Charlotte—More Than a Friend

Charlotte—More Than a Friend

I lost a dear friend this week. Actually, she’s not lost. It’s me who’s lost just knowing she’s not here. Her earthly ties were cut loose and she flew right into the arms of Jesus. I’m hurting for my loss but no doubt the loss is felt much more by her dear husband of over 60 years and all the extended family who loved her so much.

Charlotte Parker was a friend, a mother figure and a mentor to me. She lived large. Her presence wasn’t subtle. She knew who she was and knew how God had gifted her, and unlike many of us, she actually employed her gifts in gracious and abundant ways. She was like a walking Bible. She didn’t question whether the Bible was true or whether it was relevant today. That was a no-brainer.

In Charlotte’s mind there was never a doubt about the nearness of God and that He spoke directly to us through His Word. The last time I visited with her in her home, which was way too long ago, she had me on the edge of my seat as she expressed truth she was learning. When I returned to my sister’s home where I was staying, I quickly grabbed my journal and wrote everything I could recall that she’d shared. Her sermonettes were life-changing to me.

In my younger years, I was a single mom for what seemed a really long season. I’d occasionally have friends graciously help with all the children in my care—my two plus around five others. I’d go hang out with Charlotte and help in her home. She told me that she loved having me in her kitchen. I’ve enjoyed organizing things my entire life, and I’d empty the drawers and cabinets periodically and put them in better order. I remember snitching bites of the apple cake that had been sitting on the counter under the glass dome for just long enough to be extra moist. I’d clean out the fridge and help any way I could just to be around. I remember she insisted that I bring home lots of delicious leftovers (or they’d be thrown away).

Charlotte showed me how to cook summer yellow squash and onion in a skillet with oil–I can still smell it. We kneaded bread together and she taught me to spend that time praying for the loved ones who would enjoy the bread. I’d always wondered how to pass that boring time kneading. Many folks would agree she was a phenomenal cook!

I remember the time Charlotte asked me to prepare a layered salad for her house guests. A recipe from a bygone era—we used to make it often. The salad had layers of lettuce, bacon bits, peas, cheese etc. and was topped with mayonnaise for the dressing. It would keep in the fridge for a couple of days and was tossed before serving.

A week or so after I brought her the salad she asked me over for lunch. She served the yummiest soup. “Guess what kind of soup this is?”, she said. I made all kinds of guesses, then she grinned the biggest grin and said, “Remember the salad you brought me?” I was stunned! She’d used the leftover salad, added broth and served it proudly like the gourmet fare it was.

Here’s what is interesting and impactful about that story. Charlotte’s most profound and lasting lesson for me was her famous teaching entitled, What do you have in your hand? The salad-soup was a perfect example of utilizing to the best of her ability and creativity what she had available. The Old Testament reference for the story is from II Kings 4:4-7. It’s about a poor widow who encountered Elijah.  Even now that principle resonates in my spirit as fresh and powerful. I need to pass these truths on to younger women who haven’t heard.

I keep looking for an end to my story, but memories flood my mind.

Not long before I married Tom, my friends gave me the sweetest shower. To make it extra special, Charlotte shared from her heart an encouraging message, especially for me. I wish I had the words written down somewhere. What I remember is that she gave me a little candle table; the kind with a hinge to let the top swing down. She set a brass candlestick on the table and talked about what it meant to be a light to those around us. I now believe her comments were prophetic. She said Tom and I would be a light to the people around us. Ironically, we received an unusual number of candlesticks for wedding gifts. And we’ve hosted groups in our home for over thirty years. I guess it’s just an extension of who we are.

The last thirty-two years Charlotte and I have lived about 800 miles apart. She’s visited me a couple of times and I visited her when I was in her home town. But for so many years we hardly talked at all. An occasional note perhaps, but I’m realizing now I could have been much better about staying in touch. It was my loss for certain. I’m mad at myself for not following the nudges I had from time to time to call her or even write. I’m very sad today and somehow it seems that writing my memories and feelings will help.

My post is probably (selfishly) mostly  for me. But if there’s anything I can share with my friends, it’s this: Don’t wait to spend time with your loved ones and don’t ignore or put off those little nudges to take some sort of steps. Life is short and so unpredictable.

I think of so many things I haven’t mentioned; what a gifted artist Charlotte was, that she was a published author, how lavishly she showed hospitality, that she had a green thumb and grew the most magnificent roses…so many memories.

If you’ve been in our home, you might have noticed one or two of Charlotte’s paintings. I’m especially glad to have them now.

Finally, I’ll stop thinking of myself, and simply choose to rejoice for Charlotte. She’s happier and more fulfilled than ever before. In Heaven she knows no pain or sadness. I can imagine her reuniting with her friends and family who arrived earlier! I’ll gratefully carry the memories and allow what I’ve learned to change me. And I’ll continue to pray for the ones here who are bereft over her loss.

New Sight

One thing I’ll miss—my morning view.

A funny thing happened recently. I looked in the mirror two days after my eye surgery and saw an unfamiliar face looking back at me. I studied my skin with all its splotchiness and thought, “The sedation meds must’ve had some weird effect!” I couldn’t imagine why my skin had taken on a different color and older look. On the same day I noticed a Facebook update— the emoji colors were brighter and more vivid! Many things were taking on a new appearance. When I started noticing freckles on friends’ faces where I hadn’t seen freckles before I finally realized what had really changed—my eyesight!  I’d had brand new lenses inserted in place of my cataract covered lenses. I knew my vision was poor, but not until I saw clearly did I realize how skewed it had been.

The timing of my new physical vision was not lost on me. My surgery occurred at the very time I was packing for a move from our long-time family home to start a new life in another city. I looked into the mirror, trying not to be completely saddened by my image and said, “Lord, what other more important things have I not seen clearly?”

Growth implies change. Change doesn’t come easily for me. I need to remember that since I first began to follow Christ, my primary goal has been to grow in my faith; to be fully surrendered and aligned with His plan. Did I believe my growth would happen without experiences and surroundings changing? I’ve encountered plenty of change in my life; and our home and community were great sources of comfort during the changes. Now I see that even the absence of those comforts is incentive and impetus for growth. I recently read, “No beginnings without endings. Growth brings change.”

Gratitude isn’t dependent on circumstances. While reading the New Testament I noticed that Jesus thanked God when there wasn’t enough. In Luke 9 Jesus is concerned about feeding the 5,000 men and their families who had come to hear him teach. He asks the disciples to give them something to eat. Since they could only come up with five loaves of bread and two fish they were at a loss as to how they could feed all those people! Jesus, without hesitation, has all the people sit in organized groups. Then He proceeds to thank God for what clearly was not enough! As He gave thanks for the very small amount, there was enough food for all the folks with twelve to-go baskets of left-overs! What do I have in my hand that seems like not enough? How can I thank God for the not enough and watch Him create abundance? He’s done this for me many times!

I need to keep Jesus ever present in my mind. One day while I was taking a walk I asked God to show me, practically, what keeping my eyes on Him meant. I had the idea that whenever anxious thoughts would come, I’d imagine a looming image of Jesus in my mind overshadowing those worries and causing me to think of Him instead of the anxieties. I’m very visual and I think God obliges me often when I need a specific application. His Presence and influence is vast enough to overshadow circumstances. He’s always with me.

I need God to lead my life, not my feelings. My feelings and emotions are important and valid but they are not what I need to base my decisions on. I hear him primarily through reading Scripture, and He speaks to me in my thoughts. Many times I also hear him speak through other people. One day a dear friend spoke clearly into my life during a near melt-down. I’d thought, “I can’t do this!”  She confidently spoke to me, “Number one: you CAN do this. Number two, picture yourself happily in your new home doing things you enjoy. Number three; picture how your life would be if you stayed here rather than joining your husband in his new community.” I already knew what I was supposed to do, but I needed encouragement! Her words put hope in my heart and there was no doubt Who the Source was!  After following Jesus for over 45 years I recognize when thoughts line up with His Truth.

This morning in my prayer time I felt like the Lord said, “You were made for this.” I share that with you, my friends, because I believe you also, were made for whatever the this is in your life. If you know Him you will never be alone. He will never fail to lead you in the way He has for you to go. 

 

 

More House Sap

50’s kitchen

“Our house was not unsentient matter — it had a heart and a soul, and eyes to see with…. We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome — and we could not enter it unmoved.”

Mark Twain

Thinking back over my life I realize I was never one to get attached to a house. That is until now.

Virtually my entire  childhood happened under the same roof. My parents brought me home to our little ranch when I was about one year old.

Growing up I didn’t know how deprived I was! We had one tiny bathroom and each room in the house was also quite small. The house was my home; my normal and it met all of my needs. Things like houses were different in the sixties.

As I entered adolescence, and my sister and I became more interested in peers, daddy took it upon himself to “close in the carport” and create a den. We’d have a place to gather friends. He’d work nights and weekends to get the project done; in his own time and own way. Looking back now, I can see why friends wondered if it was a house trailer.

At the time I thought we were moving up; adding a fancy den with indoor/outdoor carpet to our home. After the add-on our house was a whopping 1700 square feet! Huge.

I left that home to enter college and eventually marriage. I had fond memories of my home, but the future was where my heart was coaxing me.

Then, there was the little house that ultimately became a sad place for me due to an unwanted divorce. I loved that house and the way I creatively made it a home. It was the cutest 980 square feet you’d ever find. (Smile) But the pain from that era was all too close to the surface and I moved on.

Next came a long string of rental houses in another state. These included a mobile home. I was working full-time to support my little family. Over the years while I was at work, my friends moved me multiple times. (That reminds me; I need to remember to thank them for that!) I was in survival mode those years and guess I didn’t fully realize how much was done for me.

I came home from work on the day the mobile home became my home. Barbara walked me to the bedroom window and pointed to a small retention pond—a low spot that collected  rain water, in the woodsy area. She pulled back the small curtain and said, “I put a chair here by the window so you can look at the water!” Her whole heart was encouraging mine.

All those rental houses were pretty easy to say goodbye to. Although there was that nice upscale house that had a swimming pool and just happened to sell right after I arranged furniture and hung pictures on all the walls. That one was a little hard to leave.

But now we are planning a move from the house we’ve raised our family in for 28 years.

I can’t look at the stairs without seeing Christmas garlands and decorations. In my mind’s eye I still see the kids sliding down on sleeping bags and other paraphernalia.

The dining room table speaks of celebration to me.

I love to open the front door into our foyer— it gives me that sweet happy anticipation upon entering.

I recall Tom and John side by side, building our deck. John had his own pile of scrap wood that he’d add nails to with his child-sized hammer.

This house…our home…it will not be forgotten. I’m convinced, even through my fears, that the feelings of sadness and sentimentality will give way to pleasant memories; just in time to create new ones in our next home.

“Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

 

Why We Should Keep Throwing Showers

My daughter Katherine was about three years old when I walked upstairs and saw a long row of shoes–our family’s shoes–up and down the hallway, near the bathroom door. There she was, bright eyed with that perpetual smile. “Joy” was the nickname I’d given her. When I asked about the shoes she said, “You told me we’re having a shower so I got everyone’s shoes ready.”  One of those memories that will always tug at my heart. At the time, I realized that I was scurrying around like crazy preparing for a friend’s baby shower and had never fully explained what a shower is! Being the fourth child and very adaptable, she wasn’t always totally in the know about what was happening. (FYI- young mamas- write your kids’ adorable quotes and stories in a journal! You won’t remember as much as you think!)

I recall with such warm emotion the parties hosted in my honor. Over thirty years ago I was a pregnant single mom. My husband and I had separated the same week I’d had a positive pregnancy test. Not part of my plan. My dear friends threw me the most beautiful and fancy dinner shower at a nice restaurant in Mobile, Alabama. Looking back I realize the party was over the top because they wanted to heap encouragement on me. Believe me, I needed it. They even had matchbooks embossed with my name.

A wedding shower was given in my honor when I married Tom. As I walked in, straight ahead I noticed the expanse of small window panes were filled with blocks of colored paper and letters, resembling a quilt. The letters spelled, “Myra is a special friend.” And, would you believe, those precious women had created a friendship quilt, each one contributing a square? We were not casual friends. We were family. They had walked me through the most difficult times of my life to that point.

During the shower, a wise mentor shared her thoughts about our upcoming marriage. As she gifted me with a candle stand she said we would welcome people into our home and would be a light to them. That message has stayed with me all these years and emboldened me to keep going at times when I’ve been weary of flinging open the front door again. I’d continually think back on that moment and the words she’d spoken.

My detailed recall of these events is indicative of the powerful impact they had on me.

I’ve had folks come back to me years after a celebration and recall how much it meant to them. Maybe, like me, they recalled something said that would stick with them and serve as a road marker. Or perhaps it was just fun to be the center of attention and receive much needed gifts that lightened the load in their new chapter.

There are many reasons not to open our homes:

  • “My home is too little”. I’ve hosted small parties in a house trailer!
  • “My home isn’t pretty (stylish, organized, decorated…) enough. Clear it out and clean it up as much as possible; put a smile on your face and open your door!  I had a fancy tea party for a bride, and had decorated all the main areas. I’d assumed, naively, that no one would go to the disaster that was the upstairs. There were some young people living there to whom I’d relinquished care of the bathroom. I hadn’t even glanced at it! Wouldn’t you know the bride ended up there! I was mortified!
  • “I wouldn’t know where to begin!” Ask an experienced friend, and keep it simple. Focus on encouraging and “showering” the guest of honor and keep the focus off yourself. When I first started out I looked to library books for help..

Marriage and family are at the bedrock of all that’s important to me. Let’s celebrate what we value and honor! How can I not bless and encourage someone embarking on the most incredible of journeys?

Hosting a party works like magic motivation to clean up and beautify your home!

In your own personal space, you’ll have a captive audience and can speak freely to a new mom or bride. She may forget a gift, but she’ll never forget  the words of life spoken and the love shown.

Your guest of honor will go home full of heart and full of gifts that will help her on her new journey.

Many years ago, I painted one of my favorite quotes on our kitchen wall. It was a sad day when we changed colors and painted over it. I’ll leave you with it here! From Emerson:

“The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”

 

 

 

 

Our BFFs

Our BFFs

“My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me.”

Henry Ford

I’m not really sure how we ended up with such great friends. Six of our friends; three couples, come to mind. We’ve known them for so long that we can sometimes finish each other’s sentences. I sometimes think they know us better than we know ourselves. I spent time hanging out with some of them recently—it’s my favorite thing to do. I’d sacrifice a meal or walk a long distance to just chat it up with them, in silly times as well as the more serious. Recently we were brainstorming; I’d asked for some insight for our current conundrum. They didn’t disappoint; each brought a piece that carefully fit into my current life puzzle. I was grateful and encouraged by their insights. Being with them helped me.

I don’t know when it happened; if we were logging miles in the old mini-van enroute to soccer matches, or reading the Christmas story for the hundredth time, or if Tom and I were swept away in Poldark‘s English countryside?  All I know is somewhere along the way our children became our best friends.

Our children shot up like Jack’s beanstalk and we hardly noticed. I remember a photo of our younger two kids with Tom and me at a homecoming basketball game. A Facebook friend commented, “Are they really that tall or are you just very short?” I’m pretty average in height, but I hadn’t realized how they’d towered over me. They just shot right up without our permission. It just happened.

Who knew that this could happen? When I was changing diapers, blocking babies from the stairs, and reading Curious George I never once thought, “These kids are going to be my close friends one day. On the entire planet, they will be my favorite people to be with. It won’t even matter if we’re doing anything at all. I will cherish their very presence and personalities and their adultness.”

By rote, and numb repetition at times I prayed for them to be wise. They are wise! I prayed that they would love the things God loves and they do! I deeply hoped they’d know how much they’re loved by God. Against all doubting and wondering if this parent experiment would work, they know the Truth much more deeply than we did at their age. #grateful

One Saturday morning years ago, I was cooking breakfast for a table full of ravenous  teenage boys. A thought came to my mind, “You don’t even know who you’re serving.” It reminded me that all acts of love are done without our awareness of the ultimate outcome.  Who knew the character and accomplishments that would be present in the lives of those boys? God did.

The little kids around your table—you can’t see what the future holds. One day when they’re taller and stronger than you, they may drive to your house when you’re sick and can’t take care of yourself. They may lovingly transport you to the hospital when you can’t walk in your own strength. Keep on walking in courage and faith, young parents—you don’t know who you’re caring for. There’s no vocation more noble and crucial in the world!

Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a real blessing.”

Psalm 127:3 (Good News Version)

 

How to be Strong

How to be Strong

I was feeling weak and vulnerable. Awake most of the night, I was anxious about house-buying decisions and transitions; then dragging around in a fog early the next morning,

When I showed up to take care of Eliza, Mary and John read my expression. Sharing with them briefly through my tears, and hearing their responses eased the pain.

I began to see some things differently in the light of day. I recalled the times I wish I’d asked for support; when I swallowed hard and acted strong and together. It wasn’t arrogance that caused me to appear unruffled and unemotional. I believed my stalwart demeanor was expected and even required. Everyone has challenges and no one wants to hear me complain about mine, I thought. I was self-conscious about my labored droning on and wasting someone’s time.

I never set out to be the strong one.

When I was a single mom of two young kids I pushed my emotions down deep inside. It was my responsibility as the care-giving parent to keep it together. I was worried that my son could be harmed by my debilitating emotional pain. I was the sole provider, working two jobs at times. I wanted to show him what I knew to be true: that God is a good Father and He would see us through.

My daughter with autism was ultra-sensitive to other’s emotions, and reflected what she perceived. I was extra vigilant when around her (and still am!) as her expressiveness could be very difficult to corral and manage.

Recalling my childhood I don’t remember ever talking about feelings. The unspoken message was to be quiet and good. We knew our parents loved us unconditionally, but it wasn’t exactly in vogue to share feelings.

Once while walking with my friend Cynthia, I casually mentioned how hard it had been staying up all hours of the night with Dawn who couldn’t get to sleep. It was an ongoing problem for years. It became routine; Tom and I would take turns staying up to keep her calm and try to coax her down to bed, sometimes not getting her to sleep until daybreak. It was horrible! Cynthia stopped abruptly and said she’d always wondered why I’d never complained about raising my special daughter. She didn’t know how I’d kept it together.

Another clue that I was holding it all inside.

I remember a pastor discussing what it’s like to have a broken heart. Without warning, I broke down in a way that I’d never done in the past and haven’t since. I hurt so deeply inside and couldn’t quit crying. Every memory demanded my attention. That very day I’d had such  difficulty managing Dawn’s behavior so I could attend church. I cried so much that morning, experiencing such pain but ended up feeling freer somehow.

When my sweet mom passed away a few years back, so many griefs from the past seemed to tag along right beside the recent grief and loss. I promptly felt the pain of an earlier divorce, of raising a cognitively disabled child who needed constant attention and raising a son without his father. As I looked back, I actually felt sorry for that girl who endured so much pain and wished it could have been different for her.

Evidence of storing the pain away.

Recently, days apart, I bumped into two acquaintances from church. In each case, when I asked, “How are you doing?” each indicated that she was doing terribly. One began to cry. I felt grateful for honest answers! I really cared. I like to pray specifically for folks. The Lord used them as examples for me. I realized that there are people with whom it’s okay to cry and talk about my distress.

I still haven’t figured all this out but I want to be better at being honest. To not stuff emotions until a meltdown occurs. But to look at things in my life and take risks to share my burdens with others. I’m glad to do that for friends and I know there are folks who’d do the same for me!

I’ve begun to see true strength in a different light. I’m strongest when I’m transparent and honest with others and allow them inside my pain. To let some light in.

Bear one anothers burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2

Be happy with those who are happy and weep with those who weep. Romans 12:16

 

 

 

 

Maturing

Maturing

Old age, to the unlearned, is winter; to the learned, it’s harvest time.

– Yiddish saying

I’ve come to disdain all the talk about getting old I hear from people in  their forties, fifties and sixties. It’s relative, right? We are truly getting older everyday. But must we constantly call ourselves old?

I recently chatted with a bank teller I hadn’t seen in awhile, exchanging niceties. I commented, “I’m doing well, just a bit older than last time I saw you.” Her reply has stuck with me. “Well that’s a good thing!” It is a good thing. Being older means I’m still alive!

For me, growing older happened overnight.

First there was that course black hair in the um… cleavage region that my daughter so kindly pointed out to me. I can still see her look of shock.

Then there was the time our son returned home to find us scooted up close to the TV with the volume turned up so loud we didn’t hear him come in. In our defense it was a foreign film!

The once silent knees now like to complain on steep mountain hikes.

Generic ibuprofen is purchased in the value-sized pack.

The precocious red-headed five year old, in my care, inquired about the whiskers.

Our prayers are long and laborious–and comical– multiple aching body parts have now made the list.

We are maturing. It took me by surprise. Not too long ago I was 35. Then I was 40 and all was well. But there was that day I showed up for a dermatology check up. I filled out the intake form and came to that pesky little space for age. I stopped and pondered—I’d had a birthday just that week. Was I 50??? No that can’t be right. So I did the math on scrap paper and it was actually true. I was 50. The only birthday to that point that mocked me and rang with disbelief.

When 60 rolled around I felt like everyone would look at me as an old person. They wouldn’t know that on the inside I was still young. It’s interesting how we make judgments by looking at someone’s exterior when we have no idea about their souls. I feel like an announcement is called for.  “I may look older and feebler but I am me—even more me than I was earlier!”

This is the time of life when I hold onto every positive comment. Recently a nurse taking my vitals stared at me for several moments and said, “There is no way in h*** you are 63!” I grinned for days…

There are things I love about having lived longer:

  • Comparison becomes less important. You begin to give others freedom to be themselves which frees you to be yourself.
  • It’s harder to criticize people when you’ve either walked in their shoes or know you could’ve.
  • Your life station has made a spot for you. Knowing your passions and gifts; the way you’re wired, helps you to know your calling and how you can contribute.
  • You can be more effective. There is only one you and no one has exactly the same assignment. You’re comfortable being unique; having opinions and strengths and weaknesses. They all make you who you are.

My hope is to make the most of the days and years and not be mad at God when things don’t go as I’d wished.

To cherish the moments as they come because they truly are gifts!

To invest my life in the tasks that I believe were designed just for me. Not to copy someone else’s schedule or lifestyle.

A life verse I adopted many years ago seems more applicable as the years go by.

“The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.”

Psalm 92: 12-15

 

 

 

To-Do’s for My Last Day

To-Do’s for My Last Day
Wrightsville Beach, NC

“If today were your last, would you do what you’re doing? Or would you love more, give more, forgive more? Forgive and give as if it were your last opportunity. Love like there’s no tomorrow, and if tomorrow comes, love again.”

Max Lucado

On my way to a funeral I was struck by life’s contrasts. How I could be enjoying such a beautiful spring day; driving under a perfect canopy of dogwoods at the same time a friend’s father has died.

My friend Jim said we need to attend a funeral every year, and I think he’s right. Nothing reminds us of the hope we have as Christ followers like life that continues forever. In the last twelve months or so I’ve met my quota for funerals.

I remember my mother-in-law saying that if you have to die, Easter is a good time. I’d never thought of that but it did make sense. Death swallowed up in new life.

I wish I’d made it to Eva’s 60th Birthday Party. I was delighted that her throng of friends planned and hosted the surprise event. I smiled at the joy I saw on her face in all the images. I’m sorry I missed it but I’m glad I took time to find her address and send her a card. I’m glad I wrote a personal letter on the card before I put it in the mail.

That birthday —it would be her last. She was gone just like that! Snatched from this life right in the middle of loving people like it was her job—all people, as far as I could tell. She and her daughter  were  reported missing on a Monday, the day after they failed to show up for church. They were always at church. The proverbial phrase holds true–they were there every time the doors were open. And they always served as volunteers to help keep the church life going.

In the midst of several hundred people how many people would leave such a void? How many would be so much a part of the fabric of the community that their absence was deafening?

It pains me to say this, but I don’t think I’d have had known Eva if she hadn’t reached out to me. Always with a hug, a big smile and positive attitude.

Eva almost always commented on my blog posts. Continually affirming me. When you take the risk to put your words out there for the world, nothing means more than encouragement.

Eva had experienced hardships and sadness. The funny thing is I don’t even know much about what she endured because that’s not what she focused on.

They died a horrific death. Yet somehow I imagine their last thoughts and words brought honor to their Heavenly Father.

Our church hosted a prayer vigil for the two and as I sat there, tears welling up, I had the feeling that they should be there. It wasn’t right for them to miss anything. Their absence was obvious. I subconsciously looked for them right up there near the front; left side.

It will take time to process and come to peace with all of this. But I do know that God always teaches us stuff we need to learn even in the most devastating situations.

Eva’s life and sudden death has me thinking of things I’d like to be plopped down in the middle of on my last day.

I’d like to be writing a thank you note or an encouraging letter to someone. My last words to my husband would be “I love you and I’m so proud of you”. Filling my gratitude journal, smiling and helping strangers, taking a walk, enjoying outside, reading and learning and growing. Listening to a friend, reveling in the lives of our grown up kids and granddaughter. Bringing a meal or helping a young mom, inspiring and assisting a client in her home.….I hope I’ll be doing some of these things.

Honestly, I don’t know if the photos will be in books.  My recipes may still be a jumble; you may have to search through piles to find favorites. There may be a few too many sentimental “keepsakes” that haven’t quite made it to the donation site.

Hopefully there’ll be forgiveness for my undone things while I’m minding the eternal stuff.

House Speak

House Speak

I take frequent walks and the houses I pass always grab my attention. As part of my Tranquiliving business, I give staging consultations to folks selling their homes. I’m hyper-vigilant about every single exterior detail of a house—the curb appeal.  After all, the exterior is the introduction to the entire home. Many a buyer will turn away before getting near the entry if they’re unhappy with what they see!

First prize for the Most Unwelcoming House (my conscience prevents me from calling it a home!) goes to one I saw last week. Of modest size, and plopped down in a pleasant  little community, this place had no less than four large NO TRESPASSING signs. One of the signs was posted on the front door! Right where some people might hang a wreath or place a brass door knocker. I gulped when I walked past. I had to turn and walk by a second time just to let it sink in. I couldn’t help but imagine the story that had transpired beyond the front door. Had they incurred a devastating tragedy? Or was there one too many a proselytizer or Girl Scout? As a resident in that house, I wonder what kind of mood you’d fall into as you returned to your own home?

That house took the cake as my parents would have said. Next in line after the no trespassing house would be the house that is completely hidden behind shrubs and trees. You’re not sure there’s a house there, so obviously you don’t feel welcome.

Plenty of other dwellings I’ve seen could qualify for second or third place.

Twenty-one items that might make a home feel unwelcoming:

  • trash littering the yard or bulging garbage bags
  • broken down bicycles or cars
  • excessive toys covering the porch or yard
  • an ambiguous entrance—not knowing which door to use
  • a walkway that’s difficult to maneuver because of overgrowth or clutter
  • dead plants, grass or shrubs, especially near the entrance
  • dirty front door or peeling paint on door or trim
  • decorative metal that is discolored or damaged (I’ve used metallic spray paint rather than replacing certain items.)
  • cobwebs or hornets’ nests overhead in porch or entry area
  • burned out bulbs at night
  • dirty or broken light fixture
  • ragged door mat
  • inordinate number of yard ornaments
  • scattered tools or plumbing and construction materials
  • excessive and mismatched yard or porch furniture
  • broken or dated flower pots or too many pots
  • plastic flowers (sigh)
  • missing shutters or ones in need of paint
  • peeling house paint
  • Christmas decorations displayed when it’s not Christmas
  • a mailbox that’s seen better days

If you want to be welcoming to friends and neighbors you don’t need perfection. Pretend to be a guest and imagine what another person might feel when they walk up to your door. Clean it up, declutter and bring cheer to yourself and others by having one or a few healthy plants near the entry. But not twenty.

If you’re putting your house on the market, you still don’t have to achieve perfection but you should come a little closer to it! Be intentional to create curb appeal that is new, fresh, clean and green. You don’t want to run anyone off!

Now please excuse me; there are a few things I need to tend to outside:).

Thoughts on a Quiet House

Thoughts on a Quiet House

The sink shouldn’t be empty. There should be at least one stray cereal bowl filled with water…waiting to be washed.

The desk in the entry way is naked—where are the keys with the antique bent silver spoon?

The window by the kitchen table is still smudged by sticky baby girl hands—it won’t be cleaned today. It’s a sweet reminder of the laughing little one looking for birdies and squirrels. (My big feelings have clearly taken me to desperate places!)

There aren’t enough dishes to fill the dishwasher.

The blankets and pillows on the sofas stay obediently in their spots.

Piles of laundry that bugged me for so long are gone. Even the laundry room is on a brief vacay.

One week ago our home was bustling with hurriedness and so much chatter and laughter. “Pull up another chair to the table…crowd in…there’s room at the table for you!” No extra chairs needed today.

I’ve been known to grab a neighbor, and drag her to my house for potluck….to clean out the fridge or scrounge the freezer and eat up what we have. Sharing life gives me life.

Spontaneously invite a friend! You can be sure that your fare is as good or better than what she’d eat alone. No need to make a production! And it’s always better together.

Two in a home are better than one. And ten are better than two. We are not meant to be alone. What a treasure loved ones are and what a comfort to connect to other souls; other spirits.

A house shouldn’t be so quiet. No sounds of hurried footsteps dashing out the door and no goodbyes and I love you’s quickly called out.

The porch light is on, but why? No one is coming. New habits new ways new normals—they are all harkening me on to the new chapter.

When our kids were little and there was zero alone time, my friend Cynthia and I would chat on the phone in the mornings. We’d discuss what we learned from Dr. Dobson on 90.5 about parenting and wifing. More than once we discussed the verse from Proverbs 14;4.

“Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of oxen.”

Oxen are messy and eat a lot. They’re expensive and time consuming. The manger would be clean without them; but they provide a great harvest. Their benefit far outweighs their drawback.

My friend and I imagined that theoretically we could have a tidy clean house with everything in order. But what benefit would there be to an empty house? We wanted to learn to embrace or at least accept the poopy diapers, never ending laundry, the continual spills. One day we’d miss those little rug rats.

When you’re there it’s impossible to know what it’s like to be here. And isn’t it funny that so much of the time there is a longing for the other season rather than a full on reveling in the present. We humans are so weird and impossible to please; or maybe it’s just me.

An advantage to having lived through lots of years is that you begin to finally realize that each season prepares you for the next. Every single one is as valuable as the one coming. God is always faithful. So why should I fret and why should I be sorrowful? Right now He’s preparing me for what’s ahead and even in my melancholy and tender emotions my hope is in Him. All the days planned for me are written in His book.