THE HUG

Two weeks ago we took mom to church with us. Usually if she is upset when we pick her up, we will turn on a CD of her niece singing the old hymns of the Faith. This has a soothing effect on her nearly every time, except that Sunday. Nothing seemed to calm her. She talked under her breath throughout the service and huffed and sighed along with scowling and shaking her head. When the invitation was given we had to stand in the row in such a way that she couldn’t push past and rush out of the church. When we went to leave, she didn’t want anything to do with me. She didn’t want to go to the car because she “knew that I intended to take her somewhere she didn’t want to go.” I took her into the Ladies Restroom before we left, and she came across the room with her finger pointing and demanded to know “what business my dad had being at her house.” Long story short, we got her to her home and she growled as she got out of the car and stomped her way to the house that she “WAS NOT HAPPY about coming to this house and being left with that man.”

This week, I must admit, it was with some hesitation and anxiety that we picked mom up for church. The trip to church was quiet and pleasant conversation occasionally punctuated the ride. When we got to church, my sister was in the foyer greeting guests. Mom saw her and decided that she would go home with her, since my sister had attended the earlier service, and that we would pick her up after lunch together at my sister’s home. The day was one of those rare days when I caught glimpses of My Mom, not just this new mom. It was one of those treasure box days that you will log into your memory for when the days get tough again

The sight I treasure most happened when we pulled in at her home. She got out of the car and excitedly hurried to the house. She searched the large kitchen windows as she hurried up the sidewalk. When she went into the house, she began calling for my dad, “Anyone here? Are you here?” She heard him call out from the back of the house and she raised her arms up in an open hug greeting and rushed down the hall way toward him as he came from the back room. I don’t know what was better, watching her rush to hug him, or watching the delight and surprise on his face as she greeted him with a hug, a kiss, and a “Hello Hun!”

Here I am, almost fifty years old, a mother of four and grandmother of eight, and it still lifts my spirit, lightens my heart, and makes me feel warm and safe, to see that type of love expressed between my dad and mom. That is a legacy I want to leave for generations to come. I want them to know that seasons may come and seasons may go but the love their parents, or grandparents, share for each other, like the love of God, is eternal.

WALK

WALK

I drove into the driveway today. I was so tired. It had been a long and hectic day at work. There were the usual financial worries that every non-profit experiences, setting schedules, contacting old clients, establishing new ones, classes to teach, teens to reach, hurting people to love, making sure no one or nothing slips through the cracks. I was just plain weary.

I wanted to go into the house, eat some dinner, sit on the couch, and just relax. Did I mention that our grandchildren are temporarily living with us? Before I got the car turned off, three beautiful faces were smiling at me through the window. Mom was headed out for a walk. They headed back inside with their daddy to get ready for a family walk when their mom came back for them. I headed into the house where dinner was waiting. I had just finished eating when my grandson Logan came into the kitchen. Somehow, he had stayed behind.

“Nana do you want to take a walk with me? I really want to take a walk but I don’t want to walk unless you do.” How can you say “no” to that, right? I told him, “Sure, let’s go.” He squeezed my legs. Jumped up and down. Yelled, “Yeah! We’re going on a walk! Yeah! I’m ready, lets go right now.” As I headed toward the door he said, “Nana I can’t walk barefoot and I don’t have any shoes on. Nana, will you help me find my shoes? I can’t go until I find my shoes.” I asked him where he left them last. He didn’t know. “Nana, please find my shoes for me.” Poppi looked, I looked. I exhausted all of the usual places shoes hide in our house, under the couch, in the play room, in the den, in his room, under the television cabinet, by the back door. Nothing. “Nana, I don’t have to walk, I’ll just ride my bike and you can push me down and up the hill.” Shoes, I need to find those shoes! Then I remember, the car. Maybe the shoes are in the car? Bingo.

Shoes on, we’re ready for our walk now. Logan runs ahead, down the hill, and stops at the bottom. He is squatting down looking at something; he picked it up and said, “Nana, I’m so curious about this. What is this?” He is holding a spider’s egg sack. It is a curious thing. How long has it been since I took time to marvel at a spider’s egg sack? I share what I knew about spiders and the egg sacks they lay and how it opens up and all the baby spiders crawl out. He is like a sponge. He soaks up every word. He is wide eyed as he slips it into his pocket and says, “Nana, lets run and show this to Isabella and tell her about spider eggs.”

How often is that me? I want to walk with God. I don’t want to journey unless I can go on a journey with God. When it seems we are not going as soon as I want, I beg, “Please God, I want to walk with you.” Then, when it seems He begins the journey, when things fall into place, I have an overwhelming urge to yell, “I’m not ready!” “I can’t find my shoes.” “God, I’ll be ready after this, or after that happens.” “God, I’m not sure I’m really equipped yet?” “God, why don’t I just ride and you can push me.” I love the fact that my Heavenly Father already knows where my shoes are. He gently puts them on my feet and when he takes me on journey, we walk together. I think it pleases Him when I say, “Lord, I’m so curious about this. Will you teach me?” I want to be a sponge that soaks up every word. I want to run with anticipation and share with others the amazing things that the Father has revealed.” Lord, thank you that you are never too tired, too busy, or too distracted to hear me when I say, “Lord, I want to take a walk with you. Can you help me find my shoes?”

HOLDING HANDS

I love holding hands. It hasn’t always been that way. When I was little, I remember my mom or dad holding my hand when we were out shopping. I think that it really became annoying to me when I reached my preteen and teen years and my mom still reached for my hand as we crossed a street. I remember thinking, “I’m not a baby, I can cross the street by myself. I don’t need to have my mom hold my hand.”

Last week we took mom to church. We got out of car and began to walk toward the church. Mom’s Alzheimer has advanced to the point that she occasionally feels a little unsteady. As we started toward the church, I reached for her hand. I love holding my mom’s hand. I hold her hand not because I have to, but because I can’t imagine not taking advantage of the opportunity to hold on tight to this woman as long as I can.

I was taking a walk tonight with my granddaughter. It was almost dark. We were walking down the road and she ran up beside me. She reached up and slipped her hand in mine. I gently held her hand. She squeezed mine hard. Then she said, “No, Nana. Hold my hand like this.” She squeezed hard again and continued to the keep pressure tight. I tightened my grip and she said, “Yeah, Nana just like that. Hold it tight, just like that, so that I can feel it.”

“Lord, today was a hard day. There are dark scary things, like watching the mom I know and love fade a little more each day. How can I help my dad deal with the emotional loss of his life partner, and the physical and mental exhaustion that Alzheimer’s caregivers face? Can I keep up with the demands of work? Am I showing my husband that he truly is the love of my life? Am I there for, and being a good mom for, my son and daughters, and loving on my grandbabies in a way that will leave a legacy of love? Lord, when I look around, it seems like it’s getting darker. Please hold my hand, hold it tight so that I can feel it. Thank you, Lord.”

EYES
Today I looked into a beautiful pair of brown eyes. They sparkled, they danced, they said "Isn't it a great day? I love you." I picked up my granddaughter, gave her a tight hug, and told her, "I will love you forever." She said, "I love you too- forever, now let's have breakfast."

Today I went with my mom and dad to an adult day-care facility. Mom's Alzheimer is at a point that she is afraid to stay alone, afraid to stay with dad, just plain afraid. When she asks "Where's dad?" I am never sure if she means my dad or her dad? At times she is a young girl looking for her parents. At other times she is looking for her husband, my dad. The hardest part is when he is sitting right next to her. I know if I say he is here she will become angry and frustrated because she thinks its a trick. So I look into the eyes of the woman who is such an incredible mom and I do what she whipped me many times for doing as a small child... I lie. "I don't know where he is?" Or, I mumble something that even I don't understand. Today I prayed that she would like the facility. It would be a place for her to go, visit, sing, and laugh with others. It is also the place that will give my dad a much needed break from the 36-hour day of Alzheimer's care-giving.

Today was picture-day at the facility. They asked me to man the camera and get a group picture before going in for lunch. I was searching the faces in that group. What could I read from them. Were they happy, were they cared for, was this a safe and happy place for mom?

Today I looked into a beautiful pair of brown eyes. They sparkled, they danced, they said "Isn't it a great day? It is good here." I smiled into her eyes, as she pushed her walker my way, she smiled and winked her eye." It said, "It will be okay, she will love you forever." And then we had lunch.

The Bible says the eyes are a window to the soul. I want my eyes to reflect the joy, peace, kindness, and the unconditional love of the Father to anyone who looks my way.

Vacation!

I love vacations. I love the weeks leading up to them, the planning, the packing... Okay not really those parts, but I love dreaming about it with Randy and seeing him take care of the details. I do like packing except for knowing that I will always need something more than what I packed. Randy and I have a goal to see how many days we can travel with packing no more than a back pack each. This time it was seven days. Probably because bathing suits don't take up much room.

Randy and I just got back from Cozumel. We have wanted to go for years. In fact we made plans on our 25th anniversary and just didn't follow through. This year was our 30th anniversary. We made the decision rather on the spur of the moment, so that was fun. I think that is how we work best. Be spontaneous, go for it. This way we don't have time to think of all the extremely "good" reasons why we shouldn't follow through.




We had a wonderful seven days of being awed by the beauty that God has created. We snorkeled in water that looked like it came from a bottle. I know now what it must feel like if you could swim in my brother-in-law Keith's fish tank. (I've never seen a cleaner fish tank, by the way.) I kept thinking, if I could just catch that little fish I could take it back for Keith's tank. Illogical I know, but they were just so beautiful.




This morning I was reading in 1 Corinthians 15 and it was talking about the resurrection. Amazing. I thought of all the diverse things we had seen and experienced(swimming with dolphins!) on vacation and that is such a small speck of life that is in our world today. I can't imagine.

1 Corinthians 15:35-41 from the Message translations reads:

35-38Some skeptic is sure to ask, "Show me how resurrection works. Give me a diagram; draw me a picture. What does this 'resurrection body' look like?" If you look at this question closely, you realize how absurd it is. There are no diagrams for this kind of thing. We do have a parallel experience in gardening. You plant a "dead" seed; soon there is a flourishing plant. There is no visual likeness between seed and plant. You could never guess what a tomato would look like by looking at a tomato seed. What we plant in the soil and what grows out of it don't look anything alike. The dead body that we bury in the ground and the resurrection body that comes from it will be dramatically different.

39-41You will notice that the variety of bodies is stunning. Just as there are different kinds of seeds, there are different kinds of bodies—humans, animals, birds, fish—each unprecedented in its form. You get a hint at the diversity of resurrection glory by looking at the diversity of bodies not only on earth but in the skies—sun, moon, stars—all these varieties of beauty and brightness. And we're only looking at pre-resurrection "seeds"—who can imagine what the resurrection "plants" will be like!

Isn't that glorious! Praise God from whom all blessings flow, now and forever more.

I love English Gardens

I love English gardens. They are a combination of the civilized and the wild. One of my favorite pictures is a family heirloom of an old English garden. I am inspired and challenged by it each year as the weather warms. I have a hillside that is perfect for creating this garden of beauty, except for one problem. That hillside is also perfect for growing briers and rambling vines. For many years, I would get out on the hillside as soon as it was warm enough and begin to cut back the briers and vines and plant flowers, small trees, flowering plants, etc. It was a thing of wild beauty. It wasn’t long into the season however that it became more a wild wicked thing than a thing of beauty. The briers came back and brought some family with them. The vines seemed to delight in wrapping themselves around everything they touched, threatening to choke the life from the young plants. I would look at the tangled mess and give up, determined to do better next season. This pattern repeated itself for years, until finally I just gave up and conceded defeat.
I made a mistake year one, which I continued to make year after year. In my anxiousness to get started and see immediate results, I failed to lay the foundation for my garden. I didn’t put in the preparation necessary to realize the dream of a lasting English garden. Was it because I didn’t know how to prepare the ground? No, I had many people explain the steps to preparing for a successful garden. The problem was with myself. I wanted immediate results. Clipping back the briers and vines to the ground level was the immediate “fix” that made the temporary cosmetic changes I was looking for. I didn’t want to do the work necessary in order to make those cosmetic changes permanent. I didn’t take the time, or maybe I simply refused, to address the “root” problem.
As I think about my English garden dream, I am reminded of how much our life is like that hillside. We have an idea, a picture, of how we want our life and our relationship with the Lord to look. We try to achieve that picture, that relationship, by simply making temporary cosmetic changes that only affect the surface of who we are. The real work required to make the permanent, deep down to the marrow changes is long, difficult, and even painful. That level of difficulty and pain, or simply the fear of experiencing them, keeps us from getting in there and getting our hands dirty with some good old-fashioned hard work. Real changes require digging deep, below the surface, to our attitudes and beliefs that drive our actions. It requires digging up and cutting away the things that hinder the beauty that our Creator and the true Gardener wants to grow in our lives. That digging up and cutting away is almost always painful. It involves getting rid of things that our sinful nature would really like to hold onto. Things like pride, anger, hurt, worry, bitterness, and unforgiveness, just to name a few. Time spent addressing “root” issues is time eternally spent. It’s necessary for our growth. It is a slow and difficult process. It’s doesn’t just happen. We can’t expect to make those kinds of permanent changes with minimal work. It just doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t work that way on my hillside and it certainly doesn’t work that way in our lives. Don’t let the pain and difficulty scare you! The work is always worth that beauty that will come from it!

I was setting in Church yesterday morning next to my mom and I was thinking. I wanted to share this thought with her but since I can't, I will just share it here.
Mom, as I hear you singing here beside me today, I am carried back in time or maybe time just ceases to exist, or maybe this is a glimpse of what eternity is. Eternity, where the Holy Spirit fills up time, space, and memory, where we are transported out of the physical broken bodies and minds of the flesh and into the perfect, complete spiritual, eternal beings that we were created to be. The flesh and mind that has been ravaged by Alzheimer's disease drops away and the Spirit places a song on your lips-Your soul sings out- and it carries me back to younger days sitting beside you worshiping the Father together. Maybe it transports me forward into Heaven where we will gather around the throne worshiping our Savior. Whichever it may be, I am grateful and in awe of the gift of the present to listen to you, unhindered, worshiping Christ in song together. Thank you mom for your unwavering Spirit and testimony even in the midst of your Alzhiemers. Thank you Jesus for the gift of the Comforter who makes all things good...

Just sitting here listening to the rain, waiting on a phone call. Will she call? What will we say when we meet? When I lay down in bed tonight what memories will run through my mind? In anticipation I wait to see the outcome of the call of God. Listening to Him is easy, understanding Him...quite the opposite. The "Why" is uncertain but my obedience is certain. "For Your glory Father. May I live, breathe, and love others for Your glory."