December 2012

December.
December has begun.
I've been reluctantly anticipating this all year.
It was a year ago yesterday that Valerie, little Julian and I hurriedly left for Chicago.
Mom had taken a turn for the worse and within hours we were on a plane to be with her.
In 10 days it will be a year since she left us.
In 10 days it will be a year since she realized her life-long dream to see her Savior and enjoy the great party in Heaven.
I have worn black since November 12.
I have worn a piece of Mom's jewelry since November 12.
I have let myself cry all year, and it comes more frequently and more easily only lately - a curious thing to me.
December 13 will mark the end of a year of mourning.
December 13 will begin a new year.

One year old!

Little Julian is a year old. He is such a joy!! I melt when he smiles or reaches out to me to be held. His playfulness and giggles delight me.
God bless you little one and may you never know a day when you didn't know Jesus!
Grandma and Grandpa love you!!

On the Road Again!

Larry and I are finally going to do the road trip of all road trips. We are going to get in the car and have no destination in mind! Yikes!
Will we go left? Will we go right? Will we stay on this road? Where will we spend the night?
The one thing we know is that we will be eating at any one of the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives recommendations. We are taking Guy Fieri's map with us.
On the way, we'll chat, listen to crazy old time radio classic detective and western mysteries on Sirius 82, John Cleese reading Screwtape Letters,
So here's to adventure and the great unknown. And to Triple D!!!!

pondering

C.S. Lewis ponders the concept/reality of longing in many of his works. We long for that which we were made to know.
We long for a perfect weedless garden because so long ago we lost one.
We long for a home that is spacious and welcoming and neat and whole because there is one promised for us in heaven.
We long for that perfect meal because some day we will be served that meal by God Himself.
We long for the eternal. We are uncomfortable with time (Oh! Is it that time already? Oh! Has it been that long? Oh! Where has time gone? My, how time flies.) because we were made to be eternal.
We long for heaven because we were made to walk and talk with God in the cool of the evening.
We long for our family gone to heaven before us because relationships were not intended to be broken by death.
The already/not yet tension of longing pulls at us all the time, pulling us to eternal truths.

Some of these longings are accompanied by grief.
I am learning that grief is not morose. Lewis wrote a wonderful essay - Meditations in a Tool Shed. It has to do with observing a thing and then entering into the experience of the thing. Both are valid exercises and we do both all the time, but to do them consciously and intentionally changes the doing of them. Observing a beam of light (in the tool shed), watching dust dance in the light and seeing how that light brightens the room - we ponder the source of the light without seeing it - but then putting our faces into the beam, feeling its warmth and following the beam up to the sun allows us to be part of the light and connected to the source of the light. There are two different ways to experience the beam of light.
We can observe our grief in a clinical way which allows us to analyze it, see its affects, consider it for what it is. Or, we can enter our grief in a personal, reflective, healing way and be drawn to the One in Whom grief and healing meet. Both are good. Each needs the other.

Grief, longing, hope. I am learning about these.
It is the Lord's Day today. I lay these all before Him and worship Him for working all things for good.

While brownies bake...

It's a warm sunny day in Northridge but
it's raining down my face.
I'm missing Mom.
She's been in heaven 4 months.
No one but Gracie talks with me about her anymore.
It's all still really fresh for me.
I had never seen anyone die before and that's an image, an experience that doesn't fade easily. Especially since she was my mom. This fresh grief snuck up on me suddenly as I wait for the brownies to bake for Lydia's art show.
I want to tell Mom Larry and I are happy.
I want to tell her I'll begin teaching Latin in a brick and mortar school in Fall.
I want to tell her I had a wonderful visit with my brother and his wife for a few days this week.
I want to tell her how cute my grandson is and what good parents my son and daughter-in-law are.
I want to tell her Rachael and Andrew are back in CA.
I want to tell her that Lydia will graduate college in a month and that her art show is Monday and that she is doing so well.
I want to tell her about all the ideas Larry has for new businesses he will start.
I want to tell her that Dad is OK and that he misses her.
I want to tell her that I forgot how to crochet and I need her help.
I want to tell her that I made rysgrynsgrot.
I want to tell her that I miss her.
I want to tell her that I love her more now than ever.
I want to tell her that I'm trying to learn some of her secrets of contentment.
Mostly, I want to hear her voice.

you've got to crush the grape to get the wine

No, we aren't tending a vineyard.
But we have been crushed. Ground. Shattered. Demolished. Decimated.
The business is falling apart.
Pride is being exposed.
Sin is laughing in our faces.

There is nowhere to go but to God.
He is there.
He has always been there.
He is forgiving.
He is healing.
He is picking up the pieces.
He is making all things new.
We are not standing yet but we are not down and out.
We have been humbled and hope to stay there - standing tall - under His grace.
"A bruised reed He will not break And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish; He will faithfully bring forth justice." Isaiah 42:3

coming back

I can't believe it has been since August that I've written here. A lot has happened, a lot learned. I'm not good at talking about things; I guess that's why I turned to this medium so I wonder what it means that I haven't even written for a long time. Am I pent up? Not engaged? Tired? Frightened by what's inside? Hmmm.
My youngest child started her last semester in college in January. As traumatic and exciting as it was for her, it was bittersweet for me. Coming to that point in life - the threshold of no more children in college - will be a jolt. I don't feel old enough for that to be reality.
Yet it is thrilling to watch my youngest finding her way in life, working through difficult issues, managing work, classes, people, growing up - and doing it quite well.
For me, this stage of life - watching children become adults - is about learning a new way of relating to them, talking with them. I was going to say - talking TO them but that is how parents often relate to children - talking TO them. Maybe that should change, too. Anyway, I'm making my mistakes along the way but she is forgiving and we go on.