“It’s snowing!” she squealed with sheer delight, lifting her dazzling smile to the sky and throwing her hands into the air.
“Look, mommy, it’s snowing,” three-year old grandbebe, Bailey, declared as the cottonwood seed-fluff nearly white-out blizzarded on our picnic at the beach the other day.
We were grabbing covers for food and waving it away from our faces with frowns of aggravation. But Bailey saw the fun in it. Right here in the summer sunlight, while she was wearing her cute new swimming suit and playing in the sand: snow.
Sometimes, in an effort to grow up, be mature, represent our religion by “putting away childish things,” we forget that Jesus wants us, for all times, to remain childlike: full of wonder, hope springing eternal, looking for the good in everything around us. “Unless you become as little children,” He said. The path into the Kingdom of heaven starts with that premise.
Jesus: “I assure you and most solemnly say to you, unless you repent [that is, change your inner self—your old way of thinking, live changed lives] and become like children [trusting, humble, and forgiving], you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Amplified
Do you remember? Can you recall when life was an invitation to joy, to experience whatever happened, to see a complication as an adventure to explore? Remember innocence? Whatever will be, will be…
Oliver recently visited the beaches of Florida. This was old hat to him.
Childishness? No. Put that away. Don’t be a selfish, self-centered booger demanding your own way.
But childlike in spirit, in hope, in wonder, like a little one full of innocence and trust, pure-hearted and content in what comes? Oh yes. Be that.
Even though we all had cottonwood fuzz in our hair, probably ate some in our S’mores and had it stuck to our skin with sunscreen (and I nearly choked on a breath-full walking to our shady picnic area from the beach), it didn’t hurt our day in any way that mattered. Like so many things, tiny annoyances we have come to barely tolerate in life, we should just let the fuzzies float by against the blue of the sky on a sunny June day, like a sweet child would. Like Bailey did.
Childlike.
Played all day
Matthew 18. 1-3 NIV “At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’
He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them.And he said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'”
Oh, we stayed until that sun set.
PS- Don’t make fun of colorful Colorado for DIY beaches on homemade lakes. It’s our can-do attitude! We’ve got the Rocky Mountains already. You can’t replicate that. :)
I just wanted to share this beautiful “live” drawing as a reminder to see past what we think we know about the women around us.
My sister-in-law, Dawn, recently shared these words from a Twila Paris song, “Same Girl,” in the comments at this blog, a post about my mom, who is dealing with Alzheimer’s Disease.
“Picture with me if you can, a little girl in a younger land, running, playing, laughing, growing stronger. But now her aged limbs have failed and her rosy cheeks have paled. Look beyond the lines ’til you remember. She’s still the same girl running down the hill, she’s still the same girl, memories vivid still. Listen to her story and her eyes will glow. She’s still the same girl, and we need her so…”
My mom on the right. 1942?
“Listen to her story and her eyes will glow…” This is true of every woman, from the little girl so small she can barely express in words, to a young woman falling n love for the first time, to a harried wife and mother who is living to serve and run. It is true as the children leave the nest and the gray hair emerges. It is truer than true as age and aches and pains become the norm, And it is true for even the woman who is struggling to maintain some sense of who she is while suffering dementia.
{{Listen to her story: from my youngest granddaughter and the bigger ones, too, to my lovely daughters, to my sister and the sweetest sister-in-laws I have been blessed with to my cherished mamala, and all the dearest of friends and godly women who have invested in me and younger women who so kindly allow me access to their hearts...}}
My mom on the right. 1940?
If some one, anyone, will just listen, we have a story to tell. We know some things, in spite of anything we’ve forgotten or how old-fashioned and outdated we may seem to have become. Because where you are, we once were, too.
My mom on the left. School days. She might be 8 or 9 in this photo.
And to tell you, too, that even as Alzheimer’s robs my mom of more and more of her abilities, her confidence and cognitive skills, what we are seeing is, miracle of miracles, Norma Jean :: the little girl who loves all the pretty things and all the people and has the simplest faith – she re-emerges, she is herself, true and pure. “She’s still the same girl, and we need her so!”
Me, my mom, and my little sister :: out on the town, Avon, IN. Oct. 2015
“Everyone with a brain is at risk for Alzheimer’s.” – www.alz.org
See more things I have written about this Alzheimer’s journey here
My mom asked me a few months ago, having watched a documentary about the late John Denver on PBS, if I would maybe “go in” with my siblings and buy her a John Denver CD for Christmas. She didn’t want to tax me too heavily, lovely woman that she is. <3
So, Dave made a CD of John Denver songs from his iTunes and I took it to her when I went to visit 2 weeks ago. She was so surprised. She barely remembered the documentary, if at all, and certainly didn’t recall asking for a CD, but she was happy to have it.
My visit this time has a musical soundtrack. And it is the sound of John Denver music drifting from her corner room, from a little CD player she can no longer remember how to work on her own, even though my sister painted “play” in large white letters.
My sweetest mamala is suffering dementia, being treated for Alzheimer’s Disease. And the changes are so gradual if you’re in the room with her, that they’re much less perceptible. But I am not there, so when I visit, changes are glaring, and I lose my breath for a moment when I see another part of her gone. My dad always asks me what I see as different because he is “in the room,” day and night, night and day.
When I visited 2 months ago in August, during our family reunion, she kept asking me what words were on a stitched pillow her best friend had sent to her. “Friendship,” I’d tell her. She’d look intently at it and then say, “Oh right, there is the ‘i.’ Oh, and that’s ‘f’.” Then she’d say, “Friendship.”
15 minutes later, she’d pick the pillow up and ask me again. Everyday I was there, several times.
I asked my dad, “When did she begin to lose reading?” He was so surprised, he had been wondering why she wasn’t reading her Bible each morning like she always has. Reading is not totally lost to her yet. But it mostly is. She still keeps her Bible and her beloved dictionary close by at all times, but they are rarely opened. Sometimes she has to really focus her gaze for a long time to make out what the newspaper article is about. And if the article is continued in another column, or heaven forbid, on another page, she thinks they somehow just quit writing and finds it foolish for them to have done that.
This time, my most recent visit, she couldn’t sing Mairzy Doats, a beloved song from her childhood, with me anymore. Wherever it is she is going, down whatever hall dementia is taking her, that song doesn’t make sense and those aren’t real words so she cannot remember them at all. And she has no desire to recall them. My mom sang that to me my whole life. Then she sang it to my children. She and I sang it to some of my grandchildren. She always thought it was so funny and delightful, singing those tricky words that were really other words. But now it’s just “nonsense” to her, which it really always was, I guess. But still.
My main goal, when we are together now, is to laugh with her. Laughter is so good for the bones.
So she wanted to listen to John Denver’s soothing beautiful music. She particularly loves Rocky Mountain High and Sunshine on My Shoulders. And the song all our family legends are made of was on repeat one day, Back Home Again. She had to call to play it and sing it for her best friend in Tennessee. She mostly hummed, unable to recall words she has always loved. And she’d comment to her friend when a line of the song said something sweet, like, “…the light in your eyes that makes me warm,” She’d say, “That reminds me of you, Ronnie!” It was sweetness.
But all week, Whenever the song, “Leaving on a Jet Plane” began, she’d come and hug me and say, “Oh, I don’t want you to go…how many more days do I have?” And I’d usual just say, “I’m here for a whole week,” even as the week was moving along. Because it would put her at ease and she’d say, “Oh, good.”
Then we’d giggle and sing along with John Denver, mom mostly humming and inserting comments.
All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go. I’m standing here outside your door*
“Oh no, Jeanie. Here let me help you un-pack your bags!”
I hate to wake you up to say good-bye.*
“Don’t wake me up for that!”
‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again*
“You better get back here again quick!”
That is so true, mamala. I know you won’t see this blog (computer navigation was one of the first things to go), but we’ll laugh about this in heaven…
A couple of days before I had to leave, three of us were sitting on the love seat singing together, my mom, my little sister, and me. It was hard finding songs my mom could recall the words and following lyrics on the computer was’t working either. I went to a karaoke site and pulled up “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” We started singing away, getting that tight 3-part harmony from heaven found among family members alone.
But as we came to the words, “So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you’ll wait for me,” I had to look away and I couldn’t sing. A catch in my throat and the tears began, because I heard her singing the words, but I knew, she won’t be waiting for me. She is going to keep walking this path and each time I see her, there’ll be a little less of her there.
I have heard Alzheimer’s called The Long Goodbye. And so it seems it must be. My sorrow at watching her have to endure not just the memory loss, but the confusion, the frustration, and the growing inabilities to do what she loves is compounded by living over a thousand miles away. Knowing my time with her will be so limited by the miles between us, I will take every possible second of this long goodbye to hold in my heart.
Every chance I get, I will go to her and bless her and praise her for the woman she is and hug her tiny self as long as she wants (and she loves long hugs). I’ll massage her shoulders and brush her hair and stroke her face and let her curl up on my lap like she is my little girl. There is so little I can do, but I’ll hold on as long as she needs me to….
Hold me like you’ll never let me go*
“Give her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises!” Proverbs 31.31 The Message
Learn more from The Alzheimer’s AssociationAlzheimer’s is the 6th leading cause of death and is not just about having a diminishing memory. As the disease progresses, a person with Alzheimer’s loses their ability to walk, to sit and eventually to swallow. Please pray for my sweet mamala, if you will. *Norma Jean*
Hot coffee and ice-cold watermelon. It’s what’s for breakfast. Although, this morning, it was actually a luscious peach from Colorado’s western slope. Oh. my. word! Mmmmm!
2.
Memory: The best summer meals I ever ate were as a kid at my Aunt Rosie’s house: grilled burgers, garden fresh tomatoes and corn on the cob, straight from her backyard. Watermelon for dessert. The tomatoes and the corn were all I really needed, though. Still.
3.
Garden Talks:: I approached the chorus of 6-foot sunflowers near the back line this morning, after a 2-week absence. I am quite sure they hadn’t heard I was home, as they had their gazes firmly fixed eastward, probably wondering where on earth I had gone. “I’m back,” I announced, “you may now heliotrope to your heart’s content.” Hopefully they won’t be all stand-offish and soon I’ll see their gaze coming my way. West, my sweets, west.
The pumpkins required a stern talking to, spreading out and covering the sage and butterfly plants as they were. They do require a great lot of space, to be sure, but they mustn’t just override their garden companions with no thought for the ‘morrow. They are safely tucked about now, room to spread and grandly producing round spheres for autumn pies.
Some tiny varmint is eating the white petunia petals and I don’t wonder why, scrumptious as they are, all frilly and pretty in the late summer sun. But still, this may require a squirt of cayenne pepper sauce to dissuade their voracious appetites.
Left to her own accord, the basil is attempting a one-woman show in glorious floral bloom. “Not yet,” I must insist. For once the flowers burst forth, the plant’s usefulness is limited. There is more pesto to be enjoyed, more hand-crafted pizzas to be flavored. She’ll get her stage soon enough.
Naturally, while I was gone, the thistles and goat-heads thought they could safely become one of my garden family, just tucking themselves in here and there. Not a chance, little outlaws. I am coming for you!
All the potted flowers and veggies are moaning a bit under the distress of timed waterings instead of being coddled and cooed over daily. The tomatoes, my garden’s royalty, are fruit-full, yet sort of droopy and whining laments. A little extra attention twice daily should have them perked up soon enough.
4.
Family reunion. 38 of us gathered in mid-America, or was it 39? The mamala and papasan, their children (we original 5 + spouses), most of our children’s children and some of theirs (the greats).
Come and gather around at the table
In the spirit of family and friends
And we’ll all join hands and remember this moment
‘Til the season comes ’round again
My great-niece-dog, Sadie
Family is so important to me. My family-of-origin is scattered across the nation. We’ve never all been living close together, not since the late 70s, before families of our own, careers and ministries…but the testament of our connection shows up semi-regularly.
Our very first Ross & Norma reunion was in 1995. My parents were celebrating their 38th anniversary that year (Dave and I, our 14th). In a few days, my parents will mark their 58th anniversary and my daughter Stephanie and her husband, Tristan, will be celebrating their 14th anniversary. Wha…?
Did that really just happen? Life, it speeds. No bumps can slow it down. You may quote me on that.
Let’s all try to smile for the picture
And we’ll hold it as long as we can
May it carry us through
Should we ever get lonely
‘Til the season comes ’round again
Indiana was filled with lightning bugs. And the cicada’s song, rock stars all, I tell you. And swooping bats (perhaps driven crazy by the loud singing?).
6.
The weather report:: The daily sun is hot in the bluest skies, but fading to gentle evenings, perfect temps and fire-y skies. Brilliant sunsets dazzle me. And remind me how quickly the days pass, making me a bit melancholy, too.
My mamala
But sunrises fill me with hope, every morning. There is an undeniable mercy in the gift of a new day. The early mornings have become downright cool now, requiring sleeves. The relentless sizzle of mid-summer when I left in late July is transitioning to something new, a season shift. It’s good, but it came so quickly. I am always tentative about change and concerning summer? I “never can say goodbye.”
7.
Summer songs. There is something about songs that remind you of summer, the ones you sang in younger days with the windows down after a DQ ice cream cone or a Dr. Pepper and McDonald’s fries.
“Summer Breeze,” Margaritaville” (a Moslander-reunion fav even though the bunch of us are tee-totalers); “Summer Loving” from “Grease,” “Indian Reservation” and “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” “Close to You” by the Carpenters! “Annie’s Song,” by the incredible Mr. John Denver and “Kung Foo Fighting,” because I had brothers. A weird mix, to be sure, but some of these just showed up during the summers of our youth and never leave our hearts. It is always about the song to me. Always.
Hope your summer is sweet.
As the blog header says, “Summer should get a speeding ticket.” It’s like getting bangs. You can work for-ever trying to grow long hair, but the minute you get bangs, they just grow right on out in like, a week!
Summer is like the bangs of a hairdo. We wait for a looooong time for it to arrive and then, BAM! Over.
This is from an email I sent them in 2012. Tara, Stephanie, Tredessa, Rocky & Stormie…
May you each {within your own homes and families, now} live full and exciting lives, marked by sheer delight and pure joy, along with the surging Holy-Spirit-strength that comes from that! And I pray you will have many good conversations with the people who matter the most and will enjoy experiences and memories that warm your heart at the end of each day along the way.
I pray that you will be blessed with work, the life-giving kind of service and labor that comes from knowing you are doing the good things God actually created you to do way before anyone else even knew there would be a you (see Ephesians 2.10). I speak grace to you, over your lives. I shake heaven’s gates praying you will have the grace to be everything God created you to be and the grace to accomplish everything He created you to accomplish!
I pray you will press in to know the One who loves you most (Hosea 6.3), and that you will zealously, and with consecrated energy, live for the praise of His glory! I urge you to break off the chains of the quotidian existence sometimes imposed by the times and our culture in its’ pursuit of amassing things, gaining impressive status or careers with fancy titles. And I pray and declare that you’ll live, really live, in the hope for which God has called you.
Make every effort to enter into the rest of God (Hebrews 4.11), my sweets. Jesus paid it all, so don’t bother trying to earn your place in Him. He has got you covered.
Righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Ghost – that is Kingdom of God, the doors-wide-open welcoming House of the Lord. This is where we live, in the Household of Faith. There is bread in His house, you’ll never lack for His provision. Come, eat, my beloved children. Don’t go hungry when the feast has been spread.
I pray you’ll sleep sweetly through all your nights (Proverbs 3.24) under the moon and stars hung by your loving Father, having lived your days without regret and shame. And I pray you’ll drop into bed in sheer exhaustion, but that it will always be that “good kind of tired.”
I never even hoped to dream I’d have children like you. You were made for me. And I was made for you. I love you all very much and am wholly honored that God chose me to be your mom. And I am, you know…And I pray for you!
These are not just a random selection of nice thoughts for these who came from me. They are actually dedicated, targeted prayers for wholeness (and healing, too as it is needed) for a few of my weak areas – places where I may have (probably) failed them. Thank God He can redeem and restore and His grace is greater!
I was having this Technicolor dream the other morning – vivid, rich hues (slightly cross-processed) and warm, strong light. The greens were deep, the reds were pure, the grass was soft. The world was right.
*”There’s a light in the window and the table’s set in splendor, some one’s standing by the open door…” – Dottie Rambo
In the dream, to my left was a big white house with a wraparound porch. The driveway and street were lined with cars, trunks open, families packing up to leave what had been a loving and happy gathering. All around were my kids and their families. There was much hugging and kissing, so much peace and satisfaction and love flowing like wild water down the mountain in spring. It was going to splash you, love was!
I was on the front sidewalk playing with Kai, talking to him, singing him songs. Then I actually heard the sound of Rambo’s music coming from the direction of the house, like I would have heard it from the hi-fi growing up:
*”I can see the family gathered, sweet faces all familiar…”
I asked Malakai, in my dream, “Kai-Kai, wanna dance with me? Let’s dance!” He was wearing a little light-blue suit with a bow tie, barefoot. He wrapped his arms around my neck (he’s only 1 1/2), me on my knees, and I held him tight and we were swaying, laughing.
It was one of those utterly perfect moments.
Inexplicably, in my dream, in this happy, joyous, loving, golden-light space, I looked up while Kai and I were dancing and there was my {Uncle Bill}, smiling at us from across the sidewalk. At the exact moment, I realized my {Aunt Rosie} was on the front porch talking away, hugging people good-bye, passing out travel sandwiches. And then I realized, it wasn’t just Dave and I and our children and theirs, but my parents were there, too and my siblings and nieces and nephews and people I’ve known across the years and loved.
I should mention, specifically, that both my Aunt Rosie (my dad’s older sister) and my Uncle Bill (married to my dad’s younger sister) passed away years ago. So having them so sharply present was this really sweet and surreal moment.
The Rambo’s song was still playing in my ears as I woke up:
*”I can see the crystal river, I must be near forever…”
I must have been near forever, and it was perfect there, in this dream.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I am not sure what makes us dream the dreams we do,sometimes; not sure what brings a person or place or thing into such expressive clarity as we sleep. Mulling it over later, I realized it may well have been the result of both missing Kai (he has had a busy summer) and my brother Joe mentioning getting us all together for Thanksgiving this year, a feat of gargantuan proportions, if it could ever, even happen.
But I am also working on the chronicles, the photo books and journals of our family’s lives. I have 33 years worth of pictures and keepsakes I am determined to date and organize. I am in a groove, currently. I pull out a photo box with one child’s name on it and sort them into the years of their living. Then I paste them on to pages with notes about the occasion and in an hour or two, I hold the evidence of one child or another of mine from birth to adulthood and it flies by so fast, my head spins. And yes, I cry sometimes, thinking, “Oh I wish I could have known how fast those fleeting days were going and slowed time down and held that little baby a little longer, cuddled that growing child, kissed those feet, tucked my daughters and son in to bed once more…”
I was a church-busy mommy in the 80s and 90s. And I can tell you that almost nothing else I ever did when my children were young has any meaning, comparatively. I hope that serves as caution to some one who is reading, to some one with babies who are wearing you out. They ARE the Important thing right now (I capitalized Important on purpose). Thirty years later, those grown children are all that matters. And you just hope you instilled what you really meant to instill somehow…
Geez, I didn’t know this was going to be so heavy. Sorry.
Today my parents are celebrating 57 years of marriage. They married at the age of 18 in 1957 and they have made it 57 years. And I can tell you that nothing is as important to them as family, either. They have invested so much of themselves in to churches and people and yet, I know I have a place reserved for me in their hearts. I know my well-being and life take precedence over the busyness of years gone by, God now restoring the years we may have lost along the way.
I am so blessed that I still have both of parents here. I mean, I am going to be 55 soon – and I still have mom and dad. How fortunate is that???
So, this song, The Living Years by Mike and the Mechanics, is the one I wanted to share on this beautiful Sunday. Because life gets busy. Life goes fast. I know when you’re young, you think there is so much more left ahead, and there is, but time doesn’t just fly these days. Time careens at breakneck speed, faster and faster and out of sight before you can get your bearings.
So, I look around and these are my living years. And they’re yours. And I have things to share and tell the people I love. I have conversations I don’t want to let slip by. I want my people to know I love them, even if and especially when we are not seeing eye to eye.
I want to spend my vitality on my children and theirs (thanks to Staci Eldredge for that terminology) and the people God has placed in my path ~ friends who have become family. I want to love and honor my parents for all I am worth because my perspective has been enlarged and as time slips away, so, too, do the demands I once wanted to impose relationally in my more self-absorbed youth.
The Living Years
Say it loud, say it clear You can listen as well as you hear It’s too late when we die To admit we don’t see eye to eye
When else can we do these things? We can only do them now, in the days we have.
“How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.” James 4.14 nlt
“…people are like the grass. Their beauty fades as quickly as the flowers in a field. The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever.” Isaiah 40.6-8 nlt
*Dottie Rambo song lyrics, I’ve Never Been this Homesick Before
Everybody is so busy. I actually do KNOW every one of these {extremely cool} people, I do. But wowzers – getting together these fast-paced fall days is missing from my life. :(
Tredessa is 31+ weeks in her pregnancy.
I just got to attend Birth Classes with Ryan and Dessa over the weekend. Babying is so much fun. I wish I weren’t too old to have another one (yes, shhhhh, I did say it, but don’t tell anyone). Haha. Baby shower preparations are underway as we all get ready for the arrival of Evangeline Lilly, “Eva.”
~~~~~~~
Tristan recently released 2 drumming videos. He is so talented. I love the drumming AND the video editing. He did these in Stormie’s basement, also cool.
This one will put this song in your head. Fair warning!
Steph {www.maydae.com} has been featured on the Etsy home page and in some Etsy treasuries recently.
Steph has an eye for vintage and unique with an expertise in thrifting. Everybody wants her secrets, which she shares at her blog. Oh, and she just went over 400 sales in her Etsy shop!
~~~~~~~
Emilee {my very great-niece} was on Channel 9 News from Estes Park. She shows up at about 1:07 in the video. I could not quit thinking of the old Mary Tyler Moore theme from her 70s TV show, “Who can turn the world on with her smile? Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile? Well it’s you girl and you should know it…” That so fits Em!
PLAY HERE (I just realized she is on their still shot, too!)
~~~~~~~
Rocky and Jovan are just getting back into their home, even though the repairs continue and the basement is now an empty shell. There will be a benefit/worship night for them in early November. Every single person I know should be there! SAVE THE DATE: November 8!
~~~~~~~
CallBack Theater is doing another Christmas production. Dave has been putting the finishing touches on the script and I know I’ll be hearing carols soon, as he begins gathering props and making plans.
~~~~~~~
The Powers fam left for Ireland today. Ireland!
I cannot wait to hear Hunter’s Irish accent when he returns, as he always enjoys trying on dialects. Won’t my little O’Hunter and O’Malakai be the cutest kids there? They are there for {THIS}.
Stephanie took this picture in Kai’s bedroom recently. It captures reality! Beautiful reality! Life on the floor with toys and two boys!
~~~~~~~
I get to meet Baby Blake when Stormie and I fly to Chicago to meet up with Elise-the-Niece in a few weeks, then go to see the parentals.
Is he not just the handsomest little guy ever?
~~~~~~~
And? It is flipping cold here – what is up with that???
Amelie and her baby “Emily” in Estes Park, Memorial Day Weekend
True story: So, two little girls run in to see their Nonni~
A beautiful morning in May, two little darlings come bounding through the house and into the kitchen, breathless with excitement.
“I have something for you, Nonna. I have money for you,” the big sister tells me.
“What? You have money for me? What’s this?” I ask them with complete surprise and total awe at their cuteness.
“I have money for you, too,” the little one exclaims.
The first 5 grandbebes on the patio at a family celebration, mid-May
They both open their bags and pull out tiny coin purses, whereupon the older sister beamingly presents me with 10 pennies, lined up one by one, and tiny girl carefully adds her 4 pennies, as well.
“This money is for you, Nonna!”
They repack their bags and set off on their merry way. They are so generous, so loving, so sweet. And I am rich! The interest is compounding daily. I am loaded with benefits and treasure. I have 8 grandbebes and I am made of this stuff. :)
I love May.
Every May without fail, Tara has a birthday, Stephanie has a birthday and Gemma May does, too. The grandbebes have lots of cute school programs, there is Mother’s Day and usually some one is pregnant (this year that is Tredessa). The final frost date finally arrives in May and you can go into a gardening frenzy. The skies seem unusually blue this fifth month of each year and of course the green is that intoxicating shade of “spring” as new leaves unfurl and floofy, wildly-hued prom dresses get packed away while flowers in every dazzling color from here to heaven and back take their places and begin to bud and blossom with abandon.
May is sunny. May is new leaves fluttering in gentle breezes, really enthusiastic rains washing away the meandering Colorado winters, rainbows, crazy-gorgeous clouds quickly moving by, colorful sunsets that rival Maui and the beginning of lemonade season.
Cornhole! Happy Birthday, Tara! Amelie loves it!
May is a soft shade of yellow and a bright-sky blue. It is lush, sky-watered grass and all the windows and doors flung wide. It is kids counting the days until school is out and then wanting to go back to play in the school yard when it is out. No rules! It’s hearing the neighbors you didn’t hear all winter and graduations and weddings and baseball in full swing.
May is for expressing possibilities {I just may do that} and relishing long days that you thought had actually been swallowed up by long nights. But here they are again, May days.
I was strolling through the park one day
In the merry-merry month of May
I was taken by surpise by a pair of roguish eyes
In that moment my heart was stolen away
Warning {roguish eye picture ahead}
The black eye is pretty much gone now. I have lots more wrinkles there from all the swelling. I hope they will go away. Seriously. But I shall always remember I had my first (hopefully last) real shiner in May 2013.
Cousins.
Oh, May, how I hate to see you go. Thank-you for the the green, the new life, the sunshine, the rain, the hope, the promise and the lovely month, year after year. Good-bye, merry-merry month of May.
I love you all the way to a million and back, Averikins!
Yet another pre-schooler will “graduate” to Kindergarten this year. *sniff Averi will be going to big-kid school in the fall.
I have been the most blessed Nonna ever because, so far, I have gotten to pre-school the first five of the 8 grandbebes. First Gavin, then Hunter, then Guini, then, can you believe it, Gemma and this year: Averi-J. Omygoodness, I am a lucky-lucky-lucky girl! I imagine I will start with Amelie after Christmas, so I’ll get a school year and a half with her!. :)
Averi and I loved that there was snow on the ground Wednesday morning, but on Thursday morning we got to go outside barefooted (as it should be!). To count cards. Because that is school. Yes it is.
Look who we ran into at IKEA the other day:
We “schooled” a little there, too, because Averi followed the map with her pencil and matched words to signage. Education!
Happy Birthday to my dad – a strong warrior in spiritual things, a courageous man, resolved to overthrow the enemy’s strongholds. His love is deep and active, growing and cascading over crevices and stony barriers meant to keep it bound, ah, but they are no match. I love him more as time goes by, and my gratefulness for who he is increases with the years.
I love that at 74, he still grasps for understanding and wisdom, he continues to reach out to the God who saved him, to the God he is only even now learning to embrace as the Father, his Father. And that everything he discovers is a new gift for me. And will be for my children and theirs.
In October, when he called us kids home to hear his heart
My dad is not content to look back over the successes of his life (he has without doubt gone from glory to glory) and rehearse them as echoes of what once was. He, this very day, is seeking to do the will of God, is actively living for Jesus. In this way, I come from such rich, rich heritage.
I learn from him. I learn from him. His example to stand upright no matter what battle rages, for the right, is ever and always going to be my paradigm for life. Because whatever you must venture into, with unceasing tenacity, you must endure and remain standing with a steadfast heart. Wholeheartedness is the measure.
I love you, Papasan. I bless your birth and all the days you have lived. I bless the God of the universe finding you on a Missouri farm and capturing your heart. I bless the mistakes you made and the pain you hid and the amazing things you accomplished in work and life and ministry against all odds for a boy whose father was killed before he was even born. I bless you for choosing the right woman with which to make a life and for continuing to do and be all God has called you to do and to be.
I was moved this morning to pray for you with this scripture passage, Psalm 92.10-15 because it has your name all over it – a righteous man with a wild-ox anointing. The years cannot harness a person under the flow of the fresh oil. He’ll be like a young, strong ox that has never been yoked or broken or told he can’t. That is my daddy – strong as the day is long, anointed with fresh oil – verdant and green, a living memorial to the faithfulness of God. It’s true, dad!
But my horn (emblem of excessive strength and stately grace) You have exalted like that of a wild ox; I am anointed with fresh oil. My eye looks upon those who lie in wait for me; my ears hear the evildoers that rise up against me. The [uncompromisingly] righteous shall flourish like the palm tree[be long-lived, stately, upright, useful, and fruitful]; they shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon [majestic, stable, durable, and incorruptible]. Planted in the house of the Lord, they shall flourish in the courts of our God. [Growing in grace] they shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be full of sap [of spiritual vitality] and [rich in the] verdure [of trust, love, and contentment]. [They are living memorials] to show that the Lord is upright and faithful to His promises; He is my Rock, and there is no unrighteousness in Him.
I love you dad, and guess what? Almost everyday since you told me to in October, I have remembered to say:
I receive my father’s blessing on me today.
And I am cognizant of the powerful, rich and freely flowing blessing you are pouring out to heaven for each of us kids daily and I receive it, dad with gratefulness and so much love. And dad? I bless you back. Happy Birthday to my hero.
Strength, courage, resolve. That is what I see in his eyes. I love this man.
PLAY HERE (I just realized she is on their still shot, too!)
