Green, Gold and Baby Blue

Sunday evening on the last day of a very hot July finds me eager to eat a warm chocolate chip cookie and drink a cup of coffee.  It doesn't make a lot of sense but I'd probably preface it with a glass of ice water. 

It has been an interesting weekend of house cleaning, deconstruction, reconstruction and the giving away of worldly goods.  I can define it as a  settling in to the space that my body has occupied for almost two years.  You know more of what you want versus what you don't and act accordingly.  To this physical phase I am adding the emotional component...

Two years in Texas. My life is a foreign chapter of travel and exhaustion which I don't recognize.  I never in my dreams or imaginations pictured my life to be the way it now is.  One thing I have found to be true, life always goes that way.  I opened photo books this weekend and gazed at my life in print.  You know what I saw?  Happiness.  We of course do not intentionally take or pose for photos when we are upset but our parents at times offer some gems up for reflection.  (Like the photo of me crying about having to eat boiled potatoes.  I'm actually not embarrassed by it which was their intention, it strengthened my determination not to eat a boiled potato ever again; upon gaining the threshold of free will, I haven't. ) Since we take photos during happy times, it can be a joy to travel through the stages of our life.  We might remember feeling disgruntled right before the photo was snapped but sometimes it is overlooked as the memory is rose colored by the emotion that is captured by the camera.  When I would like to feel melancholy about the past, I simply need to take out the photo album and see happiness staring back at me. 

Every day I walk with stronger step forward to a life that still remains unknown to me.  I still consider myself to be friendless in Texas, meaning that bosom friend is not yet arrived in my heart.  I know that it takes such a long time to grow an old friend, so I am spending all that energy on my family rather than wondering when it will happen.  I have intentional faith that it will happen, one day I will love this life as much as any of the others, and when it happens, it will be a beautiful and tangible thing to hold.  In the meantime, I have just four years with these guys.  Four years and I could be an empty nester.  My mind drifts over the years ahead and I can only dream of what is in store.  

I am starting to form the idea that I would like to have a life that includes my passions and my connections. I was recently telling an old friend that you don't enjoy old things when you are younger.  You want new things for your home that you are building as a newlywed. You want new adventures and you boldy go forth.  But there is something to be said about the wisdom of age and the changing of values over time. I can now boldly go forth on adventures but I am embracing and carrying the old along with me.  I picture a life that includes my favorite books, and gardening.  My hair is getting quite gray -  and so I see a gray haired Angela with knowing blue eyes making raspberry jam and fresh bread.  It is a slower life I think.  I dream of a slower life, filled with quilts, soft lamps, fresh flowers and the man I love still tinkering in the garage, for he has definitely brought along his tools. 

God has been good to carry me these recent years for it has been a weary road.  I can see that success can be measured in many ways, but that joy is still to be found in the simple things for I am a hobbit at heart.  My adventures give me scope and depth, and I embrace that, but the cry of my heart is for the hearth. 

To quote a much better writer...."where our hearts truly lie is in peace and quiet and good, tilled earth. For all hobbits share a love for things that grow. And, yes, no doubt to others, our ways seem quaint. But today of all days, it is brought home to me: It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life."

I sit here on a Sunday evening, painting the future with green and gold and the baby blue eyes of Ryan.   

In summary, though, I know that many are the plans in the heart of man but God orders his steps. 

The Heart of Winter

Are you in the heart of winter? 

I think right now it doesn't matter where you are, likely, winter is in full swing.  Snow, ice, sleet and a good dose of wind to bring the temperature to an uncomfortable level.  Are you feeling cold? I've been a bit cold this week; my teeth have chattered and my environment has been frozen.  (My beloved fern might not be with us for much longer.)

Many people, often these people are writers, also use the word "winter," as a metaphor for a difficult experience that lingers and creates a season of time that is painful and uncomfortable.  Frankly, the word "summer" is rarely used and maybe that means we have some seasonism going on here.  (Yes, political correctness is out of control and it's bound to be brought up so I might as well be the first to brand it and cash in on it.)

Have you had some winter in either sense recently?  

Have you had both? 

This week I was traveling for work from Texas to Oregon.  Now, I like Oregon, in all honesty, it might become a second home with the amount of time I might need to spend there for work.  It's beautiful; to me, the landscape is beautiful.  Big trees, some mountains, coast, coffee...  It has very charming appeal, but, it is not the place for me.  It's expensive. It does not welcome strangers. It is snobby and full of its own virtue, that is, in my opinion, lacking.  Thus, when it was time to leave, I wanted to leave, but I could not make it back to Texas....due to winter.

I did not want to stay in Portland another day. I'd already turned in the rental car, went through all the airport rigamarole, and departing for a new hotel in the same location was not what I wanted to do. "Please," I asked the Delta attendant, "please keep me booked on this flight to Salt Lake City, and I will stay overnight there."  She was not very keen on it, preferring to send me to Atlanta at 0600 the next morning but I knew I would be stuck in

 Atlanta because that flight would be cancelled since it was earlier in the day. The forecast was not amenable to successful travel into Austin before the evening. She agreed, but was insistent I'd have to have somewhere to stay, basically I think she was saying that Delta would not be responsible for me.  I don't need Delta to be responsible for me so I boarded that deliciously empty flight to SLC while Velma, my newly purchased travel bag and future companion for business travel disembarked - I'd like to think involuntarily- and began her own journey across the country.  I rented a car while we sat on the tarmac and settled in, mentally calculating what I'd need to purchase at the airport Hudson News when I arrived: toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, sweatshirt..err...parka perhaps? 

Skiers, missionaries (and 30 of their closest friends and family), herds of various travelers were coming and going; SLC has grown significantly since it was my "hometown" airport.  I spent some change, got the necessities and met the arctic blast head on. I was the only person looking like I expected the weather forecast to be a balmy 60*.  My fellow travelers had all.the.gear and it felt like frostbite was setting in while I struggled to find my Toyota Corolla in D26.  For the love...it's A,B,C,D...right? I found my new-to-me companion, hopped in, and turned on the heat quickly. As I drove out of the airport parking lot, I abandoned my original travel plan and drove straight to 2006 down Bangerter Highway.  This is the way to Eagle Mountain. 

Winter. 

I passed West Jordan and the armory....2009...flashes of a tall, handsome soldier, helicopters, the American flag...and goodbye.

Winter.

Time ceased to exist and I lived for an hour in my memory. I was amazed by all the physical changes, and, as if for the first time, I was mesmerized by how you can see a million lights at night by the terrain. Everything is sandwiched between mountain ranges and you are a king looking down on the vast sea of diamonds spread before you, and the freeways are the parting of the Red Sea; you go right through. It was one of my favorite things to see when I first moved there; it's so different than anywhere I came from. 

I just drove and tears rolled down my cheeks, unbidden. Not forced. Not planned. Not painful. But very emotional. 

I worked the next day, but took time out for a nice long lunch.  I drive down State Street from Lehi, through American Fork, Pleasant Grove, Lindon, to Orem.  Everything I passed was a bright flash from my past. That was the first Costco I belonged to. That was my favorite Mexican restaurant. That was the road to the pediatrician. That was the hospital where I had Aaron. Noah's first elementary school.  My baby went to school here; can I even remember what that was like?  Yes, I can. This is the route that he would walk.  

It was a strange feeling of: this is not home, yet I know once it felt that way; it is so familiar I can drive without thinking of how to get there. Strange and familiar; home, but foreign; a dichotomy.  I found my cheeks were wet once again.  How do these silent tears just fall? Where do they come from? 

Winter.  It can be a hardship, the season of cold temperatures and the season of painful experiences.  I had a lot of winter in Utah. When I look back, I honestly can't explain how I did some of the things I did. I certainly don't feel like I could do them today.  As I drove and cried, I had the deep seated assurance that grace is the answer. 

Grace is the answer.  When I needed to do something difficult, God provided the grace I needed to endure.  The grace and strength was available in the moment of need, just in the perfect timing.   I cannot tell you how I hugged my husband goodbye and left the airport with two babies in tow knowing I faced the next "forever" alone in a house in Orem.  I don't want to think about doing that right now. I don't think I can do it. But I did do it. I can do it.  Because when it was time, and only when it was time, the grace was poured out. 

My Utah chapter is a season of winter to me but it is a precious one of deep faith, friendships, and maturity.  It clearly still resonates in my heart and overwhelms me.  I see so many examples of the faithfulness of God and I submit it is usually in these times we can most make that connection. 

Are you in winter? 

Winter does not last forever but it can linger much longer than we desire.  

Pray for grace, dear one.  Pray for Jesus to meet you just in the moment. He doesn't necessarily remove the pain, but He does lavish His grace on broken and hurting hearts.  

And He raises them to life in the Spring....   

Spring follows and Summer and then, Fall.....and maybe a new winter.  But winter always comes with grace for every believer. 

I was very thankful for my brief stopover in my past this week.  It was a good walk down memory lane, it was good to remember. 

As I look toward the beginning of Spring in Texas....  

A New Experience

Dear Readers...

I recently embarked on a journey, an entirely new experience.  I was intimidated before I even began, and in time, I would find that I was right to feel this way. 

You might be surprised to know that a woman in her forties has never been anywhere by herself. I've been in my home by myself for a few days.  I've traveled to destinations around the globe by myself. But I have never traveled to an unknown place and stayed alone. 

 Can I just say for the record, for those still living under a rock, still huddled at home, for those who have never traveled anywhere in 18 months....   Travel will steal your soul right about now.  People are everywhere.  You cannot breathe in the airports.  You just want a place to sit your fanny down and guess where you're gonna be....the floor. You're gonna be on the floor stuffed up between two abandoned wheelchairs, a trashcan and six of your closest strangers who are also audibly wondering, "How is it possible that the airport is this busy on a weekday in October?!"

I should have been prepared then for the well formed line of people stretching across the length of the parking garage at the sign marked "Avis Preferred."  But. I mean. Doesn't by definition "preferred" imply that some people will be excluded?  As I inched forward for 45 minutes, I had time to ruminate on my understanding of the definition as did my fellow inmates...errr... prisoners of time, otherwise known as weary travelers, most of them also for business. I also had plenty of opportunity to wonder why I didn't pack one of my 34 scarves for the occasion.  It certainly was not a balmy day in Portland, as drops of rain pelted the earth, my phone and my spirits.  I enjoy rain but I do not prefer to drive through it, in a strange car, in a strange place.  My spirits only worsened as I sat down in the red Hyundai and the smell of smoke assaulted my senses.  I mean no offense but one thing I cannot stand is the smell of stale smoke overlaid with air freshener.  I gagged a bit, and thought about making some demands, but waiting another hour didn't suit me.  I drove out of the parking garage, punching in what I hoped was the right hotel address and realizing all the while that the windshield wipers were no good.  My vision was obscured, blurred by water that would never quite clear in front of my eyes. I'm thinking of all the reasons that I would like to be at home, but I swallowed my frustration, clung tightly to my phone and the steering wheel, and did my best to follow the directions from Portland to Hillsboro.  

My hotel room was sufficient but I was sad to see there is no cream or sugar and only one packet of coffee; using the included coffeepot will be pointless. I went to work before breakfast was served in the lobby so that was disheartening, no breakfast and no coffee.  My first day at the job found me without my badge so I had to call to be let in. Then, I opened up my laptop and it wouldn't turn on.  I tried multiple times, but, alas, "fan error" was all it would say. Here I am, at the warehouse with colleagues I don't know and my computer won't work. I call IT and the say, "Go to your local IT or send us your computer." Luckily this site does have local IT, so I depart the warehouse, Google the office and set off.  Again, no badge, but they let me in and direct me to IT.  I'm nearing tears at this point... because technology just isn't where I want it and I'm embarrassed and stressed at all the things happening.  I will pause and say that I'm pretty good in most social situations, I can get on with a lot of people.  But.  IT? These people were not my jam. Condescending. Rude. Arrogant. As if my whole joy in life was to show up (as a site visitor) on their doorstep with a broken computer just to make their day.  I was very humble and contrite, my embarrassment notwithstanding, having no idea if I was indeed the cause.  "Put me at the bottom of the list, no problem, whatever works best" seemed to level my pal, Lenny, until he found out I didn't have Teams on my phone and he would have to call me. (I since added it but as I knew prior, it was a huge mistake...I don't actually want to know what's going on at work while I'm not working.)  Lenny called later to tell me it would be a few days and I could drop back by for a loaner.  It wasn't a great computer and I didn't have all the things I needed but I could at least contribute.  The part finally came in right before I came home.  I think Lenny was sad to see me go....he mustered some conversation about my trip and it wasn't all that hard to fix the issue and it was no big deal to help me out.  I think we had a small breakthrough. 

Work kept me busy. I pushed cranes into crates, used a power drill, burned my fingers on hot screws, spent hours with my arch nemesis: ratchet straps, and wrangled all sorts of lifting and hoisting devices for days.  And by day four, I realized my steal toes shoes were probably not the right size. I could barely walk around the last five hours of the day and I knew my toes were probably bleeding. I googled a grocery store, hobbled around grabbing band aids, Diet Coke, instant oatmeal, microwave soup and chocolate pudding. The recipe for a perfect weekend.  My poor toes.  My poor feet. I doctor them up and fall asleep early on a Friday night. 

Despite my crippling situation, I decided I at least need to go see one site while I'm here.  I chose the coast because the other option included a hike to a waterfall and that just wasn't possible.  Route 26 near the hotel is a three lane highway, if you can call it that with top speeds coming in at a chill 55mph, but 5 miles down it becomes a two lane road that heads up the mountain.  Drat. I know this life. Miles of cars just bumper to bumper with nowhere to pass.  I have no way to charge my phone so I turn off the navigation and tune the radio.  Do you know that I went thousands of miles Northwest and all I could get was a Spanish station?  I'm thinking...hum...I just....really?  As I settle into the languid tones of what must be a love song, I spy a round, brown ball in the middle of my dashboard.  The traffic is thick and there are so many empty cars on the sides of the road with hiking trails leading off in all directions. There is a constant speed up and brake pattern so I need to pay careful attention to the road, but my eyes continue to drift over....is it a ladybug?  It looks like a brown ladybug.  It would be common, in my experience, to see these in the fall.  I decide its a ladybug because the alternative option that is clamoring for my attention is unacceptable. 

The drive is beautiful.  Oregon is beautiful.  Simply put.  It is everything I imagined it would be, chilly, woodsy, damp and full of people with beards, backpacks, and dogs.  My destination is quite easy to find even without the use of Google, although I clearly brand myself as an explorer that should be held in high regard.  Do you see this license plate says "Washington?" I am clearly roaming far and wide so it's in your best interest to just...errr... yeah, give me a wide berth to parallel park in this tiny, highly congested seaside town.  Actually, never mind, I'll park over in the visitors center lot which has just the perfect, okay not perfect, sized spot for my compact car and I will carefully squeeze out the door and hobble the extra four blocks to the ocean.  Bleeding toes are of no consequence to explorers.  How else did we find the Pacific Ocean to begin with?  It's windy, but the sun is shining and the view of the relentless waves crashing against rock reminds me of the Creator who made it and knew that one day I would come to see it.  It was the one year anniversary of the day I moved to Texas and it was already feeling emotional.  In front of my eyes is beautiful proof of a perfect Creator, of a God that brings order and structure and design. And on this day in 2020, I couldn't have imagined I would be on the Oregon coast for it was never a thought in my mind to visit.   It was an embrace from the Almighty to hear the pounding of the tide and see His glorious masterpiece.  To close my eyes and know that He thinks of me, that He, even through this difficult year, continues to amaze me with the courses He sets me on...it was a gift on a tough day.

 I turn toward home and decide the languid and melodic Espanol has set me up for enchiladas. I pick a place a few miles from the hotel, and it is only after I get my food that the ladybug awakens. And it's not a ladybug. And it moves very fast. And for the love why is it heading for the steering wheel?  I really am scared of my brown, multi eyed, road tripping spider companion. Internal terror at the thought it will somehow land on my body and....do what?  I'm trying to focus on the road in yet, more, unfamiliar territory but I can't bear the thought of it being on me, and I can't exactly get away from it.  I grab a napkin out of the bag and wing both spider and napkin toward the passenger door. It's only after I feel a measure of safety that I consider that I don't know where he has gone and I still have this vehicle for a few days. I spot my awful steel toed shoes on the floor and I'm certain I will have to dump him out of them in the morning.  Curses for getting a red car! Police and spiders alike are attracted to the svelte swift lines of crimson. 

Unfortunately for me, the next morning, after I spent several minutes in the dark parking lot trying to peer into my shoes and do the hokey pokey a few times, it was not the shoes.  As I sat behind the wheel, my friend descended from above and when I saw him dangling in front of my face, well, I didn't give a single thought to Charlotte as I sent him flying back across the car. Death was on my mind. Quick. Efficient. Death. I wondered how he could possibly be breathing in this smoke infested car anyway.  Did he not long for the fresh air of the country? Somewhere to spell "Some Pig?"  I tried to find him but I never saw him again and every single time I got into the car for the duration of the trip, I was haunted by "What if?"  

I feel wiser for having traveled alone. 

I learned how to be a big girl. 

I learned how lonely I would be if it were just me for the rest of my life. 

The best gift of all though....was walking out of the Austin airport, I was so thankful to be....home. 

Maybe You Wander

It's September...  

In this hot, oppressive Texas heat, I cannot feel a change in the weather.  Fall is not on its way, not for many months, if last year is any indication of how this one will play out.  I have to reprogram my thinking as it relates to the weather, and as it has related to a great many things in this year of our lord 2021.

I have written much less than I would desire, but the days tripped over each other with nothing very poignant to express and a general feeling of emptiness persisted.   As August ends and the days only get hotter, which frankly I cannot begin to understand, I have some thoughts threading through my heart.

1.  It is good to be lost, to question, and be uncertain.  This is a good and necessary place to find yourself periodically or routinely.  It is only when you are lost that you get to the heavy lifting of identity.  By identity I do not mean gender, please don't confuse that.  Identity is who you are with Christ, or without Christ, it is your core values, morals, and compass. 
2. Difficulty is established by the person feeling it, not the person observing it; and, perception shapes our feelings and response.  Someone might be witnessing a scene and believe there to be no difficulty experienced, but the person involved in the scene might be mired deep.  Perception largely guides our actions and feelings and it is not always a trusted ally.
3. It is quite painful and intimidating to have preceding generations leave you behind.  
4. Being with like-minded people, especially the community of faith, is one of the most essential things in which you can partake and for which you should prioritize.  It's like air and I have been gasping for 12 long months....
5. Eventually, the night ends.

There have been many days in which I wrestled with each of these thoughts; some days, more than one.  I would say that while I was desperate for understanding and wisdom; I wandered from faith.  No, I did not fully abandon my first love but I certainly was distant.  It is so terribly difficult to find yourself without a church home.  Sometimes staying home was easier than going and finding it again wasn't the right place.  I support the church online but it is just not the same, friends, it is not, and I would be willing to submit my position to debate.

This is a verse I recently read:

And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return."

And there it was.  Straight to my gasping, dying, dried of tears heart.  

Angela, I have been waiting for you.  You are floundering because you are starting to wander.

Angela, I am waiting.  I'm always waiting.  

Therein, I settled the decision in my heart and have started to put some roots down in a church.  I'm signed up for a weekly study, which I'm already sweating bullets about because I just can't do the ladies studies, ya know?  It's hard for me.  But here I go anyway because putting roots down is important and I have waited too long to begin.  

I have really struggled with the death of my grandfather in June.  His loss has left an oversized hole in my life; I could not have fully understood in advance the current of feelings that would unravel.  I now know that I am only one generation away from being "it."  There is only one buffer between me and being the one source of earthly wisdom, strength and godly character for the ones coming behind me.  

See thought #1, #2 and #4 and the supporting paragraphs.  Yeah...it's going to go real well, right?

Being prepared to lose one's parents and aunties/uncles is an entirely new reality and this just cements that this a pending action in my future.  That one buffer might remain for years or be gone in an instant and it has been very sobering indeed.  The truth is I don't feel ready.  I feel lonely already, does it even make sense?  Probably not, but I feel the gap is widening between me and them and I have lots of work to do to be ready, to be responsible and worthy.  

I then consider some things.....

I put a roof on my house.  This task is as recent as a year and I already cannot believe I did that.  I recently had the roof replaced in this Texas house and already I felt like I could pass some judgment.  "Good sir, I know you do this for cash, for pay, for a job, but I do it for the mere satisfaction of a job well done and I think I could pass along this roofing tip to you and your life will be immeasurably the better for it."  This thought goes as quickly as it comes and I am instantly grateful I am not on the roof of this house because it is the hardest work you might ever do.  Seriously.  

I traveled across the world and back, alone.  Little midwest Ang made her way to Singapore.  There were only a few flights that could go wrong (I only had a little trouble in Japan); still, I am not super anxious to run the earth as a solitary figure.  

I did a stint, or several stints, as a single parent.  (Here is where I ask the Lord once again to take me first.)  I can do it, but it certainly is not for the faint of heart.  Parenting is meant for two, thus the sperm and the egg, my friends.

I have uprooted my life three times and in all likelihood, I will do it again.  I have stopped and started three times, which might be insignificant or significant, depending on the reader.  To every rooting reader and myself, this is significant; a difficult and beautiful shaping of character and self.

I watched a little Tooker fight for breath in the NICU and I felt his little body struggle under the palm of my hand.  To leave him behind day after day, it surely took all the strength I had.  To keep up with this teenaged fun loving boy requires a separate but equal strength.

I survived the scrutiny of the child protective services of New York state.  A parental nightmare that I would not wish upon anyone.  For me, there is no other word to use but "survive."  It is deeply terrifying to know that it is possible that someone else has the power to strip you of your parental rights; further, it is a thing that brings deep and abiding shame.  

These are just a few snippets of different and difficult phases of my life; frankly, each of them rather terrifies me.  I don't want to do it, but I know that I HAVE done it.   I have done it because my friend walks the journey with me. He has promised to be here til the end of the age and He makes good on that promise.  He waits for me when I run ahead or simply lay down to mope.  I think the latter is the most likely of all the options because I'm not so much of a runner.  I am only as good as the One who goes with me and since He is good and He is the King, I should have nothing to fear.  I can do hard things. 

I can say goodbye to a generation of good people who were deeply loved.  I can take up my seat in the Golden Hall and make up a remnant of faith so long as I do not wander from my first love.

Friends, maybe this is you today.

Maybe you wander.....   

May you remember....  He waits for you.

And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return.

Home

I've just returned from a long trip, not vacation, just a trip in which I still worked but my body was in a different place.  

I experienced feelings of "being sick for home," in ways I have not felt in years.  True to the nature of being desperate for home, our flight was delayed and hope deferred was bitter.  All I wanted was to be in my house, with my cat, eating mexican food, and watching something I enjoy. I wanted a shower in my bathroom with my soap and shampoo, something new to wear that was not in my suitcase. I wanted to have the fan blowing me while I was under a soft blanket and I wanted, rest.  Quiet, calm, uninterrupted rest, for my body and soul.  I did make it home, later than anticipated, and some of the things I wanted, I got.  And I was very grateful. 

It was a lovely trip; we spent a good amount of time in central Ohio which is where our family started. We took our kids to our favorite Mexican restaurant - Senor Antonio's.  Noah was gumming tortilla chips there when he was barely sitting up and able to chew. We had to tip extra for the amount of food that landed on the floor, but the servers LOVED him; because, no baby has had a bigger, beautiful, more welcome smile for everyone than sweet baby Noah.  We went to the zoo for the first time in over a decade and it was my favorite day of the trip. We saw some interesting things as always present in nature, such as a giraffe drinking the urine of another giraffe which was not our favorite thing to witness. We walked a lot. We pointed and said, "Awww." We laughed. We paid $27 for soda and souvenir bottles. Every kid left with an overpriced toy from the gift shop.  It was a rare foursome moment and likely one of the last of its kind. For we aptly determined while we were there that the zoo is for strollers, babies and toddlers and there were 1.2 million of those; the teens were not equipped to deal.  I ate up every last minute of this four hour tour in which all four people agreed to the same outing, and enjoyed - an incredibly rare feat. 

I think this trip to the place of our founding is also one of the last, or is the last, of its kind. My son is going to start driving this week. He will get a job and his life will start to drift from mine. It will become less of a foursome and more of a threesome. 

It made the time with family, beautiful, and achingly melancholy. We haven't had a trip like this since we lived in Utah and had to make the journey by plane. We hugged grandparents for quite possibly the last time and we boated through a thunderstorm with siblings and cousins.  We celebrated a wedding and ruminated on a funeral. We told stories and drove miles in a legit minivan. In the end we said, "goodbye" and made our way home.

On this July day, my thoughts consider the past and the future, and the future seems so close and full of change.  Memories of the past feel like they are slipping through my fingers like rain.  Death feels closer than ever before. Goodbye feels more permanent in my vocabulary. 

And yet....it is middle age and there is much ahead.  A lot of change, but a lot of good.  One thing I learned on this trip, my kids are definitely marked by this late childhood relocation, but they are still adaptable. It is one of the things I take great pride in - the independence and adaptability of my children.  Their childhood of transience has not been easy and I personally would have hated it if mine were like that, but it has shaped them for an easier transition to adulthood I think. They might not love what is going on around them but they can, for the most part, rise to the occasion. 

I'm proud of these guys. I'm proud that we lived through a twelve day trip and in the end we still like each other.  

I consider motherhood with great joy and ponder anew what would my life have been if it looked another way...?  

God knows the past and He knows my future and He holds in all in perfect and holy hands.  

I can trust that. 

It's Been Fun

It's the morning hours, and yet, it is still night. We reference time in a different way than we reference the light and the dark.  One day there will be no darkness and time will be irrelevant. "One day" applies to me with certainty but the timeline is indefinite.  For one I deeply love, it's here. 

"One day" that has perhaps been considered with trepidation for it is unknown.  "One day" that we know, in faith, leads to life.  We let go and take hold. 

My Grandpa is dearly beloved and he is letting go of his tired body.  Time is just about past and will be no more, for an eternity with Jesus is about to begin.  It was entirely fitting, and a memory that will forever remain with me, that sees us seated around a table playing Scrabble and singing hymns to Grandpa in his final hours on this earth. The soothing voices of my Aunt and Uncle mingles with my mother's and the comfort of a childhood long bereft comes back. I can't explain it, simply to say, it's complicated and beautiful and no songs about Jesus and hope should be silenced.  Because, it will be worth it all...  Everything of this life fades at the nearness of eternity.  The dying understand that better than anyone.  I sat with my Grandpa quite a bit today and I know he saw heaven. He sat up, and his face completely changed and he reached out his arms.  His eyes that could not focus on my face in this life were seeing something. So precious is it to witness. Joy. Complete and full joy from someone almost non responsive for hours. In fact the word I would rather use is, "amazed." In his face I saw that he could not believe what he was seeing.  That memory is mine to keep.  

My last words were not super eloquent.  It went something like this....  " Hey Grandpa, it's Angela.  There are really only a few steps left between you and Jesus and that is such a good thing. You're almost there.   You've been the best Grandpa to all of us and we all love you. Thank you for teaching me to play and love the game of Scrabble. Thank you for teaching me to fish and sharing that passion with me.  I love you, I really love you and we will see you later, okay?  Yep, I ended that sucker on an interrogative.  But the point was, you and I both know we're  meeting up again. I didn't want it to be a long narrative because we writers could go for days and there just isn't that kind of time. 

I'm sitting in his house, remembering one of our last times together here; he was teaching me to make fudge. It was not entirely a lesson for frustration was edging in; I wasn't seemingly an adept student and he was having a little difficulty executing, but the fudge was delicious. It was also the last time we played Scrabble together. Precious memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul. In the stillness of the midnight, precious, sacred scenes unfold. 

To the popcorn and chocolate lover, to the hater of Hungarian dumplings, to the faithful and elect, to the one who said I was the best girl on Nimisila Road, to my Sunday dinner seated companion, to the one who told me at ten to aim a little higher than "McDonalds cashier," to the one who faithfully drove me to high school, to the triple word seeker, to the dispenser of "qua" and "za," to the Scrabble master at whose feet I learned to love the game that now defines me......

Goodbye. 

My sorrow is deep, but it is temporary.  For one day I too will let go, and take hold, and enter eternity where there is no darkness and time is irrelevant. We will be with Jesus, together, forever.

Grandpa's benediction for Grandma:

God's been good and it's been fun.

God's been good and it's been fun. A writer could say it no better.  

Broken

I am going to make a statement.

We live in a world full of intense pain and broken things.  

There isn't a way that we can slap a piece of apple pie on that and fix it.

Tonight I want to send out apple pies the world over and mend the broken pieces.  I'd throw in vanilla ice cream or whipped cream if I thought it could add an ounce of help.

As you know, I have recently transplanted to Texas; the past seven months have been intense.  There have been so many days that I wasn't sure how to safely wade through the waters.    I would get to a point that I would literally be crying so hard that I couldn't breathe.  We have a "water closet" and I would go in there and sit on the toilet, cry into my hands, rock back and forth and will myself to stop sobbing.  I can try to explain all the reasons this timeframe is harder or different than previous relocations or other periods of stress in my life. I can try to explain that I was trying so hard to cope well and lead by example for my teenagers only to find the buildup had to have a release.  I'm actually not going to explain it because I don't have to give an explanation.  Everyone has a limit.  Let me say it again, "Everyone has a limit."

Gentle reader, when you reach your threshold, whatever it is, know that pain and stress needs an outlet.  Strength does not lie in keeping stoic, rather, I would say strength lies in the ability to process and get that garbage on its way.  

I haven't been sleeping well this week and I'm, again, learning a new job.  I've basically been a new employee for seven months and it is getting really old.  It is always traumatic for me to learn something new because I try to cram it all in there in a short amount of time so that I can be perfect before anyone notices a thing.  I can't live like this, y'all.  I am toast.  So at 2:07 am this morning when I was awakened and instantly my mind was alert and tracking all the delivery numbers, exam schedules, dentist appointments, travel arrangements, and new curtains...  I thought of broken pieces, shattered lives, and Jesus.

It is quite possible that I thought of you.

I have received no shortage of pain filled stories in the last several months; there is literally no end to the sorrow.  Stories start to match and my mind drifted from one person to another to another.  I must say, I felt so hopeless, like the dark was strangling me.  And then I started praying.

It is quite possible that I prayed for you.

And what I said to Jesus was something like this.....  "Do you know how much pain is in this world?  Do you know what people do to other people?  Do you cry tears like we do?  You have the power to step in and literally solve world peace - do you ache to do it?  Are you yearning today to make everything new?  Does time heal all wounds?  Do broken people rise again?  Why is coping so difficult?  Why can't I go to sleep?  Why is it 110* in this room?"  And then verses of scripture and individuals came to mind and I started praying in earnest.  You know what, gentle readers, Jesus does care about the pain in the world.  I believe that He does ache to make everything new and wipe away our tears, but that day is yet future.

For now, we have to process.  For now, we have to sit in the water closet and deal.  

We live in a world full of intense pain and broken things, but I pray God will draw you near and mend the pieces of your life.  I pray that you would know His love for you.  I pray that forgiveness and mercy would shine through your heart leading to peace.  I pray, in a most desperate way, that we all find faith, and God then keeps us firm in it until the day we draw our last breath or He comes again.