Listening in on Girl and Grandpa

I'm totally eavesdropping on the table beside me at Panera this morning. There's a blonde college student with a nose ring and a Texas A and M shirt on. Across from her is an older man, probably in his seventies. He has a hearing aid, but he's comfortable here. He's visited with several other people in the restaurant already and I understand that he's a runner. One of his friends came in and said hi, and sat down at the table with them with his coffee.

I'm really impressed right now, and a little sad in my heart.
I'm impressed that this girl actually traveled up to visit her grandpa, got up before eight o'clock and came to the restaurant with him. She doesn't have her phone out on the table to wait for texts. She doesn't look rushed to go anywhere else. She's here, fully present. Talking to her grandpa and his friend, answering their questions. Asking her own. Listening.
There's talk about the hurricane. Grandpa's got a lot of friends at Panera who stop at their table to say hi and visit. She's visiting with them. So I'm impressed with this girl who's taking her holiday weekend to visit Grandpa and fully engage with him and his friends.

I'm sad because it didn't happen like this for me. Granted, my grandpa wasn't a really social fellow and he preferred the back of a tractor to a coffee shop in the mornings. I know him mostly from what his kids have said about him, from letters he wrote during the war and from his larger-than-life legacy. For whatever reasons, mostly because neither of us were conversationalists whatsoever, I missed the chances I had to talk with Grandpa when he was with us. I missed lots of chances to hear his stories, to work with him, to understand his life. He was busy when I was a little kid. He worked so hard and I preferred to play with my cousins while we were visiting. And I'm really bad at making conversations. When I was an adult, he was still busy working. There were a few times he sat down to visit, but I had a hard time thinking of things to say or ask.

And now he's gone and I'll never be able to ask him what the Kiwanis are or talk about the weather with him. Last time I was with him, we had a few more chances to talk. He showed me the oats and explained how he knew when it was time to harvest. He told some funny stories about boot camp and training before he deployed to Europe. I'll never know all of the stories. I'll never be able to ask.

I worry about us these days. How narcissistic we are and how easily distracted by our phones we can be. I'm not that old, but I can see society taking a dive as we all just sink further and further into our own worlds. We're losing the art of conversations. We're seeing less and less congregations around coffee house tables in the morning. But today I'm seeing this hopeful scene beside me, a girl with three old guys, one of them her grandpa. Visiting. Engaged. No phones to interrupt.
We might have adapted and become more intelligent as a race of people. We might be self-aware and self-sufficient. But we're also self-absorbed. We need our grandparents to teach us relationships. So, Girl with Grandpa, carry on. I wish you many more years with your grandpa. And I hope you have all of the chances to know him that you need, and I hope you learn from him how to have lifelong friends like his.

For the Sake of Writing

I haven't really been able to work on writing projects lately. I want to, but I just haven't been able to. Like there's this deafening silence happening in my creative corridors and all of the doors are slamming shut whenever I try to get inside. I don't know what to do, so I edit instead when those times come. But even editing is unfulfilling right now. I have a lot on my mind, as one of my characters is always saying.
In the time since my last blog post, I've been:
Trying to keep a 1-year-old out of every cupboard, away from all things dangerous, and keep pretty much every small-sized thing out of her mouth.
Listening to the 8-year-old read. It's tedious and slow and so frustrating for her, but she's making progress and that makes me happy.
Folding laundry. I mean, literally. I could do it all day and it wouldn't be done. Ever.
Reading. I finished the novel The Thirteenth Tale, and I've been working through AW Towzer's The Pursuit of God with my small group. Also read a stupid cowboy romance novel which will go unnamed because it wasn't that good. And my current favorite by my favorite pastor and theologian Timothy Keller, The Prodigal God. I do recommend all of these and if I get five seconds to myself some time I'll try to write out some reviews. Don't hold your breath.
Homeschooling. We're in a co-op with a classical model and it takes a lot of time to memorize and work through parts of it. I love having the direction and structure. Some of my children like it better than others.
Going to appointments with kids. Mostly with my second. Last week we found out that she's going to need yet another surgery for her third degree burns. Yay.
Worrying about my church (and praying for). I've been going there for almost twenty years now and things are changing. I personally like the change and I think it's good, but not everyone does so it's making a lot of unrest. So being the middle child peacemaker that I am, I'm carrying some burdens I probably don't need to. But that's OK.
Trying to think about Jesus more. I'm seeing how important that is these days.

And now that's all I have time to write. Husband's done with his activities.

Death and Uncertainty and the Places We Live In Between

I haven't had lots of time to write lately and I haven't been very inspired to write anything either. It's been a hard few months. There's a lot things happening and I can't really put them into a blog post. But when busy life settles and I lie awake in bed for a while, my mind settles on a few of these pressing things, which become woven into my whole thought life.

After Christmas we kind of knew my husband's aunt didn't have a lot of time left with us. She's had cancer for a few years, and it was a reoccurrence after a 10-year break from breast cancer. We've been spending the last couple of months just trying to make time to be together with her, watching the family waiting and just... holding on to strands of hope. There were surgeries and hospital stays and lots of prayers and trying to figure out how to help and mostly just trying to stay out of the way. In the last month we knew that death wasn't too far off. We had a sweet time together at a family game night where she was lucid and played Taboo with us and talked for the night.
Two weeks later, she was on the couch, barely able to open her eyes. This time we gathered and talked with each other. We had a time of singing together, husband on the guitar, playing familiar hymns that we've sung together at Thanksgiving for years and years. The songs she liked. It was a beautiful time and I can't even do it justice with words. There's something about being in the presence of the question of eternity that makes us more alive, more present. We value each other more in a house of mourning.

At the same time as this, the church we go to (and most of the family in town also attends) has decided to change some things, which sent us into this strange uncertain upheaval with a lot of questions and worries and unsettled conversations. It sent me to my knees in prayer, and I'm thankful for the changes, really. I'm thankful for a church that wants to awaken to the needs of the world around them and stay sensitive to that. It's complicated, like always, when you involve 1000 people in any decision. But it's made room for lots of really good conversations. It's drawn attention to a kind of complacency that's hidden in the shadows of a healthy church. When things are going well, you don't really take stock of what's happening. You keep on with the course you've been on. But every ship has to be steered at some point or it will end up drifting with the currents. So. Some steering.

These two situations seem to have nothing in common with each other, really. They overlap in my life and my stress life, but probably not much outside of the rest of the family. But for me the thread that ties them together is the relationships with people and the way we love each other, and the way we love the Lord together. It's hard to explain, really, but when the things you've found to be secure footing start to shake a little, you realize what you're actually holding onto. It puts you in this uncertain place. These situations have birthed really good conversations and meaningful insights into my own heart. I appreciate the opportunity to talk about deeper things, things that aren't clothes and food and kids. Unspoken in those times together in church and with the family have been the words "I love you". It doesn't have to be said to be felt. We value each other because we've walked through hard roads together. And that's something I'm able to hold onto when the foundation starts to shift. It's always about the relationships and the strings that tie us together. It's the bond of family, and the unifying cord of Jesus and His love for us.

Elizabeth, Joe, and the Ministry of Showing Up

At church last week I watched an old man worshiping in the second row. He was so into it, clapping, thinking about God. This sweet man, who's been part of our church for more than 60 years, just enjoying the time with His Jesus.
Well my mind started wandering to those people in our church who have just... always been there. Last week we mourned the death of one of them. Joe* stood at the door as the church greeter, I think before it was ever an official role anyone played. He and his wife were servants who showed many people how to be faithful followers of Christ, behind the scenes and at the front door of the church building. Just like the guy in the second row last week. These are people who we've watched basically our whole lives, knowing the things they've suffered and the good times they've had, and seen how they come to church and worship regardless of what's going on in their lives and hearts.
There was a woman, Elizabeth, who used a walker, and every time I saw her she looked a little thinner. Her dear son brought her to church every week, letting her hold on his arm as he ushered her to her seat in the pew, waiting patiently as she visited with the friends she'd had all her life, and then bringing the car around and escorting her out and back to her home. We lost her last month.
And all of these people are slowly dropping off. One at a time, often in a quiet way that the large body doesn't notice. They give their silent salutes as they pass from the nursing home to the grave.
While I watched the guy in the second row last week, I thought about the ministry of showing up. It doesn't sound like a ministry. It sounds lame. But, having led enough events, there really is a ministry that happens when the same people come every time it's held. When you know what to predict, and you know that some of the chairs will be filled. In worship and community, the extra people, the faithful people, lend a little energy to the overall. It's good to have numbers, not for numbers sake, but so that the life that comes from being together continues to flow.
I watched second row guy, and wondered what's going to happen when he and his people are all gone. In ten years, twenty years, who will be the ones who are faithfully there? Who come and sit even when their bodies are old and tired and can barely move them. Who pray over the people around them with the weathered wisdom of their years? Who show everyone around them the humility of still being able to learn in the last season of their lives? Who give God glory for all of the steps they've taken as they've aged and grown to be more like Him? Is it going to be me? Is it going to be the people I hang out with? I worry that this ministry is being forgotten. In an age full of activities for kids, television programs, podcasts, and every reason to not need church, my generation is saying goodbye to the convention of meeting every week. There are of course legitimate reasons. But I feel like we're replacing that time of community and fellowship with things that are, in the end, wasting time. I'm not really on a high horse here. I've had weeks when I've chosen, for the health of all of us, to stay in bed and miss church. I'm just sad that the best way for me to be healthy is to miss out on a week of community in church. I know there are times when that's really what our family needs.
I just see it happening, for many families, more often than not. And that is disheartening for me. Because we really are more effective when we encourage each other. We really do live better lives when we have the accountability that comes from being together. Because there's something in the collective that brings out the truth of God in our individual souls. Something that we can rest in, even when we can't find it throughout the week.
There's ministry in being faithful to come, even if it's just sitting there in our grief and letting those around us pray and worship. Yes, even when we think we have nothing to learn or contribute (and if you think that, we should probably talk). Yes, even when you feel dead inside and don't really care to connect with God or anyone else. Even if we have nothing more to offer than just filling a chair, there are people who notice the way that chair is filled every single week, no matter what busy life we lead, no matter how sad we are. It's important, and I fear it's a ministry that is being lost in a generation of people who always have somewhere to be and something to do.
These things don't happen when we show up just once in a while. They happen when we come week by week and share our hearts with trustworthy people.
When I'm at the edge of my life, I don't want to be the person with every excuse to keep me from being at church. I want to surround myself with others who are called to the same things I am, who can pray for me and encourage me. I want to be fully there, worshiping with those around me, watching their lives, setting an example of faithfulness in a world that seems to have trouble with commitment.

* Names changed

My 35th Year

This was a long year. And like most years it had ups and downs. This year, both were pretty extreme. I've been wanting to sit and write about it all for a while. I did write a Christmas newsletter, which I deleted. Twice. because I just can't find a good way to articulate the best and worst without sounding depressed and/or too sunshiny. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

We moved into our new house at the end of December last year. We spent a few weeks unpacking and settling in, then we were off to the hospital to have our 5th (and final) baby. (The 2nd baby we had didn't make it, but it doesn't feel fair not to count her). We didn't know the gender, but for the first time, my gut feeling was SO right. Another girl. We named her Stacy because it means resurrection, and we were, in faith, planning on a year of God restoring and rebuilding our lives. Thankfully, that was what a lot of the year looked like.

The first restoration was in the form of surgery for the 2nd born, who needed another skin graft to compensate for growth and scarring on her burns. Stacy was 3 weeks old and we took a 9-day stay at the university hospital. That was quite the challenge. It was a dark time for me. The second time around, three weeks later, was just as difficult, but at least I wasn't still in the painful recovery stage from my c-section. It was hard to go through all of that hospital stuff again, but at least this time we had a better idea of what to expect and how to ask for help.  For the record, I think we actually received meals from the church for a solid six weeks. I still think about all of those meals. I could never repay. I think about the day we got home from the hospital the first time, and I had this month-old baby and a 7-year-old who needed to be kept inactive and took pretty constant care. I just didn't think I could do it, and I called up my friend Melissa and she didn't even hesitate. She just said she'd be there, and she packed up her three kids and came out with groceries. That's just one story out of hundreds. Hundreds.

Another quick one. When we went to take the kids to church camp this summer, the director told us that someone had paid for their camp, knowing we were probably a little financially strapped. What a blessing. What a needed break for us! We just need community so much, and we have a really great one with our church.

We got our final occupancy for the house in July, which was a huge relief to husband, who'd been working really hard to finish all of the last things the county wanted done.

In August, we were privileged to be able to attend family burn camp, a weekend for families of burn survivors. It was really refreshing for us, after such a hard year, to be with other families who understood the challenges we'd been through. We were the newbies in the group. most of the other families had been living with their traumas for more than five years. You can bond pretty quickly with people at camp, especially when you have a chance to talk about the things you can't really explain to others. It was refreshing, and so encouraging to see other kids who had been living with their burns and thriving. JJ just came alive there.

In September, we hosted an open house for the people who had helped us build our lives and home during that terrible 2015. It was such a delight for us to see so many faces and be able to personally thank them with food. We prayed together to dedicate the house, and that was really neat.

Then, we got to have a really fantastic vacation in Florida with the husband's parents. They're taking each of their kids' families on one last vacation and our turn was up. We went to shows, hung out at the beach, swam in our guest house's pool, and went to Disney. It was the kids' first time on a plane, and my first time swimming in the ocean. 

After that vacation, we hit our stride with school and regular life. Things are settling in with the kids in choir at church, piano lessons, and homeschooling. We're part of a co-op that uses the classical format for education, so the older girls are memorizing history, science and language together, which has simplified our schooling a lot. I'm so thankful for the chance to be in this co-op and all that we're gaining from it.

I'm looking back on the year and still blown away by all that happened. It was packed full. I'm turning 35 this month, and I think that this year has perhaps been the most fruitful of all of them, as hard as it has been. I'm learning how to let go, how to find God in the hardest places, and how to turst Him with my little treasures. I'm seeing how many ways I try to build my own kingdom instead of His, and I'm surrendering more and more to Him.