The Promise

One piece of my heart was ripped away yesterday as Matthias and Karissa left , and another piece gets ripped off in a few hours as Anders flies away home. I hate goodbyes. I hate that my loved ones are scattered like stars across the universe. I just want them all near. It is one of my deepest desires, but one I can never have, except for brief interludes. Not until we gather in Heaven.

I know how the day will go. I will drop Anders at the airport and then weep violently as I drive home. Then I will walk in the house that instead of looking decorated, just looks dirty, remarkably cluttered and empty simultaneously. And I will put away Christmas, struggling not to keep crying.

Arvo, Asherel, and I went on a walk after Matt and Karissa left. Anders was resting and didn't want to go. When we returned and stepped onto the porch, we heard music. Glorious, beautiful, piano as only someone who understands and loves music from the depth of his soul can play it. We all stopped and listened.  It was a Chopin medley, and I recognized strains of the song, "I'm always Chasing Rainbows." We were afraid if we opened the door, it would stop.

"We can't just stand here in the cold," whispered Asherel.

Much as we hated to, we opened the door. We all crept in without speaking, and the music went on. I sat nearby, hoping he wouldn't notice we had arrived and that blessing, that gift from a creative God to a creative, but very private young man would continue. Anders played the piano, while the Christmas tree sparkled behind him. I don't know if he was purposefully offering a gift to me, but nonetheless it was a gift as he played for several minutes. I have missed the sound of the piano in our home. I would have stood in the cold a long time, had it been only me, so that the music wouldn't stop.

Jesus tells his grieving apostles that there will come a time when they will no longer see Him. They will be scattered, and for a time, feel utterly abandoned. They will also be abandoning Jesus to His fate, the crucifixion, which He must endure alone. But He reminds them that He is not alone, for His father is with Him, just as He is ultimately with all of us. Jesus reminds the broken hearted to take heart- in the end when we open the door, the music doesn't stop. That is when it begins.

John 16: 31-33
  ³¹ “Do you now believe?” Jesus replied. ³² “A time is coming and in fact has come when you will be scattered, each to your own home. You will leave me all alone. Yet I am not alone, for my Father is with me.
   ³³ “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Nature that Bites

As  I pictured the monster with rows of razor teeth opening that large mouth beneath my floating death trap, I was glad that I had done one smart thing before taking off all alone on the deserted lake in my kayak. I had texted my husband to let him know where I was. The fact that Arvo never notices when he receives texts may have in the end led to my body not being found for days.

Asherel was off for the day with her friends so even she didn't know where I had headed. It was her birthday and friends were taking her to a day of fun at the White Water center. I had many errands to do in prep for the trip out to help sister Amy and then my son's upcoming wedding, but I thought I could squeeze in an hour at Lake Wylie. I brought a change of clothes so I could do the errands on the drive home.

I would smell faintly of fish and damp lake water hair, but it was a rare opportunity to be all alone doing something I love even more than raspberry cheesecake. Asherel's gifts were wrapped and waiting for her return, the birthday banner hung.... I drove with a goofy smile on my face to Lake Wylie, inflatable kayak bouncing in the back seat.

Mid week, Lake Wylie is deserted. I was the only boat on the lake. As I glided along, the only sounds were of ducks and geese and herons chanting with the rhythmic slapping of the water against the shore. I slipped into one cove and a huge flock of ducks rose into the air. I had never seen so many ducks! A heron circled above me, following me for several minutes. I was glad I was wearing my sun hat, as herons are large birds and I feared he was working on target practice.

I stayed close to shore, since it is near shore where most of the wildlife lingers. As I was cruising by a small island called Copperhead Island, I saw a head pop out of the water, a few feet from my boat. It was copper colored, with diamonds down the long back which I now saw trailed a good few feet behind the triangular, fang imbedded head. I paddled quickly a little further off shore and the snake slithered in between some shore line boulders. While still shuddering from that encounter with nature, I saw a floating log, about 3 feet long near my boat. I continued to look at it, thinking how much I love the peace and beauty of nature, when the log submerged. And did not re-emerge.  I don't know if it was an alligator, but all alone on the lake in my inflatable tooth poppable boat, I paddled like a lawn ornament in a hurricane out of the vicinity.  And I ammended my assessment of the nature that I love.... I love nature that doesn't bite.

As my pulse returned to normal, I paddled near some enormous lake mansions and thought of the latest news from dear sister Amy. After battling pancreatitis, a treatment of weeks of ice chips with only a brief interlude of a break form the hospital, she had received finally a possible cause for all this woe. The doctor suspects that the meds she is on for other issues may have precipitated the whole thing. The meds have been changed, and we are all hopeful that this very hard chapter in her life is coming to a conclusion. She had her first meal of solid food in almost 2 weeks, a feast, and her pancreas did not roll over in agony. If all continues this way, she will be discharged today, and will return for a CT scan in 8 days. At that point, if the pancreas cyst has not resolved, they will decide to drain, operate, or just leave it if it is still subsiding.

I reached my docking point with no further frightening encounters with carnivores, and drove on to my errands.

Later that day, there was a knock on the door. A neighbor stood there with a wrapped gift in his hand.
"This is from Comer," Ken said.
I looked at the gift. How had Comer, the 93 year old man with his feeble eyes, and cane, living in an assisted living center managed to get Asherel a gift, and how had he known it was her birthday?
"I took him to lunch today," said Ken, "And he wanted me to take him shopping. He said that when you and Asherel took him and Evelyn out yesterday, he remembered you mentioning it was her birthday today. He told me he would like very much if I would take him to a store where he could pick out a gift for her."
Comer can walk about a hundred feet, slowly, before he is worn out. I am sure the lunch out with Ken had done him in physically. With all the woes and worries of his life now with his wife with Alzheimers and his own failing body.....he had remembered how much a child delights in a birthday gift, and taken the painfully slow labored steps to secure one......

There are alligators that bite, and snakes that eject poison from fangs.... and that part of life seems cruel and jarring in the placid beauty of a quiet lake. But then, in counterpoint, there are herons that accompany solitary kayakers, doctors that cleverly find hope in hopeless places, and old men that remember what it is to be young and to yearn for what is yet to be. You just never know where joy may spring from, and for that reason, God compels us to not lose hope.

Job 6:11
 ¹¹ “What strength do I have, that I should still hope?
   What prospects, that I should be patient?

Job 13:15

 Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him;

Tottering for His Glory

Asherel good naturedly took the long silky gown into the dressing room.  The girl I have to pry old tshirts and jeans from would do even this for her beloved future sister in law- submit to a dress fitting. And as she is a bridesmaid, not just any old dress but a long, fancy dress.And as is the case for all bridesmaids, not even a dress of her own choosing (which would have been no dress at all) but a dress chosen for her. And purple too. Still she entered the dressing room smiling.

As the bridal consultant pinned Asherel into the dress, she even managed to smile for the picture I took.

"The bride says we need silver shoes," I said, "But Asherel doesn't want heels at all. She has never worn heels. She doesn't want to totter down the aisle. Any suggestions?"
"Can't I just wear purple converse sneakers?" whispered Asherel, "They even make them in silver......"

I laughed. That morning I had drawn a picture in anticipation of the afternoon fitting. The picture is the one on this post. Do I know my daughter well, or what?

The consultant brought out several pairs with small heels. Asherel scrunched them on her bruised and battered feet which despite my constant urgings, are always running barefoot on concrete. She walked a few steps.
"Will those be ok?" I asked.
"If I have to," she smiled weakly.
Then the consultant appeared with some flat silver thong sandals.
"She could wear these to a formal wedding?!" I asked, hope percolating in Asherel's eyes.
"No one sees the shoes anyway," said the consultant, "I have had brides wear these."
"Well, I better run it by the bride before we get these," I said.
"And these pretty bangles on the shoes could be picked up by the jewelry she wears," offered the consultant.

Asherel's eyes popped open, in horror, and she mouthed silently to me, "Jewelry! I have to wear jewelry?!"

Meanwhile, we had gone to the shop for fitting, but intended to order on line. Out of guilt for taking the consultant's time, I fingered through the mother of the groom dresses. I already had found a tea length gown that fit and had been approved by my sister Holly  who won't let me get away with any faux pas if it can be helped. She is not always successful, mostly because I don't confer with her on everything. Holly liked the dress but expressed concern about the tea length. The bride had told me if it was a fancy tea length it would be fine. And now as I mentioned to the consultant that I had a tea length gown I liked, she scrunched up her face.
"For a formal wedding?" she asked.
I nodded.
She looked at me with a pregnant silence.
"Not formal enough?" I asked.
"You're funny," she said, as though I were joking.

So she pulled out a half dozen gowns.
"Try these," she insisted.
They were covered with frufru.
"I don't like this neckline....or these ruffles, or this flower shoulder.... no! No one shoulder- too risque. No, that is too fluffy...." etc etc etc.
Asherel watched me. It suddenly occurred to me that my next question was going to be if I could wear my running shoes with it since no one would see the shoes anyway......

And as I thanked the consultant and prepared to leave, she pulled out a simple and elegant, rather Grecian looking gown.
"Try this," she said.
With a sigh, and an apologetic look at Asherel who was in on the ruse that we had to appear interested so the store would fit us without being angry at us, I went into the dressing room to try on the dress. And this is the part that stinks.... I fell in love with the dress. I sent a picture to the bride and she loved it too. Even my husband loved it. So I may have to get it.

Today is the birthday of our old friend in the Alzhiemers unit. It is a wild, racing day jampacked with activities, not the least of which is ordering the gown(s).  I had made banana bread to bring to Evelyn. What do you give someone who is losing touch moment by moment with the world around her? She loves sweets. You fill her sweet mouth with sugar and hope that it conveys the sweetness of God's love prompting the souls He has placed in her presence. And I thought of the dichotomy of the luxurious and lovely gown that my tshirt/jeans loving girl was willing to wear as a gift to the future sister she loves so well, and the humble offering of banana bread to our old friend for her birthday. 

My Bible reading this morning was from 1 Corinthians 10:
...whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.

Whatever we do.... tottering on heels, submitting to photos with a smile on our face, or holding a wrinkled hand and singing Happy Birthday, and all the residents within earshot think it is possible you are singing to them. Such a simple credo to live by. Oh how I pray I could carry that verse in my heart always, and live it fully.


1 Corinthians 10: 31-33
 ³¹ So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. ³² Do not cause anyone to stumble, whether Jews, Greeks or the church of God— ³³ even as I try to please everyone in every way. For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so that they may be saved.

A Wet Christmas

We don't have a white Christmas.... we have a wet Christmas. The rain is dancing like sugarplum elephants on our tin roof to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" (my least favorite Christmas song.)
Lucky, who fears something we don't understand about being indoors in the rain, is standing in the frigid, wet cold, occassionally looking soddenly in, as though it is our fault his brain disappears on rainy days.

Maybe the rain and the frozen wet dog too traumatized for unknown reasons to come inside to dry warmth and comfort is the perfect Christmas symbol for the morning. Inside the tree is lit up with the lovely crystal decorations my mom gave me. The smell of coffee brewing drifts about, with tendrils of steam rising from my cup. Presents are beautifully wrapped and cheerfully arranged around the tree..... on one end of our great room.

On the other end, the sliding doors look out onto a drenched porch, shiny with rain in the slowly emerging break of dismal day. Lucky stands there looking in, his hair dripping in long wet strands about his silent, woebegone face. If I go and open the door, he comes in, and then instantly dashes back out the dog door. He has the choice to come in and join Christmas, but he doesn't. He stands frozen and miserable in the rain, locked in his fears and prejudice from joining the celebration.

I believe that is what entrance to the kingdom of God is like, symbolized by the gift of Christmas, the birth of a savior. We can all choose. Some will stand outside looking in, miserable and lost in trembling uncertainty. Some will be opening gifts eternally surrounded by warmth and love and light. A loving master opens the door over and over again, and out of fear and doubt, some choose to keep running from the source of all joy. My Christmas prayer and hope is that when the door opens, we can cast all apprehensions aside, and rush to the gift that awaits us, blinking in the blinding love. Merry Christmas.