Expectancy....Nostalgia

I've been sitting by the fireplace knitting while my new CD of piano Christmas music music plays in the background. As the dusk began to settle around the day, I stepped onto the porch and clicked on the Christmas lights for the first time this year. Thanksgiving gives way to a magical season, a season filled with nostalgia, of warm Christmas' past, of hope for a fulfilling future and just a sense of peace. This is my third Christmas alone. I've toned down the decorating inside and out and have begun my own style of being. It feels good, but also I feel a quiet stirring deep down, that doesn't want to let go of everything that we previously shared. That's ok, for I know I can move on yet hold dear to the sharing, warmth, laughter and love of all those years. Life is like that...it gives us blessed memories that we can tuck away in our heart, yet life also encourages us to go forward and seek fulfillment and an abundant life that our Lord so wants for us.
I settle back down into my chair, purposely leaving the lamp unlit, feeling the warmth and coziness of the fire and the soft beautiful music playing. I can see the reflection of the twinkling lights up front...ah yes, the Christmas season is upon us. Savoring the moment, I sigh, and whisper a prayer of praise to the One whose name we celebrate,..Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus.

And Then it's Over..

This time I believed we could be. In retrospect I should have known it wasn't too be.
Too many ups and downs, to one-sided, to much distance, and one who did not have the ability to move on to a new life following his wife's death. Holding on to guilt, supposed shame and memories as if they were actually part of life today, equals the inability to go forward.

But I need to claim fault for this parting, at least for the most part. I pushed and pushed and even tried to disentangle myself from him after it was evident that he had no real feelings for me. He just wasn't ready...and even when he did profess love for me, I should have listened to my inner feelings and just let it be. But I didn't. My heart wanted to believe we could make a life together....I, however, was wrong and I forced myself on someone who was not emotionally able to reciprocate.
That leaves me with a desire to search for why he is stuck with his demons and could not lay the past aside and move into a promising future. Bear with me as I share my thoughts.

I learned early in my grief process, that at some point I would need to say good-bye...I mean really say good-bye. That came approximately a year and a half after Dennis died. I wrote a letter to him and really, really hated reading what was written, but it had to be done. In essence it said that I could no longer involve him in my life, I could no longer solicit his input or wonder what he would think of this or that, but I needed to let go of the relationship.....good-bye needed to be good-bye, or I would be stuck in a grief cycle that would never end. There were many feelings of past guilt, of things left unsaid or done, but they had to be left behind.

I'm assuming he hadn't done this, that he hadn't dealt with his perceived guilt and things left undone...that he just couldn't move on due to that. My question is...if he is clinging to a perception of guilt, is it just clinging to a memory? As if it were right now, instead of in the past? Yes, I believe I have read somewhere that all our problems in life come from our memories. That we carry with us accumulated burdens, disappointments, fears and falsehoods...in other words memories. Shouldn't we be much more than our memories? Shouldn't we let go of memories and grieve those memories that trouble us so very much, but then move on. Shouldn't we appreciate life as it is and not as we wish it were? I believe that then we can find the peace we seek. I believe that the moment I let go of wanting to continue my old life when I knew it was impossible to dwell there, I found my peace.

Therefore, perhaps I had journeyed farther and faster than he. I rushed him....his steps were small, I outran his expectations and closed the door to what could have been. So, being true to my reality, I won't let my life be my memories...I will move on and perhaps at this time, being completely drained, I will finally have ears for what God wants to say to me...that I can finally realize that I am loved by Him, and that "I" can be enough.

Another Memory

When the night seems to stretch out forever, the mind tends to play reruns in your head. Last night was one of those. It was a strange memory, pulled from a time that by all means and purposes should be suppressed and not remembered. It goes like this:
The house my family made home, is now used as a storage shed behind someones lovely residence. My young mind never thought of it as small, nor did I mind that it was basically a shack. It housed all that I knew in life, my parents, my brother and sister and my best friend Toby, the mongrul dog. Basically it was mostly a big kitchen, containing a black cast iron wood stove where my mother cooked, baked, heated water for our weekly baths in a big galvanized tub, .... heaven help the last one to be bathed! The kitchen sink had a pump handle to dispense our water, the single bulb light fixture hung forlornly from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The 'living room' was a long narrow room with sparse furnishings. A beatup couch with an equally beatup matching chair at one end, decorated with grandmothers crocheted doilies. A single picture graced the wall, shear curtains covered the only window in the room giving an attempt at prettiness. The elephant in the room, so to speak, was an old, old pump organ that had long ago ceased to play beautiful music. It sat huddled in shame, with large scratches, broken pull tabs and foot pedals that hung uselessly with only a vague memory of a former musicians touch. My mother had dreamed that one day it would be restored to it's original beauty and that she could bring it back to life once again. That dream was not to be.

As my mind wandered over the old memory, it took me to the only small bedroom in the home, which was for my parents. My dad had created a makeshift stairway at one end, for us kids to climb into the attic, to a room which housed two beds, or if you will, our bedroom. The ceiling was rafters, often covered with frost in the winters, and the floor was made up of plywood sheets which placed many a sliver in our bare feet! My memories of this room are vivid. There was a hinged wooden 'window' on one end which was propped open in the summer for coolness, but produced very little of that, only an abundance of mosquitoes! Cold wind blew through the pourly insulated walls and around that window during frigid winter months. The bright spot in all this were mother's quilts, which she had sewn out of old wool pieces and lined with ragged old blankets. They would be piled up on us during those long winter nights, so heavy we could barely breath! Mother would make the trek up the stairs each night before we'd retire and place hot water bottles in our beds so we could climb into some semblence of warmth. More often than not our breathe could be seen in the air. Laying still each night, we could hear the skittering of critter feet. My dad would put well placed rat traps along the wall to discourage those nasty things from entering our beds. Generally those traps would produce a nice end result!

Are these bad memories? Never! I did not realize until many years later that we were poor, you might even say living in poverty. After all, we had each other, clothes on our backs, new shoes to begin school with, a place to call home and amazing memories....even trekking to the outhouse during a midnight 'necessity' visit! Who could ask for more!!

Can it Be? Will it Ever Be?

Life does not always give us what we want...or what we were sure it would. It just doesn't happen. Perhaps we're given a second chance....perhaps not. My heart can still dream. It can visualize a fulfilling future, a path leading into a new love, a fearless walk into that enigma called old age, holding hands with the one who has promised to be there, to share my soul, to laugh and cry with, to face uncertain times....just being with me..drowning that fear of dying alone.
My mind can make plans, my heart can imagine taking a leap of faith into the unknown but my soul must be open to the will of God and His plan for my life.
Do I dare say the word 'trust?' Trusting in God's plan..not mine? Somehow that word ignites a feeling of hope...hope in the future,.. faith that even if He chooses to be the only One walking beside me, that I can fully lean on Him and dissolve any fear of journeying alone.
Life can be a disappointment at times on so many levels. Expectations can be smashed down, love can go away, friends can desert, children can disappoint,...but I need to ask myself..'how much effort did I put into these things? Was it life that disppointed me or was it me that caused the disppointment?' There is no time to park in the past, there is just the future to look toward,..He has our days numbered and safely tucked in His bosom, but until the day He calls me home, I want to forget disappointments, forgive where forgiveness is needed, and love where it is needed.

The Psalms declare my plea to my Lord and Savior: Teach me to number my days and recognize how few they are; help me to spend them as I should.

I do not want to live a life of regret, but of hope, trust and faith.

What??

Why can't things just be simple...I MEAN REEEEEEEEELY SIMPLE! Come on..things can't be that difficult can they? Life decisions are tough, but they shouldn't be that tough. If something is to be, shouldn't it just happen? Why is there second guessing? Why do we suddenly discover a multitude of reasons not to do something, when deep down we know it will be ok. Age? Fear? Anxiety? Change? Self confidence?
Come on...take a chance, step out there! Make a decision! Make a plan! Do something! Really...why can't life be simple!

Grief to Sorrow to Joy

Tomorrow a friend will be going through the third anniversary of her husbands death. Her journal indicates that she has journeyed from the bitterness of grief to the realization that sorrow will no doubt remain forever, but the hope of future joy is a possibility. For those of us who have lost a spouse, those steps come in very individual paces,..some faster than others, and some who seem to hold on to their grief because they feel it's all they have left. We can never compare our grief with another's. I, like her, feel so much gratitude toward my friends who joined me on Daily Strength as we shared our tears, our victories, our dips into depression, our triumphs, but most of all the deep friendships that were formed through the most difficult time a person must endure. Although I've moved on from the DS site, I will forever cherish the love that was shown, the compassion we shared and the friendships formed. I will gently tuck them away in a special place in my heart and perhaps pull them out once in awhile to remember that God truly provided a way through each one of them. We needed one another, we loved one another we helped one another.
My personal journey is leading me to the path of joy. I don't know what lies ahead, there are so many questions, so many hurdles, but God in His grace and mercy will clear that path for me , therefore I will simply follow.

The Last Cleanup

There's a ladybug crawling up a forlorn looking hosta stalk just outside my window. Probably wondering where the heck all the leaves went so it could at least hide someplace instead of it's brilliant orange and black colors shouting for a wayward bird to snatch it up! Just a few short weeks ago the tree's were bathed in awesome reds, golds, and maroons, boasting of their beauty. Today they stand naked, exposed to the world with branches like bony fingers reaching to the sky. The carpet of dried up leaves seems to be their message of revenge for the embarassing position they are in.
Isn't this an example of how our lives tend to unfold? We bud out in the spring of life, then in our summer explode into fullblown leaves, not only showing our strength but having a meaningful purpose, and then comes the fall. We strive for that last big hurrah, our fullblown beauty is exhibited, all our hard work is screaming to be noticed before the winter sets in. Nothing more to prove...we're proud of where we are now and our colors show it. Then comes the winter.
How stately and proud we stand, even though our outward appearance is diminished, our roots go deep within. We spread our gnarled fingers outward and upward as if in prayer, hoping our influence and legacy for our children and grandchildren will be remembered apart from what is displayed in this old body. Yes, we still have a purpose...and regeneration will take place.

A CHILDHOOD MEMORY..

My mind reaches back to a memory that refuses to fade away. How is it possible that my five year old memory can still penetrate my heart and draw me back to a time of pure innocence, where my world was so small yet so full? I feel a sense of melancholy, of warmth and gratefulness that I was taught a beautiful lesson of friendship and love even before I truly understood the concept.

We lived in Ralston, Washington, a rural town, if you could call it a town, with a total population of less than 100 people. Looking back now, it reminds me of a ceramic Christmas village scene, the kind we place around the base of our tree. The church, the train depot, the one room schoolhouse, grain elevators and the grocery store which housed the post office and a single gas pump. These buildings were my town. I remember a long hill for sledding and wide open spaces to explore with my dog Toby and my best friend Lanny.

As I close my eyes, I can still see his blonde curly head, bobbing above the tall weeds which separated his house from mine. "Lanny's coming" I would yell at my mom as I slammed the screen door shut. I'd run to meet him halfway, with Toby racing ahead of me, just as excited as I was to begin our day with my best buddy in the whole world Not that my world was that big, but I remember it as pure perfection!

We generally sat for awhile, discussing in deep ernest what we could do that day. Sometimes if it was a warm, sunny day, we would trample down some weeds and lay watching the clouds slowly passing overhead, trying to identify their shapes as objects or animals. Other days, we explored an old barn, sat under the window if the school house and listened to the lessons, or just walked and talked, with Toby eagerly looking back to make sure we were coming . Lanny shared my love for my old raggedy dog. Wherever we went, Toby more than willingly came along. To this day, just the remembrance of ol' Toby and the unconditional love we shared brings a rush of warmth through my body. But Toby is a story in itself.

Lanny was a sickly sort. He was a small, frail little boy and his skin was always so pale. More often than not he would be sick in bed when I'd knock on his door, ready to begin another adventerous day. His mom would open the door, and without speaking a word would just shake her head. Disappointment and concern would run through me and a huge feeling of sadness would go with me throughout the day. How could I possibly have any fun without Lanny?

Several years passed as we continued to enjoy that childhood friendship. We started school in the one room schoolhouse where we once had leaned against the cool bricks, listening to all the sounds from the lessons being taught. There were three of us in that first grade class, John, Lanny and I. The smell of chalk dust greeted us at the door each day. The sound of the old wood floor, as it tried to resist the years that caused it to warp and buckle in several spots protested our footsteps. It always amazed me how the teacher seemed to know exactly where those spots were and never stumbled or fell! Heaven knows we used to giggle and wish it would happen!

And then the unspeakable happened! It was a normal late summer evening when my dad called us kids in from our usual game of hide and seek, which was always more exciting in the dim light of dusk. Our sweaty, dusty bodies perched themselves on the old wooden kitchen chairs, waiting for dad to speak. My dad generally spoke his piece and that was that, but tonight he had a strange look on his face. Something that seemed to cause him pain, but also an uncharacteristic attitude of empathy. Very quietly and with very little eye contact, he began to explain that his job would be taking us away from our home, which to me meant everything I had ever known in life. How could my life be complete without Lanny in it? How was I going to tell him this horrible news? What would be come of our friendship? I remember running from the house, stopping by the old maple tree beside the house and crumpling to the ground sobbing tears that caused my chest to heave searching for air. It was more than a seven year old could bare and even today I can still feel that desperate emotion.

Well, many, many years have passed since I said good-bye to Lanny. I can still picture us walking down the dusty lane between my house and his. I had broken the news to him and he had run ahead of me crying uncontrollably. Toby, not knowing who to go to first, ran between the two of us. Lanny suddenly stopped, sat down on the road and hollered back to me. "Please, please say you will wait for me forever and promise me you will marry me one day." I promised with all my heart. That was one promise I could not keep.

Grandchild Illness

I don't remember being so concerned about my own children when they got sick as I do with my grands! What is that about?? It's a different world out there for sure...this H1N1 thing has got me freaked, especially with the littlest ones! I wonder why it doesn't strike old heifers like myself instead of these innocent ones.

I was called to watch Finn today while Cami took Luke and Hannah for checkups on other related problems. Poor little guy had been sleeping a good deal of the day and had just awakened when I arrived. Whenever he see's me he immediately knows 'oh darn, mom's gonna leave and I'm stuck with this old grandma!' Therefore, he took one look at me and burst out bawling! Ah, yes, one must have a thick skin to endure that! Well, on a brighter note, I think he's just got a virus of some sort because later he was parading around with his firetruck and harassing Piper, the family dog, by trying to pull her tail and then saying 'nice puppy'...like Piper believed that line!

Anyhow, back to my original remark regarding my sick kids! I wonder what they remember about their times of illness. I sorta remember making them comfortable, cleaning up vomit, demanding they stay put, delivering fluids or trying to force down a little chicken soup (hey, my mom said it was good for anything that ailed you!). A touch on the forehead was all it took to determine if there was a fever, either at the beginning or the end of said illness. Touch, feel, yup, nope, seems my hand on the head was the best thermometer ever! And you can betcha at the first sign of wellness, it was out the door and back to school for those little slackers! Couldn't pull a fast one on ol' mom! Have to give a high five to my mom for teaching me those tricks of the trade! Grandkids on the other hand...well have a heart mom's...keep those little buggers home and shower them with TLC and a few special treats to boot! It gives you and the munchkins a little down time and who doesn't need that these days!

Life on My Own....

As I drove into my driveway this afternoon, I reminded myself to put away the Halloween decorations and move on to the Pilgrim theme...soon to be followed by the obligatory splash of Christmas lights and do-dads! Thoughts were drawn back three years, to the holidays before Dennis died. Who would have contemplated I would be journeying this path alone. Things I took for granted that were done by him, have now fallen on my shoulders. This third year finds me settling into a resigned routine and I find it gives me a sense of pride to perform these tasks.
It appears that I've found my 'new normal' and I'm facing life with a whole new outlook.
Don't get me wrong..the past two years weren't easy...all the 'firsts' were faced, the sound of 'empty' as I entered a silent house, motivating myself to go places alone while surrounded by couples, the empty chair at the table, ...oh I could go on and on, but God in His grace and mercy led me lovingly and patiently along the path to grief recovery. Books have been written, articles appeared for reading, grief groups joined, advice was given but all in all the grief had to be faced alone....not at any particular pace, just one day at a time, until one day I woke up and realized there was a lot of living to do out there. It was like the Lord said 'ok, let's get out there and do this thing called life that I've blessed you with...and I'll be right there beside you, giving you all the strength, wisdom and discernment you'll need to perservere.' I don't live life alone, He's provided all that He promised....He is faithful, I am grateful.