Here Comes the Sun

Asherel also said, "No one is going to know you know how to draw."
"What's wrong with this?" I asked, showing her the iPod picture, "Don't you think it looks just like me?"
She just gazed silently at me.
"Well, you can't imagine how difficult it is to draw a new picture every single day," I complained.
"If you want followers, you are going to need to draw better pictures."
"This is abstract art. Besides, I am getting bored with realism."
She again looked askance at me, as though my every word were not dripping with wisdom.
"You need to talk about something new on your blog, and you need to draw better pictures or you will lose followers."

We had returned from a bikeride to CD warehouse to scout for CDs from the 40s and 50s. We intend to fill our car with music when we pick up Comer and Evelyn from the Alzheimer unit for our Thursday outing. We had found two compilation CDs of music from that era and I was excited to see if Evelyn would know the words to all those songs. While choosing the music, a salesman came over and asked if there was anything else we might like.
Asherel is always on the prowl for the Beatle movies. She has two, and wants to collect all 5 of the movies they had made. I asked the man if they had any.
"Doubtful," he told us, but led us over to where we might find them. As we stood there gazing at the rows of CDs of which not a one was a Beatles movie, he proceeded to talk about the Beatles. He looked at me as though I might know what he was talking about, the little known tidbits of knowledge.
I pointed to Asherel, "She's the one you need to talk to. She knows everything there is to know about the Beatles." (She is hoping to graduate first in her class in Beatle Studies.)
He then proceeded to try to prove me wrong. He certainly did know a lot about the Beatles, but Asherel claims she knew every thing he mentioned.
"They were my parents' era....like yours," he said, then quickly added, "Though my parents are older than you."
"Probably," I answered.
"They were born in '53," he said, "And so they grew up on the Beatles. That was what they played when I was young, so you know how in those teenage formative years, that music stays with you."
"Yes, I was just a very little girl then," I said, since I believe "very little girl" is until the age of about 25.
Then he started branching out into discussing music from every decade, and why it was so good.  I listened to very little music, outside of the old musicals, so I was mostly lost, but nodded and said "Uhhuh" at the appropriate spots.
When we left, Asherel told me she loved talking with people about that stuff. She added that I looked a little confused as he was discussing music of each decade. Nothing gets by that girl.
"I was confused," I told her, "I mean, I had heard of all the groups he talked about, but I probably couldn't name a single song of any of them. I was too busy bike riding, and finding stray animals, and working on the farm down the street. I didn't listen to music, and I never wanted to do what everyone else was doing."
I guess I am at heart, cantankerous.
"That's the good thing about being homeschooled," she said as we biked home, "I don't have to like what everyone else likes....and I don't worry about it."
I smiled. That is one of the benefits, relieving the horrible burden of peer pressure.
"But if I ever go to public school, I will be light to the world."
At least that is what I thought she said, with the wind blowing across my ear drum. For the few seconds before I clarified that statement, I thought all my struggles, my trials as a mother, as a teacher, as an example were coming to fruition. I had a child who wanted to be "light to the world." Harps began sounding in the background, and a heavenly choir began singing, "Hallelujah!"
"Asherel, that is wonderful!"
 She looked confused.
"Mom," she asked finally, "Why do you think it is wonderful that I want to Beatle-ize the world?"
"I thought you said 'Be Light to the world'."
"No. Beatle-ize the world."

I had been on one other adventure that day. Since Asherel had the day off for Spring Break, I went to hunt for sandals that would not blister my feet. I tried several stores and held my sore feet up to salesman after salesman.
"Can you help these?" I asked. None could. They tried, but all said a narrow footed, high arched, overpronated, swollen pinky toed individual such a me was a very hard customer to please. And then I went into the expensive store, the one I don't go in unless driven to the heights of despair, or lured by a "SALE!" sign. The big letters S-A-L-E called to me from 10 miles away. As I walked in, I saw row after row of high end sandals half price. I saw one that I loved, with a molded high arch, soft leather straps, and beautiful. No  way it would fit...or be in my price range. I flipped it over. It was half off. I could afford it. He brought me the shoe and I walked around. It felt like walking on pillows.
"I"ll take it!" I gushed.
Then as I was the only one in the tiny store, I asked him how he had been.
"I thought you were closing shop, going out of business. I was surprised to see you open again."
"Well, I have had to get really lean," he said, which may have explained all those half price sandals at the height of the summer sandal buying season.
"I have been dealing with my mom. She has alzheimers." His face was lined, weary, sad.
I put the shoes in the box and looked at him, "That's hard. I have a friend with Alzheimers. We have discovered that she feels much better, more normal when we play music from her era for her. She knows all the words. Have you tried that? Sometimes those old memories from music of their childhood helps."
I found out that his mom was in a home 2 hours away. He faithfully visits once a week.
"Alot of people ask me why I bother. She doesn't know me, and they tell me she doesn't care if I am there or not."
"Oh, she cares," I said, "She may not know you as her son, but she knows you as someone who is kind and is lifting the drabness of her day, doesn't she?"
He nodded.
"You know, the hardest part is my dad just died of Alzheimers 5 years ago, and then Mom was diagnosed."
He shook his head.
"That's just not fair," I said.
"No, it isn't fair."
As I paid for the shoes, I told him, "You are doing the right thing. You will never look back with regrets."
"That is exactly it," he said, "I wouldn't want to look back when she passes and feel I had neglected her."

I had suggested music to the man with a dying mother. I had bought some shoes that might help him keep his shop open. I smiled as I thought of Asherel's statement. It wasn't much, but I was Beatle-izing the world as best I could.

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter,
Little darling, it seems like years since its been here.
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun
And I say, it's all right..........

Psalm 23: 3-5
⁴ Even though I walk
   through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
   for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
   they comfort me.

Worldly Riches

"You always draw trees," said Asherel, "It's getting boring."
"But I love trees."

"And you always write about the same things- the Science olympiad helicopters, or trebuchets....or Comer and Evelyn and Alzheimer's, or dog agility. You should write about something new."
"But I have to write about what I know. This blog is about seeing God in my life, in the common things around me. Maybe my life is boring."
"Maybe you should just blog once a week. Then you will have people anticipating when the next one will come out."
"But I have a duty to my readers. They expect me to brighten their morning. I can't let them down. Besides, yesterday I drew a Guinea Hen."
"Yes that was good."

So I sat at the computer this morning thinking what do I have to write about that is new, even if I drew trees again. Well, I got new blisters on my feet. I have been taking long walks in all my shoes in preparation for our upcoming trip to NY and Boston to visit my parents and my first born son. All of them hurt my feet.
When I showed the shoe saleslady my blisters, she said, "My, you must have sensitive feet! Have you tried these?"
She brought out ugly shoes. They looked very supportive.

When I was young, I told my mom I had ankles that "fell into the ground." I didn't realize it then, but I was correctly diagnosing overpronation. Later xrays further revealed that I am missing a bone in my foot. I have looked every where for it, and cannot find it. It must still be in Mom's uterus. Anyway, as a result, Mom got me "saddle shoes" as a child. I think they are considered somewhat "nuveau geek hip" now, but back then, they were just geek and geek was not cool. They were those sturdy black and white lace up numbers that orthopedic clients or sometimes nurses wore. I think that experience marred me for life. It is not Mom's fault. She was doing what every good parent tries to do- make kids grow up intact. 

But as a result, I am always on a quest for the perfect shoe. The shoe that is beautiful and doesn't hurt my feet. I have thus far failed in this quest.  But what is stranger than this obsession in an otherwise fairly non-materialistic individual is that my grandmother shared this trait.  She had a thing about shoes....and bread. She loved both with a passion. And I seem to have inherited the shoe bread gene. My gene also mutated and I have an extra chromosome for haircuts as well. After God, and family, the things I love most are perfect haircuts, shoes, and yummy fresh bread.

"Mom....you have written about shoes before too."
"I have?"
"Yes....and haircuts. Do we really need to go into all this again?"
"Well if it is on my heart, then God must be sending me a message."
"Which is....?"
"Hmmm. Well, it did flit through my head last night that perhaps my heart is not being stayed on things from above, like it is supposed to be. Like, perhaps all my shoes blister my feet because in the grand scheme of things, nothing of this world ever will fit perfectly. It isn't even supposed to."

Yesterday, I heard someone on the radio attribute to some great philosopher,(can't recall who), that we are not to be of the world, just in the world.
"That wasn't some great philosopher!" I screamed at the radio, "That is in the Bible!"
It is a message that is very hard to live out in reality. Being immersed in the world, surrounded by people with shoes that are beautiful and don't blister their feet, I long for beautiful shoes that don't blister my feet. But I think the message of the Bible falsely attributed to that unknown philosopher is: don't worry about my feet. It is my heart and soul that matters.

"I still think you ought to consider writing your blog just once a week."
"Maybe you are right. But kayak season starts any day now. I can add that to my list of things to write about."
"Mom, you wrote all last summer about kayaking."

Oh well. Redundancy is the curse of old age. I wonder if there will be shoes in heaven?
A couple days ago, a friend who is agnostic and I were discussing God. She started the discussion. I try never to start such conversations, but wait for God to open the door. Anyway, as we were parting, I said something like, "Well, we may never know til we get to heaven."
"Maybe this is heaven!" she said.
I looked down at my blistered feet and guilty shoes.
"I sure hope not," I said.

Luke 16:10-12

   ¹⁰ “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. ¹¹ So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches?

If the Shoe Fits......

Not only did it take us 3 months to find with much rending of garments and gnashing of teeth, but after wearing the lovely silver shoes once, she grew out of them. You all who follow my blog know who she is. She is the shopper from H-E- double toothpicks. She is the one who has a range of 1.003 colors she will agree to wear, and a list of the parameters of what she will refuse to consider that is even fatter than the Obama health care rules. After the equivalent of crossing the Sahara without water to find her the perfect shoe, which we did find, and she did wear....ONCE....she had the audacity to grow out of them.

"Do you want me to give these to Goodwill?" she asked.
Those shoes represented more than just shoes to me. They were as rare as diamonds, as long searched for as the origin of the universe.
"No, we can't just give them to Goodwill. It took us months to find them! They are the perfect shoe."
"Not if they don't fit."
"Are you sure you can't cram your feet in them?"
She glared at me.
"Well then how about this, we could cut out a hole for your little toe. You could cover it with duct tape...." I suggested.
She dangled them over the Goodwill Box.
:No! Let me think. They have to go to someplace special. Those aren't just shoes."
"What are they then, Mom?"
"They are victory."
Asherel creased her forehead and looked at me out of the corner of her eye.
"Fine, take Victory out of my room, please. Do whatever you like with them."

I held the precious, lovely silver shoes. I tried them on my own feet. Nope, too big. I panned my sisters' shoe sizes in my head. Wrong size on all of them. I put them on a shelf in my room. The box went to Goodwill without them. When Karissa, Matt's fiancee came to visit, I had her try them on.Too big.

Two weeks ago, dear neighbor Kristin emailed that she had visited Comer and Evelyn in the Alzheimer unit. She was horrified at how tight Evelyn's shoes were, how swollen her feet, how long her toe nails. She took Evelyn and Comer that very day for shoes, but it was an outing beyond sweet Evelyn's tolerance, and they ended up with shoes that ultimately fell off Evelyn's heels. When the daughter returned to town, she got a pair of different shoes. They didn't fit either. When I saw my old friends Thursday, I noticed her feet still swollen, still cramped in shoes too small.

I walked by the shelf with my silver shoes.
"Psssst," they said.
I paused.
"You who claim to hear God speaking all the time.... yeh, you....."
"Me?" I asked the shoes.
"How can you hear the voice of God and not hear the obvious voice of a shoe that has a destiny, a purpose that even the most inattentive blog reader figured out about 3 paragraphs before."
"You are pretty disrespectful for a shoe," I admonished.
"Call Comer, oh ye of thickened head. Ask him Evelyn's shoe size."
I obeyed the shoe.

Of course, they were the correct size.
"I'll drop them off," I told Comer, "But I can't stay. Since your daughter will be there today, can you have her try the shoes on Evelyn?"
I brought the silver shoes and gave them to Comer.
He held them in his hands like they were Cinderella's glass slippers.
"I feel quite certain these will be perfect." he said, "They are beautiful shoes."

I haven't heard if the shoes fit or not. I don't like my fairy tales ending unhappily so I don't really want to know if they don't fit. It makes a much better story if they do. Most of the time life doesn't work that way, however. Most of the time we are squeezing our souls into very uncomfortable situations that pinch, and blister, and hurt. Sometimes we have to bust out of the old, once comfortable places we had walked in, and chart new paths in shoes that have not been broken in yet. It seems that life is often one of discarding what we thought we loved, that fit us perfectly....but no longer does. There are thousands of examples, but the plight of our old friends in the Senior Home strikes me as one of the most poignant.

When Saul was first annointed King of Israel, Samuel who was God's messenger, told him that he would become a changed person with God's spirit upon him. Later, Saul was undone by his own foolish clinging to the things of his past, the prideful tendencies to ignore God's directives. While God Himself is unchanging, He seems to be perpetually shoving us into new shoes.

I am resting today in a vision of Evelyn sitting with a smile on her face, spreading out her toes in silver shoes that sparkle in that dreary place.

1 Samuel 10: 6-7
⁶ The Spirit of the LORD will come powerfully upon you, and you will prophesy with them; and you will be changed into a different person. ⁷ Once these signs are fulfilled, do whatever your hand finds to do, for God is with you.

A Sole for my aching Soul

Between the broken toe that still hasn't healed (5 months later!), the swollen painful red ant bites, and now the many blisters from trying a slew of shoes hoping to find some that don't hurt, I read the email from Holly that told she was the second sister in a month to be felled by a ruptured achilles tendon. Poor Amy has been in her achilles boot for weeks.  My sister Wendy has nursed a tender achilles ready to rupture for years, and I had a complete achilles tendon rupture 22 years ago myself. That means every single sister in my family has had a ruptured or near ruptured achilles tendon now. What a legacy to pass on to our female offspring!

I stared at the shoes sitting by the back door, the somewhat comfortable shoes that look like duck feet on. Would those make the appropriate fashion statement at Law School day? Maybe if I wore my belly pack with them..... The information sheet on Law School Day for Family and Friends said dress was casual. Can casual be slightly modified to "frumpy and ugly"? Will the son whose first few words to his now-fiancee were, "My mom wears a belly pack," be mortified if I show up in a skirt and Ugg fleece lined pillow boots for law school day?

The folks who have normal feet cannot begin to understand the toils and struggles of us people (we people?) with compromised walking apparatus. Why can't anyone make a shoe that supports the arch, lifts the heel to relieve achille stress, is soft enough to never cause blisters, and makes me look like a movie star? Fashion and comfort in one simple shoe? Is it really so hard? This is the country that can split an atom, take photographs of planets a million miles away, and we can't find a single shoemaker capable of creating a pretty and comfortable shoe.  Forget solving world hunger or curing cancer- I think we need to be directing our bestest and brightest into cobbler school.

I know shoes are important to God as well. He references them often. He is continually telling folks in the Bible to remove their shoes in His presence as they are standing on Holy Ground. But He also understands the importance of a well made shoe. When He sent the Israelites on their 40 year journey through the wilderness, He not only provided daily manna from heaven  for them to eat, a cloud by day to lead them, a fire by night to guide them.... but He gave them sturdy shoes. My quest for the perfect haircut may not be totally of God, but the perfect shoe..... maybe that is.
Deuteronomy 29:5
During the forty years that I led you through the desert, your clothes did not wear out, nor did the sandals on your feet.