The Hood That Made it Good

I got the best surprise today when one of our former young neighbors wrote just to check in. He does that from time to time, and I treasure it. This time he shared that he'll be leaving for the Navy in September. I say that's not possible, since he should only be six, or eight at the most. I still remember the nickname I gave him.

We agreed that we sure do miss the days when we all lived on Otis Dellinger. The neighborhood kids came to our house to play and eat popsicles, with their only care in the world being which flavors were left. We just happened to be the ones with the zipline, so there was always a handful of brave ones ready to slide from tree to tree. We adults would sit or swing on my front porch while trying to solve the world's problems. I'm sure there were a few that we missed. Our family couldn't have been happier for our house to be a gathering place and so full of sticky, chaotic, life! Our doors were open and shut so often, that a black snake even made itself welcome once, but not for long.

We moved from there eleven years ago to spacious family land. It's quiet, off the road to itself, and the winding driveway shows off from season to season. As for guests, though, I'm not sure why I still make our bed since visits are few. Back then, our houses were so close, one rock could hit us all, twice. That was great when we needed to borrow a cup of sugar, get up a game of kickball, or plan a last minute yard sale the night before. Our hammock proved to hold way beyond capacity, our hill was the one to sled, and our slip N slide was lucky to make it through a season. Good times!

I'd go back to that three bedroom house the six of us shared, whose walls could write a book on growing a family. I'd hang our swing and pick right up where we left off if I thought it would bring back those sweet, early days; The ones where flashlight tag and finding everyone a jar to catch "lightening bugs" in, was the night's entertainment, and was more than enough. Here's to all those who made that season, one to remember.

Comfy Digs, Rising Waters, and Interviewing Survivors

Great Wolf Lodge

Some months back, our family embarked on an overnight water adventure to Great Wolf Lodge. Since we're rockin' the one income budget, we took advantage of a homeschool discount and didn't have to sleep in the car. Only the best for our people.

The amenities were great; non-dingy white towels, endless hot water shower after shower, and beds that felt nothing like ours at home, which was a very good thing. Ours are so broken in, we've probably raised generations of dust mites inside. There are some things you just can't think about, or you'll be led to strike a match to the whole thing and sleep on the floor.

In these comfy digs, I was content to stay in my pj's and fill up on pizza, snacks, and cable. The girls weren't having it, so off we went to the water slides. My anxiety level almost immediately began its ascent. I tried my usual rant of, "I'll just watch and take pictures of all of you making memories. You know, hold your towels and stuff" that is my go-to when avoiding a situation, like this overgrown water slide. 

It's not that I don't like water, I mean, I like how it cleanses our bodies, hydrates, and helps flowers to grow and stuff. It's just when it's paired with gravity and projected with enough force to propel a vulnerable four person raft through the length of a tunnel, into an open funnel, where it thrusts you downward into an abyss without a moment's notice, I have my reservations. 

YouTube

Before I could embrace this long trajectory, I needed reassurance that I would most definitely arrive at the other end, completely unscathed. Arriving both alive and smiling would be a huge bonus.

So, what's a girl to do when she feels forced to participate against her will? She searches out and interviews survivors, of course. That's right. I positioned myself at the end of the largest slide, and asked everyone who wasn't still blinded by the grand finale splash of chlorine-laden water, what their experience had been like; how it felt, what they saw, the whole shebang start to finish, and I wanted honest adjectives.

I even asked one guy with a GoPro if I could quickly review the footage he'd just taken while riding. I didn't know they didn't work that way, or rather, he told me they didn't. My family was horrified; at me, not him. I couldn't very well blame them. 

Ultimately, I chose the shorter slide with a visible start and finish, and was low on the fear factor. I'd resisted for so long, that it really didn't matter to my family what I did or didn't do at that point. They know my pattern of chickening out of the adrenaline rushers. 

Great Wolf Lodge

In life, often we're met with situations that we'd like to get out of line and not have to experience. You know, just head on back to the room for more of that pizza and cable instead. Let the next person go on ahead, they seemed eager enough! Sometimes we just don't have an easier option and must wade slowly through in faith, trusting that the Lord can see every dark turn and stomach-wincing drop. Our family's had a number of these seasons. They grew us and forever changed us, but oh, were they burdensome at the time.

Maybe you're doing some wading today. Maybe you're surrounded by uncertain waters there was no choice but to cross through. Know that He is with you, that He works all things for good, and wastes nothing that we experience for His glory. Not a single drop!

If you like a little feedback to calm your fears as I did, interviewing a few dozen survivors along the way, never hurt either. Just don't ask to see their GoPro footage 'cause we all know that's just weird. 

Here's the best kind of reassurance straight from His Word. These very verses have sustained our family and I hold them close.

Pinterest                                                                                                  Isaiah 43:1-3

A Changed Mind

Sometimes, when eating right and exercise still come up short, when no genetic history shows a link, Dementia somehow finds its way into a once sharp-as-a-tack mind, and changes it. It makes itself comfortable; it's here to stay.

I remember an early morning after having spent the night as a caregiver for Miss M, seeing her wake up and immediately begin to scan the room. As she wrung her hands and tangled her oxygen tubing around each one, she called out in panic for her husband, Win. Surely he was within ear's distance just as he'd been for sixty-six years. He wasn't, though, and hadn't been since 2009 when he passed away. They'd called this family lake house their home for several years before. 

Now, nothing at all seemed familiar to her; not her home, her bed, not even her children's pictures on the wall. It was all strange and belonged to someone else, but it certainly wasn't hers. We wouldn't be changing her mind on the matter any time soon, either. 

This same dear one, could narrate with great clarity how she'd balanced with one foot in front of the other along a stacked stone ledge on her way to school each day. She lived on North Oak Street and had come from a great family heritage; one of furniture making that got its start with her visionary grandfather well before her time. Her father would continue the production of classic wood pieces with turned spindle legs and countless other designs. 

He adored Miss M, and she could recall as if it had happened yesterday, how he sat her high on the counter at the country store so that she could show off her new red shoes. She never forgot those shoes. 

On this day, she'd forgotten everything. Another caregiver was there to help with the morning routine, and did her best to help calm our nervous friend off of the emotional ledge. Miss M saw us every day and had for years, but we were as hazy to her as the fog that rested on the lake outside. What seemed logical, what made perfect sense in her mind, is that we were conspiring to keep something from her. That somehow, we had altered her surroundings completely. She was on to us. Everything seemed different and had for a while now. 

She'd been hospitalized before this and had declared that I was the meanest white woman who'd ever lived. I earned this title of envy, by declining to let her remove her own IV's and set out in a hospital gown to walk barefoot in the snow to go home. I'm mean like that. 

I laugh when I think of all the titles that I'd ever hope to achieve in this life, and she so graciously goes and gives me that one. I still wonder if there were others in the running and if I won by a landslide. I sure hope not. 

After much coaxing, subject changing, distraction, offers to pray and read scripture, our friend settled that morning for us. Thankfully so, since in desperation I'd offered to sing one of her favorites. Nothing like trying to carry a tune in your bucket before you've even had a chance to brush your teeth. Have mercy.

I would have yodeled while river dancing if it would've helped to ease her mind. That's how much fear her eye's spoke to us. It was as though she'd been kidnapped and dropped into a foreign land, though she was safe at home. Her tears were a welcome release when they came.                                           

We held her and we cried, too. That's what you do, as dementia caregivers and family members will tell you. Some days the tears just come. Some days, they never leave. That, was one of those days. 

In our weakness, our Lord is surely made strong. 

2 Corinthians 12:9

Counting it a Priviledge

Written January 15th, 2016

 Suzette Grooms; a name as popular as Elvis, I often told her. She'd smile that contagious smile, widen those big brown eyes, and we'd have a good laugh. Looking back, our laughs were my favorite, but I must tell you that the list of what I loved about this friend is a long one.

When her daughter-in-law, Lori, asked if I could help care for Suzette a few months after her diagnosis, I only knew of ALS for its effects on a baseball player born well before my time. I couldn't have known then, none of us could, just what the experience would look like and where it would take us. Along with her amazing family, the Lord grew Suzy's Dream Team of caregivers with Diane, Cindy, Denise, Kendra, Jackie, Cathy and Jill. 

Early on, we studied every piece of literature and case study we could get our hands on and eventually became well versed on a condition that used to never make the news. I shudder to think what if I had said "No" to the opportunity to care for Suzy. Sure, my heart wouldn't feel its present ache and I'd still have tears to spare, but I would have missed one of the single most impacting callings on my life. I would have missed knowing her as my friend; my sister, even.

I would have never known there was someone else on the planet who loved all things aqua and teal, or decorating a home or a Christmas tree as much as I do. I would have missed so much, like seeing her family and friends' love in action, day in and day out, and coming to love them, too. I would have missed that first year when I could be with her six mornings and two evenings. If walls could only talk, they'd overflow with glimpses of a season that grew us all, for the better.

I believe we can do most anything for a short while, it's when the hard journey gets hardest, that it reveals the character of who we are and our need for Jesus to fulfill it. Hers was one of the toughest, but we all endured it together. Otherwise, we could have missed being her hands, feet, and later, her voice, or positioning our bodies like contortionists so that she could best see her letter chart and "talk" with her eyes.

Through focusing on mere letters, she's relayed everything from funny, to random, to revealing the deepest part of her heart. The girl was a thinker, and she could discern a situation with great wisdom, and sometimes, with great spunk. She kept up with where things were better than we did sometimes, and got her best belly laughs when one of us tripped, fell, got a leg cramp, or were run over by her chair. Her smile was worth the tire marks and the nearly broken toes.

She was a believer, and never, ever let go of the desire to live, and live fully. She was dressed and beautifully ready for her daily fight, without fail. And whether it was watching her beloved grandchildren play ball from the comfort of the van, sitting courtside, or enduring mosquitoes in her own backyard, she was faithful to be wherever they were. She loved, and she loved well.

Her desire to be there for family as she'd always been, bore constant reminders of a disease whose character is to weaken and destroy. She defied the limitations of ALS and fought passionately to preserve her abilities and experiences. She dug down deep and would go without much-needed rest and sleep to seize the moments. Oh, did she ever press on, even through relentless circumstances.

Since Tuesday, Suzette was surrounded by friends and family as we soaked up every last beautiful second with this dear one who taught us so much. We sang, shed tears, and we worshiped, led by none other than Nathan, her heart's reflection. We invited the comfort of the Holy Spirit to please be in our midst, because truthfully, we didn't understand and most likely won't on this side of Heaven. Through faith, we trust and believe that He is good in all things. Yes, even in the hardest of things like ALS.

The countless prayers, anointing, and crying out to the Lord on her behalf since this faith-growing journey began, were fulfilled yesterday in the early morning hours as our beautiful friend was healed! Healing that was boundless and without limitations to equipment, prescriptions, therapy, braces, chairs, lifts, liquid nutrition, letter charts, health agencies, doctors, clinics, caregivers, or a prognosis. It was that of an authentic outpouring of mercy and grace that welcomed her Home! Her chains are gone! Glory to His name!

For the weeks and months that grew into years, for the memories that are treasures for a lifetime, for the blessings I would have otherwise missed, I count it a privilege, Suzette Grooms. I praise our God in Heaven that I said, Yes!

"In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." 1Peter 1:6&7

A Story Tellin' Soul and A Blank Slate

So, there are these dear ones who often read my lengthy Facebook posts, like all the way to the end, and have asked incessantly that I write a book. Bless their hearts for believing in this word-lovin' girl with a tendency to ramble about all things. These friends know who they are, every last three of them, maybe four. I never claimed it was a large following. They might be few in number, but they are such encouragers, even if auto-correct says encouragers isn't a word, it is to me and I'm going with it.

 You've surely noticed this isn't an actual book or even an ezine, but it's a start. It's a new blog, with a new name; my name. When I chose it, we'd just returned home from church camp with dirty bunkhouse laundry that beckoned me to narrow it down already and get to washin'! So, narrow down I did. That's the poetic way in which this blog was born.  I plan to transfer all of my sappy posts from Cottage Appeal and keep it for my decorating, wedding, and special events posts.

I look forward to sharing with you!

The Heart Behind the Game

I want to tell you about the hot, 4th of July weekend that I was blessed to travel with my dear friends, Nathan and Suzette and other great family members. This caravan of Boger City blue, had packed up the house, literally, to go see grandsons, Luke and Blake, play baseball in the state all-star championship in Lumberton, NC. Did I mention it was hot? 

Now, I'll be the first to tell you that I'm not a sports expert, as the rules and regulations tend to get lost on me. There is an aspect that I can easily recognize, though, and that is one, the true passion to play the game and two, the excitement, love, and sacrifice that sits behind the endless stretch of chain link fence.

I sat on that side of the fence this weekend, and did my part to cheer, yell, and occasionally bark and fist pump with each exciting play. None of my four children were on the team; I was just there to assist my friends as they took in priceless moments to treasure.

I've been the parent, though. I've been the one with 100 plus photos, mostly blurry action shots, of just my child. I've worn the team colors, sat through hot and cold, consoled losses, celebrated wins, and provided bushels of snacks and wells of Gatorade. I've been the one with my stomach in knots, wanting them to do their best, not to get embarrassed, want to quit, and certainly not to get hurt. Turns out, they did just fine, whether I got an ulcer or came close to cardiac arrest. They knew the game far better than their mama, and were quick to remind me that it's a lot different when you're the one playing. The perspective was much better from their position than it was from where I sat. Lesson learned for this mama.

For this tournament, something profound occurred to me as I stood with my face toward the flag waving high above the field, my heart covered in allegiance on our nation's birthday, and surrounded by some of the dearest people I have ever known. It was that this one beautiful life, is a lot like the game; it's ever-changing and goes from exhilarating to challenging in the length of an inning; its moments count and though imperfect, always, always benefit from grace, and if we're not watching closely, the whole thing will pass by us like the blur that trails behind a speed ball!

My heart also experienced, that the flow of energy at a game is as contagious as the common cold, whether you know who's up, who's out, or who's next. Energy is undeniable and that can be both positive or negative if we choose. 

I saw that boys, just a few years beyond learning to ride a bike or tie their shoes, had learned split second decision making to make the plays. In typical boy fashion, though, they could quickly return to the dugouts to poke holes and drink water from the bottom of styrofoam cups. They are so authentic and real. I love that!

It was great to see several grandparents proudly sporting the BCO blue in one form or another. I know personally that some had gone to great, make that enormous, lengths to capture this weekend's memories in person. Grandparents are those who've already put in countless hours to and from ball fields and time in the stands for their own children. They've logged many an hour while laying the foundation for sportsmanship and the love of the game. For this weekend and other ones like it, they are faithful to be there. God bless these greatest fans whose excitement for their players, isn't deterred by the score in the least. Such great wisdom.

After the game, I saw a mass of little athletes race with all of their might to their team sign, like they'd just finished playing The World Series! They sat together in a half-circle next to the field, sporting their tournament medallions and game T-shirts, smiling ear to ear as the cameras clicked in rapid fire. These were boys who someone, most likely a parent, had put a bat in their hands, far earlier than they can even remember. And it happened again and again, until one day it made sense what they were to do and their names were added to a team roster. They joined a brotherhood with the same desire to swing hard, hit far, and run like they're being chased by a bear!

One season after the next, they do this for fun, for the love of the game, because to them there's nowhere they'd rather be than surrounding a baseball diamond and kicking up dust if it's not already stirring. Somewhere along the way to learning to hold the bat straighter and catch more balls than they drop, they learn character, discipline, and patriotism, among countless others. Sure, some will play for a just a while and others longer, but what the heart learns about how we're to treasure each other and the moments that come along with them, will hopefully last a lifetime.

With Suzy by my side as I cheered enough for both of us, I got to witness the true heart behind the game as I kept my eyes on the field. "Baseball ready!" they reminded the team, and I couldn't agree more. Whatever inning this life finds us, let us savor the game, holding it tightly in our gloves. It's the game that's remembered, long after the score has been forgotten. Make it an amazing one!

Thank you, Dixie Boys organization, for your emphasis on faith at the start of each game with your prayers, unashamedly spoken in Jesus' name and projected over the loud speaker for all to hear. In a day and time when a moment of silence is usually as much as Christians are afforded, it was so encouraging!

*This post is shared in loving memory of my beautiful friend, Suzy, who played hard, won the greatest of all victories, and is declared "Safe!" in our Father's hands, for all eternity! Her example while being dealt one of the hardest challenges in this life,  taught us that no matter how the game develops, be "Baseball ready!"