Category: joy

A Short Story… Snippets and Memories

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“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you;” Isaiah 66:13a

The pink acrylic alarm clock sat beside the bed she shared with her sister. It was her favorite with the edges around the face of the clock. She would sit and hold it, rubbing her fingers in the indentations.

She knew it was about to go off as she slowly moved from dreaming to wakefulness. In the background she could hear noise, she knew she must still be sleeping.

The alarm went off. Reaching for the clock, she felt someone pick it up to turn it off. Her older sister was gently setting it back down. She quietly said, “Just go back to sleep. There is no school today.” At this time, their youngest sister stirred and sat up.

Her older sister went to the top of the stairs and said, “Dad, they’re awake.”

The next few minutes were life altering. Confused, the girl sat up as their Dad said, “Mom died last night. You won’t be going to school this week.” Her younger sister started crying. I sat there, confused. I probably was crying, but I don’t remember. I do remember thinking it wasn’t a very funny joke to tell us.

As I sat there, the surroundings became clear. It was still a bit dark, it was fall. The lights from the kitchen seemed so bright. The voices, I wasn’t dreaming. I heard familiar voices of aunts and uncles. I had had a feeling that this day was approaching for the past month, although I never said anything. I was afraid to ask the question for fear that I might get the dreaded answer. That morning, reality slammed into our lives. Day One of not having a mother.

Life changed. That week we went to our Aunt’s house. We roamed around the house while she busied herself in the kitchen. We played with our cousin’s pom poms from high school. She was newly married and it all seemed so romantic to me. We gazed at our cousin’s basketball trophies. He was my favorite. He made me laugh.

We spent another day with another aunt. She let us make chocolate chip cookies. We didn’t add the salt to the recipe and she knew it right away. I never add salt now without thinking about her.

The funeral home was always packed. So many people leaning down to either pat our heads or shed a tear while we were there. We were bored. How many times can you nod your head while someone tells you they are sorry for your loss?

I was 11. That in between stage. I had teenage style of dresses, but could only wear ankle socks. It was humiliating to me. Classmates came into the funeral home. They would stand and stare, not sure what to do or say. I learned the art of small talk that week. I dislike small talk.

The day of the funeral was dark and drizzling. It was like being in a living dream. Motions happened, we went through them, behaving exactly like we were told. As we left, an older aunt lost her underwear and left them on the floor of the church. How bizarre that was and we still laugh about that.

The wake (we’re Irish) was a release for all who were there. Uncles handed us money, “Go to the store, get some ice cream for yourselves.” The neighborhood store must have done a record business as I recall getting back to the house only to have another uncle put money into a cousin’s hand with an order to go to the store and have fun.

Time moved at a snail’s pace but also it flew by. Family left and we girls learned to adjust. Some days in the beginning were okay, others not so good. My older sister was a rock, she guided and kept my younger sister and I moving. We three girls raised ourselves as best as we could. We are survivors.

I don’t know why this all came flooding back to me tonight, but I needed to write about it. The days of no Mother have been a lifetime. Snippets and memories sometimes rush in like a high tide. Other times the memories are still. Above all, though, I am grateful for my sisters. I am grateful for our Dad who was thrust into single parenthood in a time where wives did the bulk of raising the kids.

Life is interesting. Growing up it was normal for us. Normal is different for each person. God has a plan and a purpose for us. The snippets and memories have shaped me according to God’s plan for my life.

What is Your Garden Like?

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“And when He had sent them away, He departed to the mountain to pray.” Mark 6:46 (NKJV)

Yesterday we sang the hymn “I Come to the Garden Alone”. I have sang this song for years. I have read cute stories of children asking who Andy is, and parents discovering that it is this hymn they are talking about, confusing the words, And He for Andy. “And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own;” Often when I hear this song, I think of that story.

I love gardens. When I think of a prayer garden I imagine a beautiful spot in the middle of a lush growing garden of flowers. There is either a bench in the middle or a swing. It is sweet and peaceful in my mind. Or the other scenario I think of a garden is the picture we have seen since we were little of the garden Jesus went to before his arrest. I see a spot with a large stone where you can lean upon and pray. Of course, in reality, this would not do for me. I would be hesitant to lean upon a rock not knowing if a snake of any sort would be sunning itself on it. Plus, kneeling on the ground where creepy crawlers could crawl up on you is not my thing.

In my reality I have no official garden. I sing the first stanza, “I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses.” I love roses, but I have no roses. I can point to the places where I have attempted growing roses and then point to deer who have eaten my roses until they do not exist.

So, in truth, I have no actual garden. Or, so I thought.

Our worship leader yesterday paused before singing this song. She had been struggling with the meaning of the second verse, “I’d stay in the garden with Him Though the night around me be falling, But He bids me go; through the voice of woe His voice to me is calling.” She went on to describe how the voice of woe is not sadness, but like grandparents are sad to see their grandchildren depart, they know they will return, but tears are shed at their departure. Then as the grandchildren depart, the grandparents will stand in the doorway or driveway and wave to them.

As she spoke, this picture came to mind. This is Little Man when he was Little (he is now a young man). He was going back home and grabbed my hand and told me we needed to hide so he could stay with me. I picked him up and we walked outside. While we said our typical good byes that take almost as long as the visit, he snuggled in, determined not to leave. I can remember the tears in my eyes as he was held. I did not want him to go.

This is how our worship leader described how our Lord feels when we come to Him. I will never forget her words.

It was then that I realized I do have a garden. It is my driveway where I walk laps. It is the place of prayer. It is where, when I am having a tough day I go to even if I have already walked that day. It is where, when I walk out the door, I begin to talk with Jesus.

What does your garden look like?

Case of the Grumpies

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 “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. 4 But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” James 1:2-4 (NKJV)

I woke up this morning and it wasn’t until a couple hours later that I discovered that I woke on that proverbial wrong side of the bed.

Inside I was agitated. Outside I was short in my words.

We did our Costco run and although that usually cheers me up, it didn’t today. I dreaded going home to put things away and rearrange things and just ‘deal’ with the groceries.

I put most of the things away and decided I needed to check the mail. Sitting beside the mailbox was our garbage can, still full, still waiting to be picked up. Going up the driveway I decided to yell about it all to God. I grumbled about the trash. I grumbled that my freezer needs to be defrosted. I just grumbled.

I heard a small, gentle voice asking me to define it all. True, I could not do anything about the trash, we had called them and they promised they were on their way. Yes, the freezer is on me, and I accepted that. I ended my rant with I’m just so tired.

I retrieved the mail. Just one piece. A card addressed to me. A birthday card from our insurance agent. I glanced at the card and started to mumble about it being late. Instead, I changed my tone and said, that’s nice, even if it was late. I opened the card and inside was a post it note saying, “I am sorry this is so late, please accept this little token from me.”

Attached to the post-it note was a gift card for a quick stop store. This actually caught my breath.

I felt humbled. God blesses us even when He is making a point about attitudes.

The Grumpies have disappeared.

Old Photos

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“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous— Psalm 139:13-14 (NLT)

Tomorrow I am starting to teach a Bible Study on God Knows… I am going to reference this scripture. First of all, anytime I teach, my mind goes to the future and I see myself in front of the Lord. We are seeing my life and He stops the reel when I am teaching. The scenario in my mind is, He stops the reel, looks at me and asks, “What were you thinking?” This is said incredulously .

I usually pray a lot during those times!

In preparation for tomorrow, I was looking through old pictures. I mean the old black and white with the curly edges on the photos.

I smiled at many of them and just stared at others. The ones I stared at were of myself. There are two options about my pictures of growing up.

1. I was a dorky kid.

2. My parents had a warped sense of humor in taking pictures.

Personally, I think it is a combination of both. My poses were either with my head tilted to such a degree that it looked like a random head resting on a shoulder. And, yes, I still tilt my head like that, although with age, it’s just a head tilt.

My other poses are just as random. Legs and feet firmly planted on the ground almost looking like a gorilla standing upright, making faces , eyes crossed and tongue out. Some, though, are attempts at being a girl with minor manners. How I ever got a date in high school is beyond me! Must have been the Lord.

I can be very critical of myself as I think most of us are. In the end, though, we need to remember that we were carefully and lovingly created by a God who loves us. He created us, dorkiness and all.

Looking through the photos today brought back memories, good and bad. I could smell the air in the background. I can remember the fun. Time continues on and snapshots of our life will come to us at different times. We will remember parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, cousins. Echoes of the past linger deep within us. Memories are a scrapbook of our lives.

And Now…For Today’s Story

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“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice!” Philippians 4:4 (NKJV)

Sunday I turned 69. I have received wonderful wishes and love expressed and it has been wonderful. I am always surprised that people take the time to wish me well.

69 is an age I never thought I would reach. I have outlived both of my parents. I figured I would pass in my 40’s or 50’s, so to reach this landmark, I am surprised. I am also overwhelmed as I’m old!

This morning I went to our Bible Study. I left early for an appointment. I have been overdue for my mammogram and I needed a bone density test. I find it ironic that I would put off a mammogram considering my oldest is in the process of recovering from breast cancer. But, put it off I did. 

As I left Bible Study the women all expressed prayers for a good appointment with good results. They are a lovely group of women. I thanked them and planned the route to the place where I made the appointment. I arrived at 11:02 for an 11:20 appointment. I had a difficult time parking in a spot, which is pretty normal for me. 

I walked into the building and a young woman came to the counter and I said, “I’m here for my appointment.” She looked at me strangely. She asked my name. She looked at her computer and I could see that something was wrong.  I said, almost in a plea, “Please don’t tell me that I am at the wrong place.” I made the appointment for there because I knew how to get there. (If you don’t know me, I can get lost very, very easily)

She pursed her lips and then smiled. She asked my birthdate, and then wished me a happy belated birthday. I thanked her. She was very nice. 

She looked up at me, confirmed my information and said, “I won’t tell you that you are in the wrong place.” (Whew! That’s a relief). She continued, “You are in the right place, and you are here on time. But (dont’ you dislike when you hear that word?), you are in the wrong month.”

At this point, I stared at her. The two women behind me were laughing by this time having been privy to the conversation. 

The punchline? My appointment is for March 13th. 

The cute woman behind the counter continued, “I know you are just anxious and excited to have this appointment. You couldn’t wait to get here, right?”

The women behind me were doubling over, I swear! They were just having too good of a time.

I mumbled something about after having my last birthday I was anxious because I know the factory warranty on me is starting to come to an end.” 

The women behind me were silently slapping their knees. 

I used the restroom and as i walked out the door I made eye contact with the women. They burst out laughing. I told them to have a good appointment and left. 

It took me longer to park than it did in the building. Oh! The joys of getting old!