Manhood Principle 3

You know how some days are just near perfect? Today was one of those days. Perfect for learning from my grandsons. Men are just men at any age.

To begin our day we learned Manhood Principle #3: “Real men lead courageously.”

We visited the Native American Museum. The boys were fascinated with the clothing. They begged me to go home and sew up Indian cloths for them, today. I think it has something to do with the loincloth I made for them last year, much simpler. They were more fascinated by the arrows, especially the ones they had on sale for $1. They talked Popi into buying them each a few and promptly attached them to the homemade arrows when we got home. They immediately went hunting. It did cross my mind that I might be crazy turning an eight and nine year old loose with homemade bows and arrows with real arrowheads. To my credit, I did instruct them in the importance of not shooting each other or the pets. I wonder now if they heard me. Not really certain.

They did a little skinny-dipping in the afternoon to cool off. Then in the evening they asked to go fishing. The evening was beautiful. The temperature, just right, the mosquitoes, visiting somewhere else, and the sun was setting in beautiful hues. The mood was relaxing… and then Randy caught a bass. The competition was on. Finally, Hunter yelled, “Got one, got a big one!” I watched as he wrestled the bass to the shore and helped him pull it in. It was a heavy large mouth bass. Hunter kept yelling, “He’s a big one. He’s bigger than Popi’s.” About that time, Popi (Randy) was pulling in crappie. Popi congratulated him on such a big catch and asked, “What’d you catch him on?” To which Hunter grinning said, “Fisherman’s secret.” Then the competition heated up a notch. When it was time to go home. Hunter call out from across the pond, “I’m the winner. I caught the biggest fish. I’m the winner.” I said, “Hunter, fishing isn’t about winning. It’s about enjoying it and having a good time while you fish.” As I am in the middle of this “teachable moment”, Randy yells out of the window of the pickup, “I’m the winner. I caught the most fish.” Competition.

We passed Papa King’s (my dad) house on the way home. The guys all had to stop and show him the fish and weigh them. Hunter’s fish weighed out at 4 ½ lbs. He then wanted to weigh Popi’s fish. Randy said, “Na, we don’t need to weigh him. He feels like about 3 lbs.” To which Hunter, vigorously shaking his head says, “No way, we got to weigh him.” When the fish weighed in at a little less than 2 ½ lbs, Hunter began doing the victory dance. I looked at my dad and said, “I tried to tell them it isn’t about winning; it’s the joy of fishing.” My dad looked shocked that I would suggest such a thing and replied, “It’s about the competition. Nothing wrong with good healthy competition.”

And that’s when it hit me. Manhood Principle #3: A real man leads courageously, is already in the heart of these little men. It is being drawn out by the moments of adventure, sharing and accepting the responsibility of risk, of success built upon success, and the encouragement and competition of the older men in their life. I am so grateful for the example of their Dad, Popi and Great Grand Papa. I am also thankful to my Heavenly Father for allowing me to see in that moment of “fish weighing” four generations of men, ageless, in the pleasure of “Competition.”

The Long Road:

She came slowly walking through the trees that line the east yard. Her face bronzed by the sun. “Hi Mom, beautiful day huh?!” I call out with much more enthusiasm than I feel. I can tell by her movements, this is not a good day. Logan, my grandson, runs to greet her, enthusiastically calling out, “Hi Gran! Whatcha doing?”

My heart is squeezed by sadness as I look into frightened eyes. She puts her finger to her lips and shushes him. “Be quiet. They are after me.” She says, looking out from behind the trees.

“Who’s looking for you, Mom?” I ask the question even though I already know the answer.

“They are. He is. Those guys at my house.”

This same scene plays out day after day, so I try the lines that have worked in the past to re-set a calm spirit within her.

“Why don’t you have a seat and rest here in the shade. We are enjoying the shade and just looking at the garden. Let me get you a drink.”

I notice how red her neck and face are. It is 90+ degrees and she is dressed in a black sweater. She likes it because of the buttons and embroidery on it. It is clear that her day has been spent walking. Always looking for home and yet unable to find it, because the home she is looking for is somewhere deep in her mind.

We finally coax her into the house and get her to drink some water and I put sunscreen on her face and neck. Her blue eyes look strangely out of place in a face so darkened by her constant traveling under the sun.

She is anxious to be back on the road to her house. I am grateful to live in a rural area that allows her the freedom and safety to travel like she does. If she lived anywhere else she would have long ago been confined to a home or in a nursing home.

I watch as she leaves the yard. When she gets a distance down the drive, I follow to make sure she makes it safely. Memories flood my heart as I watch her slowly walking down the road. She has walked this same road between her home and mine at least a million times over the last 30 years, bringing a special treat for her grandchildren, and then for her great grandchildren or just coming over to offer a hand with the house, the kids, life. We have visited over tea, sick children, piles of laundry, and flower magazines. She is my dear friend and I miss her already as I see her walk into her yard and disappear around to her front door.

God, help me to always see her as she was and as she will be in eternity. In the long road of Alzheimer’s, help me to have the spiritual insight to realize that this is just a short bend in the path You have for us. Thank you for eternity and healing.

Cleansing

Sunday morning, I got up early and went to help dad by getting mom ready for church. Mom's Alzheimer's has made it hard for them to attend their church for the past year. They have been watching Pastor Dale Thompson's services on the television each Sunday. Dad mentioned that he would like to attend their church in the community if he thought he could get mom ready. She has refused to allow him to help her with any type of cleaning or changing clothing for quite some time now.
I know that he needs that connection with other people and so I told him I would come over on Sunday morning and get her ready with a bath and fresh cloths instead of doing it on Saturday as I usually do. She has allowed me to help her without much complaint until about two weeks ago. I must say it has become a test of wills. Last week when I tried, she gave me the "Mom Look", you know the one I mean. There was no way she was taking a bath and after that look there was no way I was making her. I felt just like a kid again. We did get the cloths changed though, but not without her becoming very upset.
So, Sunday morning I went over early to give her a bath and change her cloths, hoping to catch her in a better mood. When I arrived I could hardly get through the door because she was pushing her way out and saying, "I'm glad you're here. Let's go, right now, I want out of here." She was not by any means ready to go anywhere. Randy and I went on in the house and encouraged her to come back in and visit a bit. I explained that it was Sunday morning and I was going to help her get ready to go to church with dad. Immediately, I met resistance. She was not going to take a bath, change cloths, or be courteous about it. I tried everything I knew. I became the "mom", I begged, I resorted to bribery, I even pled, "Mom you made me promise that I wouldn't let you go dirty or wear dirty cloths. I'm trying to honor that promise." nothing worked. I would have tried tears, but by that time I was too frustrated to cry. In fact, I left for Church defeated. She won. You can't force a grown woman into a tub in any fashion that is respectful, or at least I haven't found a way.
I felt bad for her, I felt worse for my dad. How does he do it 24/7? I took him to have a medical procedure last week that required him to be put under for awhile. When they brought him back to the room the first thing he said, even while his eyes were shut was, "This is the best sleep I've had since your mom got sick." Then he said, "I wonder how my bride is?" She is always on his mind and heart. But it has to be beyond frustrating when the one who is on your mind doesn't even recognize or acknowledge your love or care.
Later that afternoon, I was thinking about the whole morning episode and these questions came like a weight in my heart, "How often do I ask God to cleanse me and not let there be a spot in my heart that is not pleasing to Him, and yet when He steps in to cleanse me, I refuse and even fight His loving care?" "How often do I live life and face circumstances with an attitude that says I don't acknowledge that I am on His mind and heart and that He is always lavishing His loving care over me?"
Wow! Heart Check! God, I not only want to be willing for you to cleanse me, but eager. I want my heart, mind, soul, and body to acknowledge your ever constant love and care and to lavish love back to you.
God, Thank you for what you are teaching me in the difficult times of Mom's Alzhiemer's disease. Bless my mom, she is still teaching me more about you, just as she has all my life.
Thank you, Mom. You were, are, and eternally will be, an amazing woman.

Ten Not Eight

I sit here on the couch, snuggled close to my side is my granddaughter. I love the soft sounds of her breathing, and the delicious crunch of crackers as she has that last bedtime snack. She is having a sleepover at Nana and Poppi’s. Could anything be better than a sleep over? Not from my point of view. I love every minute I get to spend with my beautiful grand children. It seems like it just doesn’t happen often enough. This year and every year forward I plan to be more intentional to spend more time with them, as it seems time is flying by so fast.

January, Sanctity of Human Life month, is almost coming to a close. Life really is so sacred. I love people, especially my “little people”. I am quick to tell anyone I meet how blessed I am to have eight wonderful grandchildren. But tonight thinking about the sanctity of life I have to acknowledge the ache in my heart, an ache for two very specific lives. I tell people I have eight grandchildren, but that is really not the truth. It’s just something that I have conditioned myself to say. It seems easier than the awkward, uncomfortable silence as people try to process hearing, “I have 10 grandchildren, eight here and two in heaven.”

The truth is, I do have ten beautiful grandchildren. I just have not had the privilege of holding and looking into the beautiful faces of two of them. That does not mean that they are not often on my mind and always in my heart. I think of those two beautiful babies that are missing each time we gather as family. They would be between 5 and 7 now. I imagine them running through the house, playing in the yard, or helping their younger cousins. I wonder if they are grandsons or granddaughters? Do they have blue eyes or brown? Do they have the same sense of delightful humor the others have?

I have a ultrasound photo of my grandchild who would have turned five just last month. It is a treasure, a promise of the life that waits in eternity. The Bible says that we don’t grieve like those who have no hope. Even though my throat tightens and tears flow, I have hope. Jesus Christ is my hope. He secured my eternity and the eternity of all who turn to Him for forgiveness and new life. Because of that hope, I have a joy in knowing that I will not only see and hold my grandchildren but will spend an eternity getting to know them. My desire is to be surrounded by all of my children and grandchildren in Heaven…not one missing.

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.”