Month: March 2019

So here’s post 13 of week 13.  Back on track, although to be perfectly honest, I didn’t just write this one – I wrote it last year but never published it.  I think its time has arrived.

The old fashioned crocheted doilies with their tiny stitches of finely spun cotton thread and delicate lace patterns had been tucked away in a drawer where they were rarely seen. They weren’t stylish anymore – hadn’t been for many decades. But they were still in good condition, and I admired the handiwork, so I brought them home with me. I folded them carefully and tucked them away in a new drawer.

My momma had been a collector, like many of us are. And like many older people who grew up with very little in the way of worldly possessions, her philosophy was – if it wasn’t completely broken or destroyed, it was kept. You never knew when it would come in handy.

After she died, all of her personal possessions became mine. I remember feeling a little like an intruder going through her things, but yet, at the same time, I could almost see her standing there in the doorway of her bedroom as I sorted through her treasures with that crooked smile, and her hands together, saying “go ahead, you can have those.” And meaning it. Because she had a very generous heart.

I still remember, as a little girl, watching her crochet doilies. It fascinated me. From a simple chain, a beautiful lace doily would emerge after many hours of slow and tedious work. My mom also had some doilies her mother had crocheted many years before. Passed down from one generation to the next. So, I brought them home with me and now that I have a place of my very own, I’ve started using them a little here and there to give my home a bit of an old fashioned and nostalgic feel.

Momma’s crocheted ivory tablecloth graces my dining table, and her colorful vases brighten my kitchen window sill. Her jewelry boxes are on display in my spare bedroom, and when I wear one of her shirts I feel her closeness, just like a warm hug. My mom is gone from this world, but yet her presence remains. I can see her walking through my rooms touching things, making sure they’re just so. Even though she was already gone when I bought my place. Even though she’s never been here before. She’s still here.

It’s a strange thing when someone you love dies. An emptiness in your heart craters open from the sudden vacancy in your life. The feeling of being in suspended animation observing everyone else moving on and there you are stuck in a sorrowful place and time, reliving the last time you saw them, the last time you heard their voice, not wanting to completely let go. And now, after almost two years, enough time has passed that many of my memories are pleasant ones, and I still sense her presence with me.

I can still hear her voice with that almost imperceptible southern lilt that never completely left even after she’d spent the vast majority of her life in the north. And I can still hear her laughter, and how she loved to tell jokes. When I look in the mirror I see that I’m looking more and more like her as the years fly by.   Part of me accepts this with grace, and another part tries to remain separate. It’s a very strange feeling indeed.

My mom’s life force is still here. Is it just our memories that cause these feelings? Or is it real? Our minds are very powerful, to be sure. And my imagination is strong. So maybe that’s all it is.

But it works for me.

I know my momma is the happiest she’s ever been, up there in heaven with Jesus and my sister, the two babies she lost in miscarriages, and her parents, and so many others. Maybe that’s why it feels like she’s still hanging around. Her joy at finally being with her Savior has permeated all the way through heaven to reach us down here on teeny tiny earth as we wait for our own deliverance. Is she beckoning us home?

Yeah, maybe that’s it. Until then, her quiet, unobtrusive presence graces my home, making it a peaceful place to return to after a long day at work.

Hold tightly to those good and happy memories of your loved ones who are gone, because those are the memories that will comfort your soul. Like salve applied on a wound, those pleasant memories aid in your healing.

They say time heals all wounds, but I think it’s the good memories. I really do.

I know, I’m still a week behind.  No matter, I’ll get caught up.  Here’s  post 12 of 2019.  I was caught by unexpected beauty the other day.

I don’t know why I’d never noticed them before. It was an especially foggy morning and the drive was uneventful. Quiet and peaceful as the miles sped by and the roads wound around the countryside. The forest was cloaked in translucent white while the gray sky slowly brightened to blue as the sun rose in the east chasing the fog away.

I was on the sidewalk, and the wet grass with the sun shining on it, reflecting the drops of dew, drew my attention. I stooped down and looked more closely. The grass was filled with many tiny and perfectly spun webs, each about the size of a half dollar in diameter. Delicate and almost invisible, winking in the sun as the drops of dew caught the light.

There were so many, inches apart from each other, I couldn’t count them all.

If I had chosen to walk across the grass instead of the sidewalk, how many would I have unintentionally destroyed? They had to have been spun in the dark. Tiny spiders working hard for their breakfast. Creating miniature works of art that could be annihilated in an instant.

There are so many things of beauty we can easily miss. When we change our focus from where we’re supposed to be going to reveling in the journey itself our lives are enriched by the seemingly small and inconsequential.

To our unseeing eyes God’s creation continues fulfilling their purpose in the cycle of life. He watches over and ordains the movements of the tiniest of creatures. He feeds them and gives them water every day. His creation has continued for millennia and sings the songs he wrote special for each one.

He knows the stars and calls them each by name. (Psalm 147:4)

God unfolds the beauty in the lilies of the field. (Matthew 6:28)

He gives his beloved sleep. (Psalm 127:2)

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord has been good to you. (Psalm 116:7)

Living a life of thankfulness and appreciation for even the smallest of details makes for a joyful life full of meaning and purpose.

I got a week behind, so I’m playing catch-up.  I still haven’t mastered the ability to write when I don’t feel like I have anything to say.  Here’s to post 11 of 2019.   I’ve always loved the prophets – their prose is beautiful and sad and hopeful all at the same time.

“Though the fig tree should not blossom,
     nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
    and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
    and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord.
    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
    he makes my feet like the deer’s;
he makes me tread on my high places.”

Habakkuk 3:17-19

Life was about to get much worse for Habakkuk’s people, the nation of Israel. Chaldean forces would arrive, raze Jerusalem, and take its people captive to a foreign land. Raping, pillaging, enslaving. Habakkuk’s people would be forced to leave their homes, and live where they didn’t want to live. They would be forced to endure what they didn’t want to endure.

Scholars say Habakkuk was a contemporary of the prophet Jeremiah, who also warned the Jews of God’s coming judgment for their sin.

Life gets hard and we get discouraged. We pray and things don’t get better. We beg and God is silent.

Our needs are great, and we cry out to our Father to provide and he seems to ignore our pleadings. We plod through our days with our hearts downtrodden and bruised. We want rest and peace and restoration. We want an end to our suffering.

The Israelites were exiles in Babylon for 70 years before they were allowed to return to Jerusalem. They returned to a destroyed city whose walls were broken down and where wild animals had made their home. With enemies all around them, they set out to rebuild their walls and their city while prepared to fight for their lives.

The days and decades were terrible and difficult and painful and seemed never-ending.

And yet. The heart-cry of God’s faithful people will always be ‘even though – even though, I will rejoice…’   Even though my child is sick. Even though my house is damaged and in desperate need of repair. Even though my bank account is empty. Even though my spouse is dead.

With our eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, we can be confident in knowing the ending of the story will always be a happy one.

“Hold fast to what you have, so that no one will take your crown.”   Revelation 3:11 (church of Philadelphia)

Our Father is always listening. He hears and cares. Sometimes he says ‘yes’. Sometimes he says ‘no’. And sometimes he says ‘not yet.’

When your difficult days seem to go on and on without relief, remember that all we can see is our small world, but God sees it in its entirety. His plans will unfold in due time, and in the midst of your difficulty, he will send small mercies your way to encourage your heart and show you just how much he really loves you.