July 7

Genesis 2:24 Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.



"...to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part..."

Celebrating a milestone for Virg & Grace

Torn

I think I know how Dad must have felt. Each car-driven mile signified the end of a family reunion visit. Every mile north closer to the reality that he must return to responsibility, to this life he'd carved out for himself, his wife, his children; seeking something more than those rocky, rugged mountains could offer. Yet torn. Aching inside knowing that part of him would always remain in those mountains. His roots. His history. His precious family. He must have always wondered when he might return... Under what circumstances? Crisis? Joy? Another reunion? With funeral clothes packed away in the suitcase?

I felt it, too. Every mile tearing at my heart as we drove further away from my loved ones, cherishing the newly-created memories in my mind, and holding tight to the old ones.

From under the red maple tree

I stormed out of the house, still full of people, well-aware that my angry outburst had made others uncomfortable. Why did I seem so edgy? Couldn't I just keep quiet and endure the irritations? It was family after all.
I moved quickly at first, down the two front steps, slowing my steps down the walk. Thankful for the light, misty rain that had begun--it seemed to soothe my weary soul-- I drew in a slow, deep breath, looking straight ahead, to gain some composure.
Something caught my eye to the left. Not something I soon realized, someONE. It was Dad, standing quietly under the branches of the red maple tree, waiting for me to notice him! He came toward me as I stepped off the walk into the grass.
"Dad!" I exclaimed in disbelief, "What are you doing here?!? I can't believe you are here!"
He was wearing his old red flannel shirt, grey pants and the black tie-up shoes that he never bothered to tie or untie as he stepped into them, usually sockless! It was so good to see him! His day-old whiskered face was full, his blues eyes clear, the look about him healthy and well.
"I'm so glad you are here! Dad, I miss you so much!!" I told him.
"I know you do," he spoke clearly with a strong voice, "I miss you, too. It's almost more than I can stand, I miss you so much."
"Can I hug you?" I asked him.
"Well, you can't get too close....listen to me, Kimby," he knew about me yelling in the house, I just knew it. I was disappointed with myself for letting him down. "You've got to be kind to people. This is not all there is." As I looked at him, I knew. He knew all that had happened to him, about his ordeal the past few years; he was somehow strangely and yet fully aware of his illness. The look in his eye said more to me than his words. It matters how we treat people, even those who cannot respond or even love us back. This is NOT all there is, it matters for a lifetime--and beyond. I got it, I understood.
Somehow I knew he would be leaving soon.
I wanted to hug him so badly. He maybe wasn't supposed to, but he did anyway. He reached for me with one strong arm to pull me close. It was wonderful. I lingered, knowing that soon others from the house would come searching for me, maybe even now watching from the window seeing me hug someone that only existed in my mind's eye. He only hugged me with one arm because in the other--why hadn't I noticed it before?--he was holding a half-eaten open-faced toasted tomato sandwich.
I laughed. "Dad, is this what you eat in heaven?"
He chuckled, too, "You should see it all, we can eat whatever we want."

This experience I had, whether dreamt or imagined, was so real to me. My husband gently woke me from my sobbing. Bittersweet. Sad because I miss him so; wonderful because he was healthy! And his message to me (was it truly from him?) so powerful, so true. I cannot see from this vantage point how it all these pieces fit together. But what is up to me is how I react, how I respond to what happens to me, and how I treat those around me with love and grace.

South visits North (April 2011)

Mother's Day Tribute

Sunday was Mother's Day and on the church platform, we represented three generations, my two girls, myself and my two "mothers" (Mom and Mom-in-law).

This is what I shared:

"I'm so thankful for a godly mother and mother-in-law. I appreciate many things about my mother. It hasn't been the easiest to have me for a daughter! She is probably THE most patient person I know!! I have come to that realization now that I have a teenage daughter of my own! She would send me out the house on school mornings with a hug and a prayer for me to "live in the sunshine of God's love." In fact, just this week, one of our children mentioned how Grammy prays for us all every day. "Be sweet, be kind, be loving"--my mother's mantra that I now hear echoing back in my own voice. In recent years, I have appreciated how my mom has been an unbelievable pillar of strength for me as we journey together through my dad's illness. I love you, Mom!

(Mom & me in 1977!!!)

As for my mother-in-law, she is much more to me than just the woman who gave life to my beloved: she is my friend. We probably get along better than any in-law realtionship ever should! One of the many things I appreciate about my mother-in-law is her joyful, adventurous spirit. Yesterday, for example, she and I played tennis at the park, just the two of us. She was whistling while she served the ball, even though I was beating her! Honestly, I can never remember her getting angry. I don't think she has ever said an unkind word to me. "Amen! God attitude"--common phrases from her! She has taught me by example to persevere with a joyful, positive attitude despite challenges, showing that she believes God is in control. Thank you, Nancy!"

A mechanical lift

Something about the word "mechanical" sounds so sterile, so unfriendly, so non-human. Word came that now a mechanical lift must be used to transfer Dad from the bed to wheelchair. He does nothing to assist anymore. I guess I have to be thankful that he's not completely bed-ridden yet and that attempts are being made to do the best for him, whether he cooperates or not.