresh start.

and as I watched that last start,
forgetting to turn on the video camera,
waves of emotion overcome….
of sadness watching one last race
of pride for all he has accomplished in this sport
of all he has learned about discipline, perseverance, pushing self past limits to the end
to the last touch of the wall.

Now a fresh start
another highly anticipated moment.
This one preceded, with hours of preparation
not only with test scores and hours logged studying,
of honors and awards and diploma,
but also with the weeding out
the choosing, of what he will take and what he will leave behind.

The things left behind, the tokens, the trophies, the T-shirts that label his past years
litter the floor, the dresser in the now empty room.

and the things chosen to go with him
boxes, bags one by one filling the car–the books, the photos, the new college T-shirts
the new sheets and towels and containers and journals
that will now fill his college dorm

will drive away in the car with him and his dad
on the journey 1000 miles to Texas.

I asked him to humor me one last time, during that last hour of anticipation
for although he had his things organized and ready to go for weeks
his dad did not.

So as dad scrambled around that last hour
he took a selfie with the dog, and scratched the cat behind the ears just how he likes it
and sat on the steps with me to browse through the album I made for graduation,
the one hastily thrown together to cover 18 years
from the first hospital photo to the senior portrait only taken months ago.

There is a page with cowboy boots, hints of the land he will travel to now.
It was his Toy Story party when he was five.
I ask him, “Do you remember Toy Story 3, when you laughed at me bawling in my 3D glasses, crying, ‘Is this how it’s going to end!’ as Andy drives off to college!”

He nods and laughs along with me. I jump up, suddenly remembering something found the other day. I bring back to him two small plastic figurines, one of Woody, one of Buzz Light Year. As a joke I write Michael’s name on Woody’s boot. “Keep them in your car,” I kid, thinking they too will be left behind. I promised him last night I would let him go with not too many tears. I will let go. He is a grown man now.

He smiles and stuffs them in his bag.

We stand for one last hug. “Be the agent for change,” I tell him. “Your gift is helping others. Be the one that changes things for the better.”

One more squeeze and we walk out the door.

And the highly anticipated moment for the past weeks, months, happens.

No call to the platform, no call to set, no buzzer.

He waves goodbye, climbs into the overstuffed Civic with his dad,
backs out the driveway that once launched scooters and rollerblades
and drives away.

June 2, 2014

lessons from a crab

A beach chair, a sunrise, and waves lapping on the shore. All the ingredients for a peaceful morning. I was watching an egret dart in and out of the waves to catch its morning meal, when out of the corner of my eye I sensed movement by my feet.

There he was, his little black beady eyes fixed on me. A little sand crab, frozen halfway out of his burrow.

I turned slightly and seemed to catch his eye. He paused for a moment, then darted back into the hole. I turned my gaze back to the lovely sunrise, the slow waves uncurling on the sand. Moments later he appeared again…..

Our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off,to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. CS Lewis

Little crab, I see you.

I see you emerging, peeking out at me contemplating, as I often do.

Do I stay here on the edge?

Do I retreat back into my hole?

or stay out in the light?

You fix your steely little eyes upon me assessing the situation.

Retreat calls, and you fall back into your hole.

I wait, watching, counting moments until you materialize again, and throw a clawful of dirt out at me.

I laugh, relating to the frequent moments I have felt the same.

The times I feel alone, when no one understands.

Out of spite I throw out dirt, waiting to receive a response.

And when there is none, or it is not as expected, I retreat as you do back into abyss.

Yet light beckons

drawing out once more.

You emerge again, and scurry a little farther,

a little longer in this early morning light where everything is fresh

where daylight makes things new

where sunrise shimmers on gentle ocean waves

dissolving nocturne shadow.

On the edge beyond the safety of retreat

there is the expanse the vast ocean surf

coaxing you beyond calling you to tumble into its gentle waves

to bring you to a new place full of life.

Look beyond you little crab into the boundless sea teeming with possibilities

just past the hole you crawl into

your place of safety.

Don’t throw your dirt at me and expect me not to laugh.

I too want to crawl in that hole to bury myself in that place

where darkness stills and encloses

a place of safety

a haven from harm

a place to dig out the unwanted and throw it out

only to scuttle back in

and dig a deeper and deeper hole

until I realize I want out.

I too will sit on the precipice of that hole and decide

do I crawl back in or rise to the surface?

Once a hint of oceans glory is glimpsed

I will scuttle out to shore

where waves curl onto the sand

and after one tentative step

I will let those waves carry me out to sea.

For if you would enter into all that I have for you, you must walk by faith upon the waters. You must forever relinquish your doubts; and your thoughts of self-preservation you must forever cast aside. For I will carry you, and I will sustain you by My power in the ways that I have chosen and prepared for you…. Frances J. Roberts

April 25, 2014

Things made new

Birth days.

Days to celebrate life.

Life that gives hope and promise and new beginnings.

Life born out of pain and received in joy and love

Three birth days celebrated in past weeks– my daughter’s sixteenth, my joy, my heart,

born sixteen years ago out of intense labor pain

the same pain my mother bore for me.

My mother’s 90th birthday celebrated days later

and a few days after that,

the most joyous of days to celebrate new birth born out of pain… Easter.

On Easter morning we sing this song ,a song that embraces the beauty born out of pain:

All this pain

I wonder if I’ll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things You make beautiful things out of us

–-Beautiful Things by Gungor

Life

In its hard barren things that we come across

buried under daily happenings

grief, sorrow, isolation, loneliness,

somehow out of these broken things

in this dust a garden arises

strength

hope

gratefulness

perspective

joy

Out of chaos life is being found in you….

After a week of creative chaos

celebratory chaos–

Two milestone birthdays and Easter–

all reasons to celebrate life…

life at the beach celebrating sixteen year old wonders… life around balloons and birthday cake celebrating the wonder of turning 90… life around the table celebrating the wonder of eternal life on resurrection Sunday

… the chain of worry, of planning, controlling, perfecting is broken by the cross on Easter.

The joy of life replaces darkness.

The light of love shatters all, breaks the hold that daily worries and fears have over me. Symbols of new life were placed around the house–

flowers

balloons

bread broken on Holy Thursday

thorns

a cross from Jerusalem

a painting of an olive tree in Gethsemane Do these symbols that take a place in my home take place in my heart?

When I share the broken bread with each of my children, I remember the broken places in my heart–

the places that watch my mom diminish from Alzheimer’s

the places of her failing life chipping away at mine

the places that slowly ebb away at my life that could render me drowning in sorrow

until I choose to remember that out of pain comes something new.

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all Mom’s memories are becoming lost. At times she struggles to remember our names. She could not comprehend it was her birthday. She did not know she was 90. Yet the things that are lost are replaced with a joy in the moment. In beauty in each moment. In complete and wondrous joy in the bouquet of flowers I brought to her on her birthday. In the the joy of hearing the sentiments of loved ones I read to her from Facebook wishing her a happy birthday. In singing “Happy Birthday to Me” as she blew candles from a cake as her caregivers and family friends gathered around her.

Mom loves gardens. She loves flowers. In her brief walks around the neighborhood she loves to study the different flowers and comment how beautiful they are. Though much is lost, much is found in the beauty in each moment that she chooses to see. In the color of the flowers. In the sound of music played on piano keys. In the faces of her grandchildren. And on Easter, when we sing this song of new life, of things being made new, made beautiful out of dust

its words are a balm to my parched soul, weary of this journey.

For all of us are being made new in these lessons of caregiving of walking daily with someone who lives only in the present and only sees the good, the beautiful in each moment.

Life in the middle–

now the mother of a sixteen year old daughter

and the daughter of a ninety year old mother

in the midst of adolescent giggles and ninety year old stubbornness

there is beauty and things are being made new.

Places we are marked are the places that allow us to touch others. Pain carves deep etchings into our soul places marked by loss, hurt, places we did not expect to be.

I did not expect this this place of mothering my mother at the same time mothering my daughter, this place where I savor the quiet moments of sharing secrets once shared with my own mother

secrets about love, about being loved, about being comfortable in your own skin about loving yourself fully so that you can love others fully

secrets my mother may have never communicated verbally but demonstrated daily.

Hope is springing up from this old ground…

You make me new, You are making me new

You make me new, You are making me new I don’t comprehend all the things I am learning from this journey

Each day I am weary from the length and its constant presence. But along this old ground, this path I’ve trod for years

I look for places where hope springs up…

A sweet smile, a tender hug, a “thank you for taking care of me”…

and I am made new.

March 20, 2014

Essence

I took a Chinese painting class last week, a completely new learning experience. Everything about it was new, the types of paints, the brushes, how you hold the brush, the type of paper, how you load the brush with paint. A new way to paint. A new way to look at things.

Many times the teacher said, “In Chinese painting, don’t worry about detail. You want to capture the essence. If you make mistake, let it happen. See where it goes. Don’t try to fix it.”

His Chinese paintings were so beautiful and simple. I asked him to paint a peony for me. In a few brushstrokes, he captured the essence of this flower I love so much. So beautiful, so simple. In such few strokes, such few colors, he created something that moved me to tears.

Why did something so simple move me to tears? With a few strokes of a brush, this artist connected to my soul. He laughed at my tears, saying, “You make more tears, I make more beautiful flower.”

So here it is, a peony by artist Lian Quan Zhen.

Simple strokes, use of pure colors, light touch. Suggestion. Not all details.

Mixed in with painting lessons, life lessons.

Don’t force things. Let them be as they are.

Many things in your life you don’t understand. You do it first, then you understand.

Sometimes you give up things to get things.

After years of raising four children, my mind is not wired to think this way. There are many years of attempted control and order to reverse. Yet in this changing season of letting go, relinquishing control, I see the beauty of giving up things to get things. The peace of not forcing things and letting them happen. The joy of letting my grown children be as they are and blossom in their gifts.

The gift of living with someone with Alzheimer’s also teaches, for she sees things in the present, life in the small things. Through her I learn to see beauty in the shell, in the external that capsules what is hidden inside.

To see the essence, the purity of heart and soul now masked my amalagous plaques tangling the brain rendering captive the expression, the language, the emotions that once captured and endeared this person to the hearts of many.

The essence. Look at the essence.

The true beauty of this being.
.
Through my art I hope to see clearly the things I love. The flowers familiar, landscapes and seascapes that heal my soul. Look deeply into them unmasked.

And in turn trust that the things I see are true.

Then, lightly, I will touch the paper with brush and ink, not force what I see, not try to control it.

Instead let it happen,

And capture only essence.

January 16, 2014

unveiled

The sun was setting, and in the distance

a curtain of rain

veiled a rainbow.

A pocket of clouds lay just beyond.

A whisper of hope veiled in the clouds.

A promise that everything would be ok.

We had just come from a service where a husband and three kids the ages of my children had said goodbye to their mother.

Their mother, now with unveiled face, healed from her cancer and resting in the arms of Jesus.

Their mother, whose greatest wish conveyed throughout the service is that her children would remain steadfast in Him.

I walked along the shore with my only daughter only hours after that service, my reflections mirrored in this veil

these words from Corinthians coming to mind as I imagined what is must be like to say goodbye to my children

But we, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord are being transformed into the same image, from glory to glory just as from the Lord, the Spirit.
2 Corinthians 2:13

My friend is healed, beholding the Glory of the Lord.

And those of us left here somehow, after a glimpse of His glory behind the veil are left to be transformed into the same image, from glory to glory….

In the Greek, glory, doxa, one definition translates to this:

splendor, brightness

of sun, moon and stars.
magnificence, excellence, preeminence, dignity, grace
majesty…a thing belonging to God.

In the dusk of that evening,

I reflect that my friend belongs to God
I reflect on the dignity and grace of her last days

the sun reflects in the sky and the moon rises

and my daughter
reaches beneath the moon, reaches forward, reaches for new possibilities… hope

I wonder why some of us are left behind, and some of us are taken
and see how there is too much transforming left to do
so I too
will reach beyond myself
reach forward, stretching to places uncomfortable and unknown

and someday, when all is unveiled
I will behold His glory
and understand

January 3, 2014

old acquaintance

Should old acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind
Should old acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne

Through this year’s holiday season of gathering, reflection, change, these words ring true to me much more than a passing chorus.

Bits and pieces of these past days…a house full of teenagers, college students, Christmas cookies being decorated…

My grown kids returning home for the holidays, still looking for reindeer elf and candy and handwritten notes….and wanting all of us to open Christmas presents in onesies…..

A holiday wedding, dear old friends giving away their firstborn daughter, the first baby born among our friends, radiant in her beautiful dress as my husband’s college roommate tearfully walked her down the aisle…

Among all this, my mother,
89 years old
whom we remind, “It’s Christmas morning, Lola,” as my kids climb into bed with her in pajamas,
thinks the new year we are ringing in is 1990.

Scotland.org states the words auld lang syne mean “long, long ago.” The chorus translates to:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And long, long ago.

To live with someone with Alzheimer’s deepens the meaning of this New Year’s traditonal song, for each day lives out someone who has forgotten old acquaintances, faces, names, even the names and faces of the ones who care for her daily

and long, long ago is forgotten.

Yesterday mom asked me if her mom and dad were still around, as she was thinking of going home to the Philippines to take care of them. They have been gone for more than fifty years.

As the last refrains of auld lang syne fade out
and I reflect on the fireworks show bringing in the new year

I will cherish even more the snapshots of this holiday season,

the not so perfectly decorated big fat Christmas tree crashing to the floor

at the very moment a rat was trapped, the one chewing up the engine of my car

…….screams issuing everywhere …(the tree was eventually restraightened and rescued by fishing line tied to the door)….

the dozens of homemade decorated Christmas cookies baked for hours and consumed in minutes.

the silly games shared with old friends
the conversations shared with old friends,

ones whose weddings we stood in
launched careers with,
birthed babies
raised preschoolers, then adolescents
and now watch these very children launch their own careers and share their father/daughter dance.

What’s amazing is that even the kids seem to take in the significance of this……the old acquaintance part….the kids who rode around together in the neighborhood, played for hours in Disney costumes, filmed Star Wars spin off videos, shared picnics in the park…they too want to record the significance of changing moments…

for as our families shift, grieving losses…

loss of childhood, loss of control, loss of parents, evolving parental roles…..and welcome new relationships, and new dynamics in relationships…

our hearts are made bigger as we broaden our family circles, as we hold hands and hug tighter through these seasons of change.

And yes tears are shed as we long for the old days
when our kids held our hands and snuggled
and we laughed and played together.

Now our laughter is deeper and our tears source from a deeper well
and these friendships

deep, familiar, part of our core

remind me of one of my favorite verses:

for now we see in a glass dimly,
but then we shall see face to face....

I am grateful for these moments of friendship that are full on, face to face….
full of laughter and tears,
full of rejoicing, and loss,
friendships that have spanned over 25 years…

though someday, these moments may be forgotten,
they will be forever cherished.

January 1, 2014

unfolding

Out of a mess forms something beautiful.

A blank canvas, paint smudged on its surface

crumpled with cellophane, left to dry.

Layered over this mess, more paint applied in the shadows, the smudges, the splotches of dried paint.

Look for the forms, the shapes in the mess instructs my teacher.

So I study, I gaze into the shapes

and begin to see them…

the forms, traces on the canvas.

I add color, more shape, more layer upon layer

a creation begins to unfold

as I see patterns, unexpected, on the surface

enhanced by color, light and shadow.

It is the shadow that brings out the beauty in the whole

So as I close in on a year
and reflect on the beginnings of a new year

a blank canvas before me

I pray I will let events shape me,

and try not to control them

let them happen as they are
let them happen randomly….
the places of shadow and sorrow, the places of light and color
the places unexpected
the places smudged or rough or worn
the places exposed.

And at the end of a year, when I look back on the whole picture
stepping away to view from a distance
I will see how each place, each stroke, each color, each shadow had a part
in creating something new.

December 19, 2013

My big fat Christmas Tree

I love this tree.
The biggest, fattest christmas tree we have had in years .
I found it at the grocery store leaning on the wall.

I wasn’t there to buy a tree

I was there to run in to do the everyday things, pick up lunchmeat for the kids, grab some milk, wait for prescriptions for mom. I was even in the little car.

But the scent of the fresh pine trees caught me as I walked through the breezeway. I poked along the wall to see the biggest one I could get for the money

I love living in a neighborhood where I know the grocery store attendants. I asked one to find the best 8-9 foot tree he could find. He plopped one out on the sidewalk. A man walking out gave the affirmation: “That’s a great tree!” Sold. But I wasn’t planning on this purchase, and would have to come back to get it since i was in the little car, for the original plan was to pick out a tree together as a family.

Every year we get a fresh tree
despite the trouble of tying it to the top of the car
putting it on the stand
dragging it in the house
making sure it is straight.

It is a joke every year about the tree, that next year we will get an artificial one.

We are not a handy family. Even the simplest things like changing light bulbs are a major ordeal, a major accomplishment in our house.

So to bring in a 9 foot tree into our home, straight, without crashing over, ornaments and all, is a feat in out home.

This year, I cheated…..not only did the attendant pick out the biggest, fattest tree for me, he offered to put it in the stand too….. and on top of that, the store manager offered to throw it in the back of his truck and deliver it to my home!
…….I felt a little guilty,
but hey, they benefitted,
I benefitted,
we all benefitted!

A gift of time, no headache

and a big fat tree sitting straight up in our family room.

A big fat tree too big for the stand, dropping needles all over the tile, and had to be adjusted and restraightened and straightened several times by the kids. Its big fat trunk finally pointed straight up in all its glory

...in this moment, in this middle of midwinter, in the dark of your very thickest thicket, there’s the rough bark of the Tree… Ann Voskamp

This tree and its story how it arrived in my home, gives me a smile and laugh in what started as a bad week. Even though it is warm here in Florida, I had been struggling to find warmth in a darkness, a darkness of doubt and bitterness….

Am I doing the right thing, having my mother here in my home
how has it affected my kids, my marriage, me???

As this disease develops, it will only become worse, and I will distance my heart even more as I watch the progression, as I continue to repeat my words, remind her that my dad has passed, that her mother has passed.

I remember this picture
one of the few photos I have as a child…

my mom reaching for my hand at Christmas.
We didn’t have much then, that’s why there are so few photos.

The few gifts were there in the picture.

But in the sparse surroundings
none of the excess I have now

there was love, hope,
a dream fulfilled, growing,
of coming to a new land of promise,
to live in America
to have a new life
to have a new beginning.

So I press on
to give her a peaceful ending
to surround her with the love she willingly surrounded me with during my beginning

and even though my tendency is to not want to watch this ending
this deterioration
this dwindling

I have to hold fast and return to the hopes of the very small tree of my first Christmas
if there even was one.

Now I look upon my big fat tree in my big fat family room
with boxes of unused ornaments and decorations that haven’t even made it to the tree or to the table or to the door

and reflect on dreams fulfilled, many because of the selflessness and prayers of my mother.

Life is full.
31 years of ornaments in a box.
Many reflecting milestones, markers in my family…
our first home, our first baby, our trips around the country and the world
markers to be placed on our tree

This year, this big fat tree, even halfway decorated
means more as I read more words from Ann Voskamp…

Advent is the time to see the Tree in your thicket and whisper the echoing words of your God: Now I know. Now I know. Since you did not spare your only Son, how will You not also graciously give us–even me–all things you know I need?

I need peace
to remember am doing the right thing.

I need strength
for I grow weary of this task, this burden, this guilt of feeling that this is a burden even though she was always there for me.

Because of this turmoil in my soul, the Christmas need/ want list is changing for me.

The things I used to ask for…. a new sweater,, something for the house….yes I do still love and enjoy those things….

but this year the list is morphing into different wants…

I want my children to know and trust their future paths
one, career choices,
another, college options,
another, just get through college classes,
another, courage to follow her dreams..

and they all have the gift of an endlessly hardworking father who gives them opportunity to chase those dreams.

My greatest, most precious gift, is that each of them know and love the One that died on that Tree, who was born to us in a manger this Christmas season.

My gift, is the joy of watching each of them grow in their passion for that One, as they live out each day in a world that does not feel the same, yet they shine in their corners of the world where that One has placed them.

My gift, though I don’t always see it, is the depth of the soul of my mother in our home, living out her days, her love for Jesus remaining despite foggy senses of what is immediately around her.

That is her gift to all of us

to be fully aware of the One above
the one she points to and says she is ready to go
for even though she is not fully aware of date or time or persons or events
she still remains fully aware of Him….

and that is how we all should live.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever….Hebrews 13:8

seaglasslife

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