A Tribute

As Bad as it Gets

As bad as it gets.  I just happened across a link on Shelter from the Storm's Facebook page.  I didn't feel, after listening to the content that I could share it.  It was as bad as it gets.  It was a 911 call from a child requesting the police as the child's mama was being beaten in the background by her husband.  I think about the situations where no one knows.  I think about the silent ways that people are abused and no one hears... until it's too late.  Why?  Why does she not see what is directly in front of her?  I'm sure she must think it can't possibly be as bad as everyone thinks it is, right?  "These types of things don't happen to me," she reasons.  And yet they do.  What goes thru the mind of a man who beats a woman... mentally or physically?  Do they think that they are not as bad as they truly are??  What leads them to be this person?  What causes them to be loving one minute and terrifying the next?  How do they convince her to go along with it?
Be aware.  You think it will never happen in your world.  It's just something that happens on the news... in someone else's circle.... until it does happen to you.  Don't turn a blind eye.  When do words turn to violence.  Do you know?  When will it be too late?
I still shake my head sometimes trying to clear the fog.  After three long years it is still inconceivable that she is gone.  It doesn't make sense.  I wonder if it ever will.  In some ways I hope it doesn't.  Somehow it gives me hope.  Hope that I will get to sit and laugh with her again.

Someday... maybe...

And the farm and life would look something like this….

Beef, chicken and pork grown here.  Minus hormones and genetically modified feed, of course!  There will be a hen house and a small barn for the cow, a horse and a small shelter for two pigs.  There’ll be a dog and, I don’t wanna know how many cats!

There will be a store house… a cellar, if you will, with walls lined with shelves of canning jars and supplies, fresh and canned fruit and vegetables and freezers containing meats and other foods for the fall and winter months.  There will be a couple of small homes with porches dotted with pots overflowing with flowers of every color and shade.  Attached to the side of one little abode is a greenhouse which can be accessed from the inside of the house or the outside.  The greenhouse is large and inside you’ll find flowers and fresh vegetables and herbs ready for the picking for tonight’s dinner.  Attached to the other house is a dog yard, a kennel and several sweet yapping puppies ready to distribute joy to whoever passes by.  There is a main house.  It is simple and not too large but full of laughter and love of life.  We have a small yard but big enough to run and play.  Down another path but close to the house there is a large garden just finishing up its summer occupation of growing food for the people who live on the farm.  The orchard is nearby where children are climbing the trees and stealing cherries and apples and fall pears.  There are bushel baskets dotted here and there.  Half full to bursting and ready to be taken to the storehouse to be canned, stored, frozen, prepared for jams and jellies.

There are outbuildings… garages and machine sheds storing old cars, mowers, tillers and snowplows.  The tools are organized and the garages are heated to be comfortable even on the coldest of days.  It’s well lit to almost seem as if the sun is shining.  There are lifts and every necessity for maintaining the vehicles that reside on the property.  Somewhere near the machine sheds is another inconspicuous looking building.  Big barn doors grace the front of the building and a chimney exits the roof.  Upon opening the doors you’ll find a blacksmith’s work place.  Anvils and hammers, stock metal and even a small laser cutter.  Center stage is a gas forge.  The smell is of hot metal shavings that have been grinded off the art projects hanging from the walls and propped against shelves throughout the little shed.  On almost any weekend day you’ll find those doors open for several hours while the fire in the forge is kept hot to make repairs on tools, to give demonstrations to local homeschoolers and to just simply create.

Back in the main farmhouse the kitchen is large, consuming nearly half of the downstairs square footage.  In it resides a large gas stove with a pot filler and large sinks for rinsing, washing and canning.  To one side, the old farm table stands.  There are school books piled up here and there and eraser dust on the benches.  The names of dear ones are carved here and there all over the table.  Fresh baked bread is cooling on the counter as is a fresh batch of homemade strawberry jam.  In the tiny library, an old cat is nestled in on the ancient leather ottoman taking a nap in a ray of sunshine.  There are some books here and there laid open and scattered on table tops.  It is a quiet room with shelves that stretch to the ceiling full of books new and old on almost any subject you would hope for.  A set of encyclopedias line the shelves for easy access and a small secretary sits in the corner ready for use.

Across the hall is the laundry.  Out the door is the line where sheets and towels float gently on the breeze promising to bring the fragrance of the wind indoors for many days to come.  Everyone is about being industrious or taking a break from their day's work.  Tonight is dinner with our families at the main house.  We’ll spend this evening planning and preparing for our coming guests at Thanksgiving.  There is a bunk house located just off the barn and come November it will be full to bursting with cousins telling ghosts stories and staying up all hours of the night!  The trees that frame the farm have been planted specifically for Thanksgiving weekend… they are our Christmas trees.

The family dinners at the main house are always loud and loving.  The table is loaded with more food than even our large family can eat and everyone heads home with leftovers.  We love that their homes are just down the path!  I go out as the stars gather for their nightly dance and collect eggs.  Overwhelmed by God’s grace, mercy and provision, I stop and raise my hands to the sky glorying in the way the breeze seems to flow through my very soul.  It’s just what we wanted, God!  It’s everything we’ve hoped for and yet so much more!  To share this life with our loved ones and to soak up each moment with them.  We do so appreciate the opportunity that you’ve given us and we hope that each day we will embrace that and show each other love and allow each other failures because God, we can do no less than what you have done for us.

Amen.   

There's a Laptop Under My Table

There's a laptop under my table, it's true.  It was left there by the two little boys who made the tent.  They snuggled under it, as brothers sometimes do, to watch a movie together.  There are blankets left over from the tent, folded now, and laid neatly across the back of a chair--not put away but, waiting there, just in case another tent needs to be built.
There are sippy cups and bottles adorning the bottom of the sink and Valentine treats lining the countertops.  A thick layer of dust covers the piano top where at least a dozen family photos peek from behind one another reminding us of loved ones here and gone.  There's a lego guy stuck in that piano and half a dozen science boards tucked in behind it.  There are clothes on the stairs waiting to be put away and a stack of miniature clothing to be washed.
There are coffee, yogurt and cocoa stains on nearly every available surface--the latest one happened when the baby reached up to hug me and knocked my cup sideways!
Dotted around the house are little love notes, Bible verses and books on everything from Spiderman to parenting to quilting and beyond.  Vegetable seeds and pots sit atop the table waiting to be started.  A Bible lays open where our oldest boy last finished reading... Jonah and the whale.
Sucker sticks and Valentines, candy wrappers and Star Wars guys, boots, coats, hats and helmets.
At the end of the day, I'm picking up.  I'm putting things away where they belong--oh, but not everything!  Never!!  You see, the sucker stick reminds me of a little boy who curled up in bed with me but didn't want to leave the comfort he found there.  The Bible reminds me of a little guy who, although is often sidetracked, strives after God.  Headphones and glue sticks, hair spray and soda cans are all reminders of the "artist in residence".  Baby dolls tucked in under a blanket, a big fat cat asleep in the rocker.  Names carved into the table and a myriad of artifacts and tomes remind me that I'm home.  My family lives here!  What joy! 
Yeah, I put away a lot of things but, i would never choose to put it all away.  I love the evidence of a life lived and a life lived fully. 
So, yes, there's still a laptop under my table--just in case!  Just in case two brothers want to love being together again. 
Someone will clean my house when I'm gone.  Maybe then it will all get put away.  Until then, I'm happy with all of the reminders that my family is bigger to me than a well cleaned home.

Harder Than I Thought

"Mom, will you braid my hair?"
"Sure, honey."
And as I'm braiding, I'm thinkin', "Your days are numbered, mama."

My beautiful daughter, my first born, turned eighteen yesterday.  Like most moms, I remember the day she was born vividly.  They placed her in my arms and I just kept telling my mom, "Mom, I have a baby!"  I was so shocked!  Ha!
Never did I think I could love so deeply!  I found this whole new capacity inside me and it was bigger than I thought possible.  She was amazing.  Plain and simple, she became my world.  For eight years, she was our only child. 
Aside from a bout of terrible twos, she was, literally, the perfect child.  Oh, I know everyone says that about their kids, but Janie is different.  Always has been.  She's a gift from God and there's no mistaking it.  Why He entrusted us with someone clearly so precious to Him, I will never know.  We were bound to mess it up, after all.  I suppose, in the end, He knew that we needed her. 
Janie has taught me, on more than one occasion, to be a better person.  She makes me think.  She opens up her soul so easily and shares it so willingly... and that's where God is.  I hope that when I grow up, I get to be just like her.
Yeah, my days are numbered.  Not too long now and she'll be heading out on her own and building her life.  What I wouldn't give to turn back the clock and relive some of those amazing days when she was little again.  That's not how it works, tho, and, after all, I get to marvel at the woman she has become.  It's not without a tear and more than an ounce of regret, but God helped us raise a true contribution!  I could never take credit for who she is, I do so hope, tho, for many more years to come!
I love you, angel baby! xxoo

Lesson Learned... (or I'm trying to learn it, anyway)

Today I saw a woman bringing her baby into the doctor's office for a check up after he had been to the emergency room suffering from bronchitis.  He came in dressed properly and a little sweaty.  He was minus some socks, which his mother claimed he shed somewhere between the house and the doctor.  Mama was dressed in fleecy pajama pants, mud caked tennis shoes and slouchy shirt and coat.  Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and obviously needed washing.  I heard her phone say "droid" when she got a text message.  Her baby's breath rattled now and again as he breathed thru the green binki in his mouth.  As I sit there observing the two of them while the mom talks to the receptionist I'm overwhelmed by the smell of... cigarette smoke.  I imagine her baby sitting innocently near his mama as he tries to breathe despite the smoke and my heart begins to break.  He is about Bo's age.  I want to run over and grab him and take him away to let him breathe clean air so he can heal... so his lungs won't have to suffer another bout of bronchitis... maybe i could save him from further scarring.
So then I have to stop.  Who am I?  Am I so different from this mama?  Fundamentally?  Or are the scars I leave simply not visible with an x-ray?  I yell at my children too much.  I'm inconsistent when what they need is a rock.  I'm impatient when they ask the same question repeatedly.  How often do I crush them with my words or my attitude?
As I sat in the waiting room praying that God would send the nurse to call us back and fighting back the tears for this baby, I had to fight them back for my own children.  It's moments like this that I have to take a hard look at me... and I'm not always pleased with what I find.  I'm learning that I'm not all that different from other moms.  We're all flawed.  I'm flawed... but I'm committed to do better... and so I will.

My Lisa: Year Two

kitchen dancing with lisa

They said it would get easier.  Not so.  I only miss her more.  It's like trying to hold water in your hands.... she's gone.  I can't get her back.  Wish I were as positive as last year.  Missing my darling friend.  The feel of her hair, her hand in mine... her laugh... her smile.  Sleep sweet, my love.  Missing you.