Love

Washing Dishes

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Today I am thankful for dirty dishes.

When I was a little I washed many dirty dishes. After every evening meal it was my job to wash the dishes. Above the kitchen sink my mother had taped several rhyming verses she had clipped from the newspaper or a magazine. One was about being thankful for the dirty dishes. 

Years later I saw the verse still taped above her sink along with several others. It had moved with her to a different house but was reinstalled in its proper place in her kitchen. 

The paper was brown and tattered, just barely being held together by two pieces of dried cracked cellophane tape. There were water marks where she, Mother, no doubt had straightened it out to read it as she washed dishes over the years. 

The words are engraved in my memory. 

Thank God for Dirty Dishes.
They have a tale to tell.
While others may go hungry,
We are eating well.
With home and health and happiness,
I no cause to fuss,
For by this stack of evidence,
God’s been very good to us.
                       ~ Mary Arlis Stuber

I don’t wash as many dishes these days. I mostly load and unload a dish washing machine.  But when I do wash dishes too delicate for the dishwasher, I find it very relaxing and peaceful as I gently swish soap over each piece and then rinse it clean in warm water. It does not seem so much a dreary task as it is a comforting memory.

My mind goes back to those days when washing dishes was a chore. I can still see that verse taped to the window frame above the sink. I pause, take a deep breath and say a prayer of thanks.

Support your local food bank ❤️

Photo credit: Martin de Arriba, Unsplash

We are the Women – We are One

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“A woman is like a tea bag – you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

Thankful today for the strong women in my family and for the bond and closeness we share.   We as a group have been like glue, we have held together when others were falling apart. 

We seldom argue. We are of one mind and spirit. We support each other, are available for each other, listen to each other without judgment. When crises come, we join in unison to make our way through. 

There is Paulette who overcame extreme childhood adversity but did not let it keep her from succeeding in life.  She was an anchor of support for my mother, her daughters and her grandchildren. She supported them emotionally, financially and lovingly.  She works hard and shares what she has without hesitation. 

There is my niece, who grew up without the protection and care of a father. She grew into a strong, confident, talented and independent young woman.  She extends undeserved compassion and mercy to those who have not earned it, showing the kindness and forgiveness in her heart. 

My sister-in-love, my niece’s mother showed extreme strength in looking for a more stable home for her daughter. After many years apart we reconnected and formed a bond of friendship and sisterhood. 

My Auntie TJ.  All of my childhood we lived across the country from each other.  We reconnected over 40 years ago to discover that we had many of the same characteristics.  Funny how nature is that way.  She cares for so many in her family, but most exceptional was the care she gave as a devoted daughter, caring for my grandmother until she passed at 98.

My cousin Patty who was widowed as a young mom and raised a fine handsome responsible young man. She also, like her mom, is now providing support her mother. 

My cousin Beth, she fought for justice for her father (my uncle) and for her children. She paid many visits to my mother in her final years extended her love by being near when needed. 

My cousin, Debbie who passed away in December. I will miss our marathon phone calls… never less than  an hour and a half, full of support for each other’s lives.  She also would travel to visit my mother and show her love. 

My sister-in-law, Karen, who joined my family circle in a crisis and has stayed through many highs and lows over the years.  Above and beyond any obligation or call of duty she had, she has supported both sides of the family. 

We have all seen the hot water and we have proven we are strong. Our bond is unbreakable and we together we can overcome. 

It’s Over Now

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My oldest brother died last Tuesday, July 22. Since then I have been tossing thoughts around in my head. I knew I had to write something. I just didn’t know how or what I wanted to say. It is complicated.

As adults, we had very little to no relationship. I would say polite contact, the past few years it revolved around our aging mother. She passed away four years ago and since then pretty much nothing. I would send him a message on his birthday. Sometimes he would respond, but usually not.

I often questioned myself why I even attempted to stay in touch, because as a child I was abused by him and the other one too. I guess mostly I wanted some kind of resolution to the past, but I feel he wanted to forget it, sweep it under the rug, hide it in the closet. That’s where a lot of family secrets go.

There were a lot of family secrets and dead bones in our family. I’ve written about them before. This post – https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2020/09/10/sexual-abuse-teen-moms-and-family-curses/ – questions whether these acts were a curse on our family line. If so why is the girls who suffer the lifelong side effects?

When I was little, I looked up to him. He was five years my senior, handsome and smart. The abuse started when I was maybe 10 years old. It continued until he left for the marines at age 18. He went on to “make” something of his life, I guess. He had a long career in the Marines; started as a private and moved up to warrant officer and then a commissioned officer. After the Marines he went back to school and got a teaching degree. He taught handicap children and from what I heard from my mother, he was highly loved and respected.

Good for him but he never wanted to put the past to rest. He never addressed what happened. I know he did not have an easy childhood. He was 5, 6 maybe even 7 when he witnessed verbal and extreme physical abuse by our alcoholic father on our mother. Were we all just damaged goods and we damaged each other?

The last time I was in the city where he lived I texted him to see if he wanted to meet. It was four years ago actually, just after our mother passed. He didn’t attend her funeral, but my mother had told me he was sick and she would understand. She had been telling me he was sick for years, and she understood why he never came to Texas to see her. Anyway, he didn’t want to see me then either, not even for coffee. He told me he wasn’t “public ready” and declined to meet.

So why did I make all these attempts? Maybe I wanted some closure, some explanation, some sign of remorse, hoping for some request for forgiveness? Anyway it is not coming now.

The Friday before he passed his wife called to tell me that his days were short. She said he requested very little but asked her to call and let me know. OK, she let me know. Was it an effort on his part to reach out before he died, to settle the past? Evidently not. I wrote back and asked if he wanted me to come see him, but recalled that he did not want to see me in 2021. I told her if she thought it was appropriate she could tell him that,

“I always loved him and I release him from any harm or hurt from he past. I only want this journey to be peaceful and full of joy on the other side when he is reunited with mother…”

Not forgiveness but letting go.

I did not hear back from her until Tuesday. She sent a text that said, “Andy passed away this morning.”

This all left me with so many mixed emotions. There is nothing left to resolve on this side. I want to move on. I am sad and angry at the same time. Tears may have welled up for a moment but I did not even cry. I wondered was his passing even worth my tears? It sounds harsh, mean and cold. However, he lived his life and I lived mine and his is over now.

One side note about my brother. He was born the same day as Princess Anne, Queen Elizabeth’s only daughter. He died the same morning as Ozzy Osbourne. What a contrast.

Summer 1968

Every Anniversary is A Step to Healing

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Four years, four years ago today my mom passed from this world to her forever home. I think of her often.

I analyze and reanalyze every significant event from my childhood until the day she passed.

As the years pass, I see more clearly that our relationship was like many other mother/daughter relationships… always evolving, with ups and downs, give and take, frustrations and acceptance.

In the end, I was by her side. I held her hand, I sang hymns to her and I prayed for God to take her home and end her suffering. God answered that prayer on Pentecostal Sunday. The day God sent his Holy Spirit as a comfort to us, he took her home.

I knew her passing was inevitable and I thought was prepared. I thought I had already grieved over the prior few weeks but the moment she passed, I was overwhelmed with unexpected emotions. Our journey was over.

Below is a blog post from several months before she past. I had visited her but because of Covid we had limited visits. In that time, however, we made our peace.

January 2021

No Fight Left … Only Love

I saw my mother yesterday. She was a little confused and in quarantine because of her latest hospital visit. 

Over the years my mother and I have had our shared joy and trials, times when we saw eye-to-eye and many times that we clashed. There were times I felt suffocated and pulled away and times she clung tighter.

The last few years because of her decline into dementia it seemed the clashes were more frequent and heated. I was not-so-affectionately called the “bossyone” In reality, I was trying to enable the very thing she wanted, to remain independent in her home, by making sound decisions and managing her finances. 

An unfortunate fall in 2018 lead her to rehab where she could no longer hide her advancing dementia.

We have been through a process the past three years. Just as infant grows and advances at a rapid pace between birth and four years. It seems dementia takes a turn and in three short years my mothers abilities have declined at a rapid pace.

She had surgery in October and the decline has been even more sharp since then. When I saw her this week she was so frail and helpless, she stared off into space as a newborn does when it is seeing the strange new world for the first time. She found comfort in being held, holding my hand and was soothed by the sound of music – the old hymns she would play for hours. The words to those she has not forgotten.

We have gone from my birth and total dependence, to growing, changing, challenging, disagreements, coming together, growing apart, to facing the honest truth of our relationship. Then it reversed: growing apart, coming together, disagreements, challenging, changing (especially in my views about her illness and motives), to her growing old and total dependence on others.

Now she just wants to be loved, be safe and protected. We have come full circle from the newborn daughter a mother held in her arms 65 years ago to yesterday as a daughter held her innocent elderly mother in her arms.

I braided her hair and put the pearl necklace on her that my auntie sent. Girls should always wear their pearls.

There is no fight left, what is left is only pure love.

April 12, 2025

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Tonight is the first night of Passover. Other than the significance of this special holiday, the fact that Passover falls on this date takes me back nineteen years when my paternal grandmother ascended into glory on April 12, 2006 – the first night of Passover.

Remembering Alease Virginia Andrews today and giving thanks for Passover, a day that foreshadowed God’s salvation from everything that holds us in bondage.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2023/06/02/just-one-more-time/

Revisiting – No Fight Left ~ Only Love

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In this month of love I am reblogging this post about one of the last sweet visits I had with my mom.

It was a January visit and I came down because she had a brief hospital stay. When she came back to the nursing facility, she had to be an isolation because Covid protocols were still being practiced.

I am so thankful I had these few days with her, even though visits were limited to one hour because of Covid.

After this visit, I came home and did not return until Mother’s Day in May. When I saw her, she had declined dramatically.

We had no conversations, and she was in so much pain and agony. It was hard to see her suffer.

This one day in January was a beautiful final chapter of the era of dementia. It was a healing day for me and it helped me walk with my mother through her final days.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2021/01/10/no-fight-left-only-love/

Released – Eema is There

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I am watching the release of three young women from captivity. The first of the hostages released in the ceasefire deal between Israel and Gaza.

The newscaster comes on and says…the mothers of the three women will be there at the point of release. Suddenly I am overcome with emotion. I try to repeat what he said and I am so choked up I am unable to speak.

Who do they want the most when they are delivered from the hell after 471 days?

Only their mother, their mom, their mum, their Eema. If only for a moment, only she can bring them to a place of peace. Only she can reassure them, hold them so close that they can hear her heart beat. The first heart they heard while still in the womb. Her heart.

I am praying that at the sound of their Eema’s heart they will be overwhelmed with a sense of tranquility that takes them back to the place of security and protection. A time where they knew no horrors, terror or fear.

In their Eema’s heart they knew only love.

“Hebrew media reports that the IDF has asked the mothers of the three hostages to come to a meeting point at a base next to the Gaza border. From there they are to accompany their daughters as they are taken to the hospital.”
The Times of Israel, January 19, 2025

Eema (pronounced EE-muh): Mother; mom; Website: My Jewish Learning

Christmas

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For 35 years Chris and I have celebrated Christmas with the same friends on Christmas day. One year quite by accident a tradition was born of writing a poem on Christmas Eve.

I have over 30 of these poems, some funny, some reflective, and some downright Scrooge-ish. In 2017, compiled all these poems into a book that I had printed and gave to some friends and family.

Over 20 years ago, I gave up all the traditional wrappings of Christmas, no tree, no lights, no cards, and no frantic preparations. However, I still find meaning and reflecting on the end of the year and the season of peace and hope. 

Sharing this poem from 2007 and wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and happy holiday season in whatever way you choose to celebrate. May you have joy, faith, hope, love and most of all Peace.

How British Charm Won My Heart: A Love Story

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Today is officially mine and Chris’s 41st anniversary. Honestly, I cannot comprehend how time has flown by so quickly. When we were first married there were people making bets that it wouldn’t last a year. Well, we just had to prove them wrong! Tovah Feldshuh, American actress, singer and playwright gave this advice on marriage, “You know how to have a successful marriage? Shut one eye, and don’t leave. Some of it’s fun and some of it isn’t. It can be challenging, but you do not leave the field of play.” We are still on the field and here is the rest of the story.

I met Chris at work in August 1982. I was going through a divorce and started a new job at International Ground Support Systems in Denver. They did underground engineering consulting. It was a small company with three engineers, a welder, and two laborers. Chris was one of the engineers and when I started, he was working on a job in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. He would check into the office daily, so we really met over the phone first. He, as anyone that knows him appreciates, is very out going and friendly and he has a great British accent. So naturally, I was instantly curious about this guy.

I had worked there about a month when Chris returned from Canada. The business was in a large metal warehouse and the front part was in a sectioned off into offices. I was in a small cubicle near the door with big windows to the outside and a small reception window inside. The first time I saw him, he came bounding through the front doors. He stopped at the reception window and poked his head through to introduce himself. He looked like he had been on an all night binge. He was disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled and when he smiled it revealed two missing teeth. NOT A ALL HOW I IMAGINED HIM! After he left I thought …hmm, maybe we could be good friends.

I don’t know exactly when my perception changed, but his charm did win me over. I know we were a couple by Thanksgiving because we had a big dinner at his house. There was a small issue though, and it was that technically, Chris was still married.

His English wife had left and gone back to England three years prior when he moved from Virginia to Denver. They had not been in contact for quite a while. Chris wanted to get married but had to locate her and somehow negotiate a long-distance divorce.

I still tease him because at one point he suggested we just get married because no one would know or care. Obviously this was before the internet and everyone’s personal life can be researched worldwide. I politely declined. I told him I did not want someone coming twenty years later and claiming everything and besides that was just wrong and downright illegal!

It did take a while but we were married a year later. I have to say that British charm and accent has opened many doors for Chris. When Josh was little he’d go to the store with Chris and come back to tell me that the lady at the store was flirting with daddy. He’d relate that the lady would say, “Ohhh… I do love your accent.” Seriously, it still happens all the time!

Yeah, the accent and charm may have drawn me in to start with but it is his intelligence, later his faith, his love and the care he gave to me and my kids, his generosity and his passion for helping others that has kept me in love with him. All those physical things I judged him by at first where just temporary surface distractions. Chris has been a loving and devoted husband and we have stayed faithful through the good times and the bad.

My most treasured Valentine card from him wasn’t a card at all but a letter that ends this way…

Slowly, many we love leave us. Then one day we wake up and our dearest is gone too.
    “That come the twilight should we lose our way
    If as we’re walking a hand should slip free
    I’ll wait for you,
    Should I fall behind
    Wait for me….” [1]
But having loved, we are not alone. We still talk to one another however one cannot hear the answers. At least not out loud. If we look around, we see the signs that, once known, love never dies.

The link below is from 15 years ago about on my thoughts on marriage.
https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2009/10/08/marriage/

[1] Lyrics from Bruce Springsteen song . “If I Should Fall Behind”

Facing Inflammatory Bowel Disease: My Son’s 11-Year Battle

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The post below from 11 years ago came up today on my Facebook page. It serves to remind me of a most desperate time in our family’s lives when our youngest son was facing serious health issues caused by Inflammatory Bowel Disease. This was only the first of life threatening events he would face over the next 11 years. Almost one year later to the date he nearly bled to death after a procedure where an arterial vein was accidentally clipped.

My heart begins to beat faster as I read my thoughts from 2013 and I relive the horror of those days. How could someone so young, become so ill, so quickly? It is IBD, and the myriad of other complications and chronic health conditions that sometimes accompany it, and tragically IBD has no cure.

For my son, it is accompanied by auto-immune pancreatitis, which has led to diabetes; the steroids that he has been given over the years to control inflammation have led to bone deterioration; the five different immune suppressing drugs he has worked his way through can all have horrible side effects including cancer. Three of these drugs proved ineffective, one he had an extreme allergic reaction to and we are praying the current one will show some effectiveness.

Eleven years, and sometimes I still think that “from this side it looks like nothing is happening”… He has been hospitalized annually for months at time, with bowel obstructions, bleeding, inflammation, pancreatitis, and sepsis. I have worried, fretted, prayed and pleaded with God. Some days I think he has closed his ears to my prayers.

I think those things, but I don’t believe they are true. I remember examples in the bible of men, men like David, Job and Paul, all men whom God loved and men who honored and loved God; yet they still suffered. Even, after all these years, I still believe God is in control and he has a plan for my son’s life.

May 19 was World IBD Day. It is a day set aside to bring awareness about IBD and to support the 10 million people worldwide that live with this disease. I will continue to pray. I pray for a cure. A cure so no one has to suffer any longer.

June 6, 2013 – For the past few days sitting quietly contemplating the events of the past two weeks, I have tried fitting the pieces into place. Where the huge decision we faced two weeks ago was to commit to the Remicade treatment. How insignificant that decision seems now. Only three days later Josh was facing major surgery and a few days after that a second surgery and then third surgery to control bleeding – to the point his life was in the balance.

When the bleeding started again three days later Josh again was rushed to ICU. There nurse Steve was methodically checking drains, monitoring his heart rate, drawing blood. Inside I was panicking, remembering Friday evening, wondering why they weren’t starting the transfusions because Friday it had taken so long to get the blood it seemed life was ticking away.

I, trying to remain calm, said to Steve, “you know from this side it looks like nothing is happening.”

He reassured me. He said that they had Josh’s blood type on hand, that if he needed they could get it within minutes, that they want to check the hematocrit levels, monitoring the rate of output on the drains, access whether the bleeding was slowing — do things carefully and in timely manner. Make sure every decision is based on the least risk to Josh’s health. In the end, they did give Josh more plasma and blood; and with that the bleeding stopped.

So I’m here thinking about all of these things and I hear my words to Steve: “From this side it looks like nothing is happening.”

I think sometimes I do the same thing with God. I pray about situations, the future, what God’s plans are for my life and sometimes from this side it appears nothing’s is happening; but I understand that even though it appears that nothing is happening, God is in control. He knows all the details of our lives. He knows all the pieces that must fit together perfectly. He knows when we need life sustaining blood and when more extreme intervention is needed. He also knows when we just need to wait as he watches our vitals, checks where we are losing strength and then he refills us.

Fifty Year Celebrations

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Someone ask me recently about who I attended the prom with. As I never went a day of high school, it is an obvious assumption I never went to a prom. I would have graduated in 1974 but left school in March 1970. Up until that point I was a straight A student and really without a lot of effort.

In addition, I have never attended any type of ball or fancy occasion. I have never had an evening gown or even a fancy party dress. I guess I’d have to go on a cruise to need a fancy dress, but you are never going to catch me on a cruise ship either!

So, back to the prom. I contacted one of my childhood friends, who I would have graduated with, to inquire about when the prom was held for the Conroe Tigers class of 1974. Interestingly enough, she told me her and her husband did not go, something about it being too foo-foo. However, she sent out a request on social media and found that prom night was April 27, 1974.

Where was I? I was in Anchorage, Alaska at Elmendorf Air Force Base and I had a 9-day old newborn son. Aaron Kelly was born on Thursday morning, April 18, 1974. Back then was still at a time when we did not know the sex of our babes beforehand. I really, really wanted a daughter and for the slightest moment after he was born, I was maybe a little disappointed but that quickly faded when I held that fair haired infant in my arms.

In May, the class of 1974 will be celebrating 50 years since their graduation but next week, I will help my son, one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received, celebrate his 50th birthday.

I was only 18 when this very special gift entered my world. Since that first day, he has been a blessing and joy in my life. He has always brought joy to my heart, made me smile, made me proud, made me know I was loved. He served his country and he served over 22 years as a police officer. During that time he saved many lives, rescued abducted teens, sought justice for the elderly and abused, and helped people on one of the worst days of their lives. One day, I believe he will see the results of all the good he did. Although there is no thanks sometimes in this world, my hope is that in the end God will show him all the fruits of his actions. I hope to be there to see them too.

I never experienced the traditional high school teen events and I don’t have a 50th Class Reunion to attend but I am not feeling deprived, I was blessed with a gift that never stopped giving.

I love him and he loves me and that’s the way it will always be.

To Muffet with Love

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Thanks to the internet and social media apps like Classmates and Facebook I have reconnected with several school friends.  I cannot really say from high school because I never went a day of high school, but I had a few childhood friends that remained in my heart.

The first person I reconnected with was Pattie. In 2006, she was my birthday present as Chris paid for a trip for her to come visit me in Seattle.  We rediscovered each other in a whole new light, through adult eyes and not those of a child.  

Pattie and I only had a few years to reconnect when sadly she left this earth much too soon. I was heartbroken and shocked… the one friend I had contact with from my broken ugly childhood was gone.

At that time I had been on Classmates for 10 years. In all that time I never heard from anyone, and then the day after I learned that Pattie had died, I got a message.

The next day! I was flooded with love, that someone would remember ME and reach out to ME because I always felt I longed to be friends with others, more than anyone wanted to be friends with ME.  

This message was from Muffet.  Growing up, she lived in Sunset Ridge a development of brick homes off Hwy 75 outside of Conroe. I lived across the highway in a older wooden house, a house where the walls in my room were not finished and just open studs. Visiting Muffet’s house was like a fantasy experience. She had beautiful white carpet in her bedroom and I would take off my shoes and wriggle my toes in the fibers; her room was a princess-land.

Muffet had beautiful long hair that her mother would braid and roll around in a bun on top of her head. She looked angelic or like she should be picking flowers somewhere in the Swiss Alps. She was lovely inside and out.

Beyond material things, Muffet was a kind, sweet friend that accepted me, this strange girl who was a square peg in a world of round holes.

After that initial note, we began to correspond regularly and later connected on social media. She included me as part of a group that I left at 14, but a group of people I grew up with and often wondered how life changed for them.

She prayed with me for my son through his hard days with surgeries and setbacks. She gave me hope that God can heal as she shared the health crisis she endured with her own child. We were both caretakers for our elderly mothers, she more hands on with hers as she lived close by. Me more administrative with mine although I did make several trip a year to see her.

On one of those trips in 2018, we finally reconnected face to face. The first time since 1969, it was like we never skipped a beat. We spent two hours laughing, sharing and reminiscing. A wonderful cherished time.

So, back to Muffet’s original message in 2009, was it a coincidence she wrote to me at this critical time? Several times in my life I believe God has arranged events and sent people to comfort me and show me his love just when I need it most.  No, Muffet’s note and whatever the process was that she found me and decided to write, was a gift from God. It was as if God was saying, “I love you, Trish.”

Sunday, is Muffet’s birthday. This friend who has been a gift from God to me. Thank you Muffet for caring enough to contact me. I treasure these past few years of reconnecting and sharing. I look forward to when we can meet face to face again. Muffet, not to sound too Golden Girlish… “Thank you for being a friend.”

Happy Birthday ~ I love you.

Why Me Lord?

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He’s in the hospital again. Swedish hospital in Seattle. I was going to see him last night, but it was so dark and pouring rain that I struggled about whether I should go or not. In the end I decided against it.

This morning I heard on the news that there had been a terrible accident on the interstate westbound to Seattle. After the accident one of the drivers tried to cross the eastbound lanes of I-90 and was hit and killed. It seems I was wise to follow my instinct and better judgment, or could it have been God leading me to make a wise choice.

Tonight, the rain had eased up, so I went to Seattle. On the way home at 8PM the traffic was still heavy, it was dark and had started to rain heavily. I turned on some music to relieve some stress. Two songs came on my Apple Music one after the other, and I repeated them all the way home. The first was this one by Kris Kristofferson ~ “Why me Lord?”

This video tells the moving back story of Kristofferson‘s song.

He wrote the song after a spiritual experience he had in 1972. He attended a church service and during the invitation he was overpowered with the love and forgiveness from Yeshua (Jesus). The song imparts his feelings of unworthiness of such love from God.

On a side note, hearing this song brought back memories of my youngest son when he was about 5 years old. Once when the song was playing, he wondered why KK was saying “Why Me Lord?” He thought maybe he was asking God why his voice was so deep. ❤️

The second was “Fall On Me” by Joel Chernoff. It is duet with Sharon Wilber. It is a love song and a plea to the Lord to touch one’s life and be filled with the spirit of God. It reminded me that God is faithful and I only need ask for more of him.

My spirit has been struggling of late like many others. I look around and see all the anger, all the immorality, all the suffering and mostly all the hate and it is disheartening. Added to that is the anxiety that comes when Josh is in the hospital. I wonder will he ever know a cure, or will he suffer endlessly? I have a deep nagging fear that he is slowly dying because if the disease and it’s comorbidities don’t take his life, the strong medications he takes to suppress his immune system will. Many of these drugs come with warning that than can cause cancer. He is currently on his fifth one after having four others fail.

This morning, while driving into work another song played. It was “My Grace” by my friend in Israel, Pam Singer. In her lyrics she asks, “Is this Grace enough? Will tender mercies see me through?”

The reply she hears is: “My Grace Enough, My tender mercies new everyday. I crown your life with strength and loving kindness. My eyes are on you. My presence near My ear would hear the cry of your heart. I call you Mine, beloved forever. My Grace Enough.”

So what is the point of all my rambling here. 

1. I was worried about not going to see Josh on Wednesday evening, but later discovered that by not going, I was saved from the interstate shutdown and accident. 

2. After I went last night, I left feeling dispirited and out of the 900+ songs in my music library, two songs came on that reminded me that, a) I have done nothing to deserve God’s blessings and love and, b) all I have to do is ask him to fill me again, and again each day with his spirit.

3. This morning Pam’s song played as a reminder that no matter what I am going through, not matter what I am agonizing over, God’s Grace is enough. He hears me. He knows my heart and I am loved by Him.

Father’s Day Memories

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Many warm wishes to all fathers out there today, especially to my sweet Chrissie. I wrote this ten years ago after our son had a health crisis and was in the hospital for over nine weeks. Chris was then and still is our rock, provider, and hero.

The midnight report, Sunday June 16, 2013

A pretty good weekend all in all.

Slowly removing IV medications as J is eating a little more. Thus far it seems PBJ’s are the food of choice, but hey whatever works. Dr. Menan says it takes a while to release old food phobias.

Taken several successful walks around the ward. Saturday and Sunday.

The incision is looking better, the fever is down as is the WBC.

I was able to get to the office on Saturday and pay the past due taxes and straighten out the payroll situation. Much love to Sho who chauffeured me again.

Becky brought homemade peanut butter cookies. Along with PBJ’s, a favorite at the moment.

Chris spent the weekend with [J]; talk about an awesome father. He has been the rock of strength on which we have all been leaning on. During this entire ordeal he, in addition to spending hours with us here and keeping up with his busy work schedule, he has driven around town feeding [J]’s fish, checking in at his office, picking up mail, even trepidatiously going to the data center to restart or service servers.

On this Father’s Day he came in with coffee and said the cafeteria lady told him his coffee was free if he had a picture of his son. He broke down in tears when he told me he showed her the one of him walking in the hall yesterday.

Nothing says I love you from your Father like emptying the urinal and holding you up as you walk.

Latest projections are that “maybe” if all progresses as planned, [J] could be released on Wednesday!! That’s my hope and prayer and from then on he improves by leaps and bounds each day.

Hope all you fathers out there had the opportunity to receive and give some love from your kids today. Hold them close and cherish each moment because as I posted on April 16, this quote from Lee Cowan a CBS reporter, “But they do remind us we don’t get to set life’s clock.While we may think we’ll have a tomorrow to say all the things we want to say, or should have said, what this week proved is that sometimes, that tomorrow doesn’t come — and the things left unsaid could end up one of our greatest regrets. “

Little did I know then the challenge that was to lie ahead in just a few short weeks. Thank you all for all your love, support and prayers. I cherish each and every visit, phone call, card and texts and encouraging word I/we have received. ❤

Just One More Time

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Grandparents: the father or mother of a person’s father or mother. Like everyone else I had four, but saw only one more than once in my childhood, that one was my maternal grandfather who lived In Houston near where I grew up. My maternal grandmother and my paternal grandparents lived in Virginia.

My paternal grandfather, Aubrey Allen, died when I was 10.  The last time I was with him I was six months old just before my mother moved back to Texas. My auntie tells me he was a kind and loving man who struggled later in life with debilitating illnesses. My paternal grandmother,  Alease,  told me many times that the day we left Virginia he held me and cried saying, “They are taking my baby away and I am never going to see her again.”

I left Virginia as an infant, I did not return until I was 27. My Grandmother Alease, as well as my Aunt Thelma, stayed in touch with my mother throughout my childhood but my first memory of her was in 1968 when my brother graduated from high school and she came for a visit. She was 60 years old, eight years younger than I am now… funny how she seemed older.

Alease Virginia – 1983 – Age: 75

After that visit, I saw her once five years later when I lived in Florida and she came for a visit. We corresponded frequently but it was another 9 years in 1982, when she was 74, before we saw each other again. That year I visited Virginia for the first time since 1956 when my mother took me to Texas.  

That visit became the beginning of building a relationship and making up for lost time. I visited often after that, every couple of years. She loved me unconditionally and loved to tell me about the past. Even after all the years since leaving Virginia, she would tell me every visit with teary eyes, about Aubrey’s emotional goodbye.

In all the years I visited her, we would spend hours looking at photographs, talking about the past, sitting next to each other and just holding hands. She had some of the most amusing colloquialisms many of which I wrote down, so as never to forget. Saying like, “She ain’t got enough sense to pour piss out of a boot.” or “You can’t run the roads and keep house.”

She was resourceful and made good use of her time. Well into her 90’s she crocheted lap blankets for the “old folks” in the nursing home. She also crocheted dish cloths from cotton string yard. I still have several unused ones in my kitchen drawer. Saving them because —- I don’t want to forget.

My Grandma Alease passed away in 2006, at the age of 98. God gave us many years to catch up. Often, when I spoke to her phone in the 25 years before she passed, she would end the conversation by saying, “I just pray to God I can see you one more time before I die.” It became almost comical because I would go for a visit, and I wouldn’t be home more than a week, and when I spoke to her, she would say it again!

I went to Virginia the week before she died, and I spent time with her while she was in the hospital. The day I left, they moved her back to the nursing home under hospice care. Sometimes she was in and out of reality but when I lean down to kiss her goodbye she looked at me and said, “Hope I see you one more time.”

She passed into glory on April 12, 2006 on the first night of Passover the Wednesday before Easter. I flew back to Virginia to say my last goodbye. I know it is not the end because I will see her one more time, one time that will last for eternity.

Career Person or Worker Bee

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The question was posed, “If you had to go back in time and start a brand new career, what would it be?” Well, I would have to have had a career to begin with to start a “brand new” one. According to my Social Security record I have worked every year since 1972 except three. One was in 1974 when I was pregnant with AKA and moved to Alaska; and in 1991 and 1992 when Chris started SubTerra. I actually worked those two years, I just didn’t get paid!

I wouldn’t call anything I’ve done a career. I am just a worker bee. When I was young I was a very good student but I was much too timid and withdrawn and had no ambition to do or be anything. I know this sounds uninspiring but it is the truth.

As I got a little older and especially after I moved to Alaska, I became an ardent “people watcher.” I was often lonely and felt isolated thousands of miles from the rest of the US. Many nights I would go to the Anchorage airport and watch travelers come and go. I loved seeing the excitement and love people shared when they greeted each other or the emotional goodbyes as they parted.

In the early 80’s after I got my GED, I attended a local community college for a while and I was interested in knowing more about what made people “tick.” So at that time, and many times since then, I felt I might have been a good psychologist. I think I am a good listener and several times in my life I have met people that share some of the most personal things with me. Often these were strangers or people I just had met. Sometimes I wondered if there was something about my face that said, “I am a good listener!”

Anyway there it is… a Shrink.

In 1987 Chris and I had some discussion about careers and jobs, and although I do not remember exactly what brought about the discussion, the next day I wrote him a note about my feeling on the whole matter. My thoughts are below and my views are pretty much the same.

“I may not have a ‘career’ in the eyes of the world; but I feel my life has touched others in a positive way. I don’t have the need to prove myself to the entire world to show my life has value.

My goals and aspirations were sacrificed because of poor choices which I made while I was still a child. I believe I was given an above average intelligence by my Maker and I have benefited from it many times. I have nothing to boast about for my mothering; I’ve made many errors which I often wish I could change. I don’t want to look at what I could have been, but at who I am now; I am thankful for the life God has given me.

If my role in life from the world’s point-of-view is that of a ‘peon,’ then I am even more amazed at the wonders of God. My life may not change history, but if I try every day to live it and help others I know God will remember me when my life is over. This world offers no rewards…careers in this world are only temporary…I want to spend the rest of my life working at a career which would exemplify Christ’s life. My failure at a worldly career is of no consequence to me; my career success is yet to be determined.”

Our First Thanksgiving

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Tonight I am am thankful for Chrissie ❤️

This picture was taken on our FIRST Thanksgiving together (1982), this year will be Thanksgiving number FORTY!

On that first Thanksgiving in Denver Chrissie got up from the table and fixed plates for my little dogs Lucy and British.

He can be fun that way and as I have expressed before he can be all business. He is smart, I am often amazed how he can hold all that information in his brain. He works hard. He is not afraid to take risks and often it is the secret to his success.

Beyond that he is generous to many without pursing any acknowledgment or gratitude. He shows mercy to those who have hit bottom and have made poor decisions and offers support. He is passionate about his dreams. He brings breakfast in bed and then cleans the kitchen. He chokes up over sentimental movies (more than I do). He can be mischievous. He loves his sons. He loves God.

He is a blessing (a favor or gift bestowed by God) and I am blessed to have shared so many Thanksgivings with him.

Aloha Friday

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Today I am thankful it is Friday.

I am also thankful that I have a job but when the week winds down, I am especially thankful that for the next two days that I can rest. Well, not really rest insomuch that I do nothing, I have weekend chores but I am generally at my home and I find it a place of comfort and peace. It is a place away from the busyness of life and the noise of non-stop opinions and chaos. I don’t have to dress for the world, or put on a face for the world; I can just be me.

My sweet Becky often sends me an “Aloha Friday” text message. That phrase comes from the 1940’s when the Hawaiian clothing industry encouraged businesses to allow there workers to wear Aloha shirts on Friday. The trend hit the Bank of Hawaii when it’s President adopted it and allowed his workers to do the same. When the practice spread to the mainland it was known as casual Friday.

The Hawaiian Island Clothing Company says this about Aloha Friday, “Friday is more than just an opportunity to dress casually to work, it is a reminder to help others. It is our reminder to spread Aloha.“

And… according to the Skyline Hawaii Blog:

“Aloha is an essence of being: love, peace, compassion, and a mutual understanding of respect. Aloha means living in harmony with the people and land around you with mercy, sympathy, grace, and kindness.”

I can get behind all that… Aloha Friday everyone.

Friends to the End

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The anniversary of my birth is fast approaching and I got an early birthday card from Uncle Sam. A Medicare card with my name on it. Le sigh

This revelation that I am getting older has me sorting and purging through things I have kept for years; things kept for good reason and no good reason at all.

Through this sort I took a second and third look at a very old friend. He has been a permanent fixture in my sewing room the past couple of decades although I cannot remember a time he wasn’t with me.

I’ve long forgotten his childhood name, but he’s traveled with me as I moved around the US… Texas, Florida, Alaska, Colorado and with me still in the PNW.

He has been a silent witness through my childhood, love, marriage, motherhood, all of it the good and bad.

At most times I have taken him for granted and never give him a serious look. He is showing his age, he’s been through the wringer a few times. He lost an ear that I was going to sew back on one day but by time I got around to getting it done, the ear couldn’t be found. He’s been restuffed, stitched up, his fur can’t quite lose it’s dirty shadow and his seams are coming apart. All these things are beautiful to me.

So as I approach this milestone birthday and I take a good look at this old friend. I decide he’s staying until the end and after all we’ve been through together, just like me, he’s still smiling.

ANEVER

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I saw recently where someone wrote, “I am and always will be anever Trumper.”  When I first saw it I read “AN EVER” … I thought that’s an interesting way to support the president reversing the phrase. Then I realized they were really saying “A NEVER” unless it was an interesting parapraxis.

What a difference a space makes. A space that can turn something positive into a negative. I was intrigued by this little typo and wondered if i was “an ever” or “ a never”

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I want to be AN EVER faithful friend, an ever hopeful person with an ever positive outlook, someone an ever joyful heart, with an ever song on my heart and be an ever believer in the living God.

I pray I do not fall into the A NEVER side of life, a never happy spirit, a never loyal friend, a never helpful person, a never kind word to say, a never respecter of life, a never believer in a higher power.

The space before the “N” or after the “N” may determine your fate. Decide before “the end” because after will be too late.

 

Watercolor Image by Stephanie Ryan from 2019 Gratitude Calendar