A Caroling We Went

When we were kids, nearly every year at Christmas time Dad and Mom would pile all eight of us in the car and take us christmas caroling to folks they knew, family, friends, those from church and sometimes my Dads co-workers.  Being one of the littlest I didn't always understand or appreciate my parents need to bless those folks.  I was also a shy and introspective child and sometimes resented being put at the center of attention and asked to perform.  Mom would spend the day baking and we would deliver a loaf of fresh bread and a jar of homemade jam along with our singing.

All that to say we went caroling with a group from church and the boys had a fabulous time, entertaining themselves and those who enjoyed our singing.

We went to the VA and to two assisted living centers.

EM found himself a place to sit, much to the delight of these folks.

The other littles decided to dance while we sang.

Flashback

Saturday will mark my parents 56th wedding anniversary, so I thought that this picture would be fitting for today's flashback friday photo.  This picture is from Christmas sometime in the late 80's.  I find it delightful and funny that my dad would give my mom a new toilet seat as a present and so did she.  I wrote about their anniversary last year, you can read about it here, and see a picture of them on their wedding day.

And since today is my nephews birthday I will also include this picture of him.  He is twenty-five today. Happy Birthday Warren!

I'm linked up today with Alicia over at More Than Words.

Remembering

I'm remembering my mother today.

I miss her.

As of today she has been gone 14 years.  It seems she died only yesterday, but it has been an eternity of yesterdays.

We first noticed something was wrong around Thanksgiving, when she said that she couldn't remember how to make gravy.  She had spent the day preparing our feast and at the very last she was suddenly confused.

I remember the day we got the diagnosis.  A brain tumor, the size of mans fist with tentacles that had spread themselves into the surrounding tissue.  I remember seeing the images on the MRI.  I remember them telling us there was little if anything they could do.  Perhaps surgery, but the survival rate was slim and there were no guarantees that they could remove the tumor in whole or in part.   I remember the fear and uncertainty in her eyes at first but I also remember how, with dignity and grace she accepted her fate and lived without complaint.

I remember the last five weeks spent helping my father care for her.

I remember how she started to lose control of the left side of her body.  I remember following her down the hallway and watching her list to one side, it struck her as funny and how we laughed in the moment.

I remember the visits from family.  They came to say good-bye.

I remember that last Christmas and having to return most of the gifts, having to explain to the sales clerk that the recipient wouldn't be needing these things in heaven.

I remember washing her hair and putting it up in rollers when she no longer could do it herself.

As children we would vie for a seat next to her.  I remember sitting in church and holding her hand, playing with her skin, tracing veins with my fingers and remembering how smooth her hands were.  I have been told that my hands are like hers.

Remembering the warmth of her skin against mine as she touched my cheek and how she used to tuck my hair behind my ears as she smiled and told me I was "such a pretty girl".

I remember her sitting at the kitchen table doing the mornings crossword puzzle and sipping a hot cup of tea.

I remember what it felt like to be hugged, really hugged by my mother, the warmth of her embrace, her hair brushing against my cheek.

I remember her quiet pride at her children's accomplishments.

I remember her tucking me in at night under one of the quilts she had made.  I remember going with her and my grandmother to their monthly quilting bee and watching them work and listening to them chatter about life, love and relationships.

I remember her love for my Dad and how she died at home in his arms.

I remember burying my mother in a peaceful, quiet place.  A place where the sun shines warm on bare earth and yet where you can see every star in the heavens on a clear moonless night.

I remember her love for the Lord and her devotion to serving Him by serving others.  It seems like we were always making room for one more at the supper table.  A relative, a neighbor, a friend and the occasional stranger.  She accepted without condemnation those who came into her life.

She used to tell all us kids that "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all".  A lesson I am still learning.

It is the memories of life's little events that I will cherish.  The gift of the ordinary day.

Her children rise up and call her blessed;

Her husband also, and he praises her.

Proverbs 31:28

Grandma

This is a picture of my Grandmother, my dads mom.  I love this picture, it has to be one of my favorites.  I have no idea when it was taken but if I had to guess I would say the 1940's or 1950's.  She is working on a quilt, no idea if she was making it or repairing it.  I love the light.  I love the focus.  I love her apron.  I love the sink full of dishes and the counter cluttered with the the unending work of this life.  So many things to do, yet she takes a moment to sit and sew, something I know she enjoyed doing.  She's the reason I quilt.

Today was her birthday and if she were still alive today she would be 103.

A few things I remember and loved about my grandmother:

She was full of sayings and had wisdom to give under almost any circumstance.

She was tenacious and strong all 5' 2" (if that) of her.  She used to complain that when it came to her height she "got gypped".  Her own mother was 5'8" and one of her sisters was 6' tall and her Uncle Jim was 6' 7".  My Granddad used to tell her that the good Lord made her just the right height for him.  He was only 5'6".

She taught me how to crochet at the age of six because I begged her so relentlessly, she told me I was too young and that it wouldn't keep my interest long enough to complete even a hot pad.  At six I had to prove her wrong and made not only one hot pad but two.  I still crochet.

She gave birth to 10 children.  One of whom she bore the burden of his preceding her in death at the tender age of 4 from cancer, something she never recovered from, but had learned to live with.  As a teenager I asked her about my Uncle and she told me with tears in her eyes how she had held her baby in her arms, in helpless despair as he slipped away.

She taught me the meaning of unconditional love, something I still strive to practice.

She used to say that the bible was her "yardstick".  She measured all by Gods word.

She loved to read and always regretted not having had the opportunity to go to college in her youth.

And she taught my mama how to bake bread.  Well . . . actually she taught my mama how to cook.

Wish I had paid attention.

Family

I'm linking up today with Alicia at More than Words for Friday Photo Flashback.

This picture was taken at Christmas time in 2001.

All my siblings and their families came home for Christmas that year.  It was the first time we had all been together for Christmas, probably since we were all still at home and it was the best Christmas we had ever had, at least I think so.

This was also the last Christmas we had with my dad.  He's the one wearing the cowboy hat.

I'm the only female over the age of 4 who hadn't dyed her hair.

Even some of my nephews had colored their hair.

I'm fourth from the left standing on the back row.

Did you ever see such a motley crew?  I love them all a whole bunch and am ever thankful to be blessed with such.

Click here for more flashback fun.

I'll Fly Away

I love this picture of my dad, because it so epitomizes how he lived his life, head on.  He was not afraid of a good fight and fought with gusto, sometimes to his own detriment, but more often victorious.  He felt his convictions deeply and wasn't shy about sharing them.  My mother was the perfect helpmeet for him as she often tempered his zeal with a calm hand and a loving heart.

There was another side to my dad though, one that would still whisper sweet nothings in my mothers ear after decades of marriage and she would still blush, one that would sit and read a novel to his mother-in-law while she convalesced after a stroke, one that would go out to the streets on Sunday morning to feed the homeless.  He would take along a boom box and a microphone and sing hymns.  Dad loved to sing and some days you would find him and mother sitting at the piano, her plunking out a hymn and him singing along.

October 4, 2002 is a day I will not long forget.  I don't want to forget.  One day my boys are going to ask me about their grandpa, my dad, and I want them to know what he meant to me and how much I loved him.  His strength, his gentleness, his convictions and his compassion, his love for the Lord and his love of life.  This is the day he died.

He had cancer.  A cancer that took five years to claim his body, one that caused him immeasurable pain, but that he never complained about, but that you could see in his face when he thought you weren't looking.  So worried was he that he would become addicted to the pain meds that he rarely took them, but when they finally put him on a morphine drip at the end he was too tense from the pain to feel the release offered.

He died at home.  My sister and I had the privilege of caring for him in the last years of his life and we wouldn't have had it any other way.  Some might have thought it burdensome, but oh what we would have missed if we had not.

It was early morning when my sister woke me and told me it wouldn't be long now.  Only a few hours left to say goodbye.  I stood at his side, wanting to hold his hand but knowing that any touch caused him anguish.  My brother had asked the pastor to come pray for him, with him and they had just left.  Only me, my sister-in-law and Aunt remained in the room.  They sat at the end of the bed thumbing through a hymnal looking for a particular song.  Humming and singing when they found a familiar tune, and then they came across the hymn "I'll Fly Away", and as they started to sing Dad went home to Jesus.  It was almost like he was waiting for permission to go and when he heard the words of that old hymn his spirit felt sweet release from the earthly bonds that held him.  As the tears started to roll down my cheeks, I could barely speak, but managed to whisper, "He's gone", just loud enough for them to hear.

Some glad morning when this life is o'er, I'll fly away.

Some say that hymn is a bit cliche and overdone, and maybe it is, but if it didn't have the power to stir ones soul we wouldn't still sing it.  To be quite honest, until that day I had never really paid attention to the words, but now I will not forget them.  If you have never heard it or read the lyrics, I hope that someday you will.

To a home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away.

I miss both my parents so very much and it doesn't get any easier but perhaps a little bit more bearable as the years slip into decades.  My heart aches for them and for my forever home and the promised someday reunion, when I get my wings and fly away.

In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you.  I go to prepare a place for you.  John 14:2.

Isn't that a lovely promise, one that makes you hold on to life, one that makes for joyful living?

Six Years Ago Today . . .

We were in church . . . celebrating.  I'm the one up front dressed all in white.

This quote from C. S. Lewis sums up the last six years beautifully.

"This is one of the miracles of love:  it gives a power of seeing through its own enchantments and yet not being disenchanted."

Then there's this quote from Ben Franklin:

"Keep your eyes wide open before marriage and half-shut afterwords."

Ten things I remember about that day:

 1.  It was a beautiful day into evening, the weather couldn't have been nicer.

 2.  We had a full moon, a blue moon.  (For those of you who don't know what that is, it is the second full moon in a month, considered to be good luck in some cultures.)

 3.  My brother Phil told everyone during his toast that he was only there for the cake.

 4.  We were having so much fun they had to kick us out.

 5.  The light streaming through the stained glass windows cast a golden glow across the sanctuary.  It was magical.

 6.  Pastor Mike brought his trumpet and played along with the band

 7.  My father-in-law sang "Blue Moon" as the band played.

 8.  Everyone cried but me, even the groom.  I was too happy and excited to cry.

 9.  It was the best wedding I have ever attended.

10.  My niece caught the bouquet and her brother caught the garter.

And I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Here are a few of my favorite pictures from the wedding and reception.

(Are we on photo overload yet?  It is hard to pick, there are so many good ones.)

All pictures are courtesy of Bruce Gardner Photography.  Thanks Bruce.

Flashback

I've been wanting to do a post about our vacation last July to MN to visit my in-laws but have been struggling to remember everything, don't know if I am just getting forgetful or if it's the result of "mommy brain".  I was six months pregnant at the time and miserable.  What I do remember is that it was a wonderful respite from the heat here at home. To be at the lake, with cool morning breezes, afternoon naps in the hammock, pleasantly warm evenings, dragonflies dancing above the water, and where the temperature never reached above 80 degrees the whole time we were there, was a delight.  As a result this post is going to be long on pictures and short on words.  Besides if I plan on getting this here blog printed at some point I want the pictures, so here goes.

Grandpa built HT a sand box down at the shore and he played in it every day we were there.

Loved playing on the tractor and riding on the bobcat.

Went on the boat most evenings.  We enjoyed the boat very much and if you asked HT  if he wanted to go for a ride on Grandpa's boat, he was quick to correct you and tell you it was a "pontoon boat". 

"Why's dat bug on your finger Grandpa?"

The dragonflies were all over the place, which meant that the mosquitos were kept in check, dragonflies love mosquitos.  I have also read that they are a sign of a clean water source.  I was delighted and surprised that this one posed for a picture.

Aunt Pam and HT went fishing off the dock and he caught his first fish, wasn't sure what to do with it and was more concerned about the worm.

On July 4th my in-laws hosted a family party at their house so we got to see lots of family that we wouldn't have seen otherwise.

Chris, Nicole and little Grace.

Aunt Pam and Uncle Steve

Aunt Jody and Uncle Jim

Uncle Len, cousins Dean and Mark

Grandpa (or should I say the Hunchback of Dilworth Presbyterian) and HT ringing the church bell.

HT telling Great Grandpa Thorson about his trains.

The view just east of my in-laws place.  Beautiful!

I probably could have and should have broken this up into more than one post, but it's too late now.  If MN weren't soooo cold in the winter, I might consider moving there.