Saturday evening

Today I went to a ladies' luncheon and it was the epitome of Southern charm.  My husband has repaired furniture for the woman who held it for about twenty years, and even last weekend we went there to help her de-thorn the roses she was providing for the altar vases.  Anyway, Gary makes jokes about reminding me how to get to her home, saying that after taking the main turn, she's the first plantation on the left.  Well, not that big, but really, her grounds spread to many acres and are just lovely. And her home---don't get me started.  Magazine gorgeous.  Victoria magazine doesn't have anything on her.

We first sat on her screened in porch and had cheese and crackers, then after about an hour went in to lunch, which was all on beautiful china with linen napkins---starting with a cold soup, next a crab salad on Boston lettuce (a personal favorite of mine), marinated asparagus, and little tomatoes (probably from her garden), and finished with lemon icebox pie.  Her daughter, who's probably about my age or so, made everything.  A savoring type of meal.

Before we ate, our hostess asked to read a poem before the blessing, and honestly, I wanted to cry. It was all so beautiful.  Just perfect.  With all the stuff we've lived through these past few months, to be treated so elegantly was overwhelming.  I told them both I felt so fussed over, which made them laugh (not knowing my personal life), but it's true.  Soothing.

Never underestimate the little touches.  I realize many of these women do this all the time, the entertaining, the fancy meals and such, but I don't.  Talk about feeling blessed.

And to top it all off, our hostess told me a story last weekend, which I asked her to retell today about meeting William Faulkner when she was in school at Ole Miss in Oxford, Mississippi.  (This had to have been back in the forties.)  He walked up the table where she and her girlfriends were having lunch in the town square, and asked to sit down with them.  They chatted just a minute, but she said this wasn't out of the ordinary.  He was well-known in the town, always dressed comfortably in a worn black long coat and slouch hat and was very willing to meet folks.  Love this sort of tale.  I do adore Faulkner's books.  Really do.

* * *

~my morning's view

And my day had already begun in a sweet way with tea and breakfast on the front porch.  I was up before need be, and with the neighbors quiet and traffic light, I was able to sit outside in my nightclothes---very freeing!  Besides, our porch is so cut off from the sidewalk with all the bushes and things Gary's planted over the years---it's sort of a hideaway.  

It's like the Lord laid His Hand over my day before I even got up.  I feel all full up.

Thursday evening

~my china garden mixed in with some sedum

In healing mode here.  Focusing on my own life, not my wayward sons.  Hard to do, but necessary to my health and well-being.  Small changes on a daily basis are making a big difference, more than you'd realize.  

I read today that one way to settle your physical self is to place your open hands on your heart, one on top of the other.  Breath regularly, not real deep, but with a rhythm.  Really, it's like a very sweet hug.  Try it and see if you don't feel more quiet during and afterward.  I've done it several times today, with much relief.

And, and, and....this is wonderful...small, tactile occupations---sewing on a button, placing things on a shelf while decorating, choosing which teacup to use out of a collection, wiping down a counter with a spray that carries a pretty scent, dusting tiny things----any task that requires you to hone in on specific items is very soothing.  I spent time this evening after sitting with the chickens, and folded one by one the items on the clothesline.  Set them in the clothes basket, stacked neatly. Small towels, bath towels, underthings, dishrags.  Each one slowly folded and I took time to look at the sky as the sun went down.  I'm not sure how this works, but it does.  Slows your actions down and forces you to be still in your spirit.  I knew this, but have for such a long time sped through my chores.  Now that I'm making a conscious effort in self-care, I'm moving slowly all through the house.  

* * *

And so it goes.

Letting go...

[Daddy] said, "All children must look after their own upbringing."  Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.~Anne Frank

* * *

The quote above is in Michele Cushatt's book called Undone, which is probably the best book I've read all year.  She tells how she's survived a divorce, a remarrying, a blended family, cancer, adoption, and everything in-between.  But she tells it with such grace, and pain and lots of humility.  I reviewed it here.

This morning I woke up thinking, "Oh great.  The junk is still junk, and I've not been dreaming."  Then, I kid you not, the Lord said in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper, "Get on Facebook."  True story.  Well, I got my phone out, logged in and the first thing I saw on my news feed was a post by Michele about a free 7-day email challenge.  I read about it on the FB feed and signed up.  The first note came immediately to my email box and it was spot on what I needed to hear.  God knew. And to cap it off, she said she was sorry.  I know she's talking to hundreds of women (and probably a sizable number of men) about their particular pains.  The I'm sorry just cut me to the quick, though.  I so needed to hear that.  And on came the tears.

Now, the best part.  She said to write it down.  All the ugly stuff and all the pain.  I'd just been talking to the Lord last night on my swing about how I needed to get mad.  Doggone angry.  So I did.  On paper.  So relieving.  I'd not given myself permission to rail about this nonsense, have always held something back, thinking I was being unfaithful to my children.  And still, I've had trouble accepting the reality.  Surely not my kids.  Huh.  Nobody's holding them captive or for ransom.  They're willing participants.  

Gary's all eat up with this.  We just mailed a birthday card to oldest son with a giftcard in it, and I stuck in a photo of him and me when he was a month old.  Reminders of sweet times.  Gary thanked me for buying it and getting it ready for all of us to sign (even though it'll be late getting to him), and said he knew my heart wasn't in it.  Yeah, well.  You gotta do what you gotta do.  Some things are just right.

And now, life moves slowly.  But here's the thing.  Bills are getting late, money's tight, need work in the shop, but I feel so close to the Lord.  He's right beside me.  Inside of me.  All around.  Crying alongside of me.  A comfort.  He knows exactly where we are, has given authority for it to be this way....all the frustrations and hurts, but has provided rest as well.  And sometimes I get to the place where I'm alright with that.  If He says it's supposed to be this way, who am I to argue?

Yes, He's got this.

Just today

The Lord has a way of providing balance when I'm about at the end of my rope.  Knot in place, dangling in space.  

Last night third son (the nat'l guard one, who's officially getting married in september) called me to talk and we were on the phone about an hour and a half.  A huge blessing.  Our relationship has healed and grown so much, for which I'm immensely thankful.  Immensely.  And tonight second son called from California and we spoke for 45 minutes.  We just got off.  I needed to hear from my boys, and with the other two who live away being off the charts, well, God knows what heals my spirit.

After my last blog post with pouring out my pain, I find it so amazing that the Lord prompted my boys to call.  Not surprised, but so touched.  And they called me.  Just me.

Focus is so hard.  I got to thinking after we got home from church today.  Trying to figure out what I need to do to help me for longer stretches of time, and what exactly wrenches my heart.  I'm still having trouble with not breathing deeply enough.  And anything I hear about friends' children wandering hurts to the extent I do have trouble getting a deep breath. Just stress, but yoga tonight helped.  I know the triggers, but don't seem to be quick enough to identify the situations before they're on me.

Tomorrow.  Tea in bed first---very important.  Beginning to tear into the kitchen deep cleaning.  I'm so pleased with the work we've done so far.  I'm going to paint my grandmother's old cabinet a deep turquoise blue too.  Now it's a pale green, which matches the walls, but a bit of drama might be fun to see.  I've got to take the clothes dryer apart sometime this week.  We've got a knock when it turns, and sometimes it has to be encouraged to spin.  We'll open it, hand turn it and then it'll work fine.  Some little zipper or button or something is catching somewhere.  I've taken that dryer apart so many times, it's becoming a yawner.  No big deal at all.

~ ~ ~

Glad our kids here in the house seem to be on the same page.  Gary talked to our youngest son who's 19, just checking what he's got on his mind.  He's very quiet, is an awesome self-taught artist and spends lots of time alone, which he prefers.  And usually, when our kids graduate high school, they've gotten jobs that fall.  Well, considering (three of the four) other boys who've left and their reactions when they hit the public, not always knowing how to handle the pressure----we're not pushing him to do the same.  Praying for something to show itself that Gary and he can do together.  We're not setting him loose.

We followed their talk with our own Communion service here on Saturday night.  Those Anglicans we go to church with might gasp with shock to hear we'd do that, but our son has issues with the Common Cup at church.  He can't get his head around sharing the same cup with everyone.  I get it.  So, we got around that, and Gary led us in receiving together here.  If you've not shared the Lord's Supper at home, you don't know what you've missed.  Pretty cool.

Must go.  Have said enough.  Thanks for your prayers.  I know you do really pray for me.

Friday

Okay, if you don't want to read about my bad mental health day, then fair enough.  You've been warned.

Today is oldest son's thirtieth birthday.  As most moms, my thoughts have been on the day he was born, and how we went with Gary's dad to dinner in Oriental, NC on the night before Jonathan was born.  We lived in New Bern back then, just for a year, and with him overdue, it was my FIL's plan to distract us (my MIL had been out of town).  Just reliving it.

And with us cleaning out closets, dressers, and what-have-you, I've run into lots of photos of the kids.  Last night I found two in particular of Jonathan, sweet little darling.  In one shot, that just pierced my heart, he's got his back to the camera and he's about five or six.  It's that little neck.  The most vulnerable part of any child.  His hands are behind his back, looking out the window, and he's wearing a red sweater and little blue (long-sleeved as he used to say) pants.  Young and vulnerable.  Before all this nonsense.

Got into bed last night---late----read and turned out the light, then couldn't get to sleep.  I was beside myself.  Went out back between one-thirty and two and just pleaded with the Lord to take away the pain.  I just couldn't bear it anymore.  Some days are better than others.  Anticipating his birthday was more than enough.

Anyway, no great revelations, but the sweet oblivion of sleep.  Escape.

I've never dreaded any of our kids' birthdays.  It's always been something to anticipate.  We've been together in some sense, even if not physically.  Last year I made him a cake, which our son who lived with him took to their apartment.  I realize he's grown, and that's not the issue, as you well know.  The separation between us and him is huge, and it's all of a spiritual nature.  We still keep in touch, though it's pretty surface.  But to know I've given birth to a child who's become so decadent is awful.  Sometimes, like last night, it's just unbearable.  There's no escape, but the desperate need for Grace.  For me and him.

I stay in God's face.  No embarrassment or hesitation in speaking up for Him.  At the end of the day, He's all there is.  But I'm so tired of crying.

'Hiding in the Light' by Rifqa Bary

Rarely do I read a book start to finish in one day, but I did just that with Rifqa Bary's book called Hiding in the Light.  What a testimony of God's grace.

From growing up in Sri Lanka in a very devout Muslim family, she's marked at an early age as God's own.  An experience she writes about when she was playing at five years old has her feeling the Spirit's presence.  She can sense Him.  That must've been the beginning, because in a gradual way she becomes aware of Truth.  He makes Himself known in such a sweet way.  

Abuse both in a physical and emotional sense becomes the norm for her, and escalates when her family emigrates to the United States.  Just prior to their move, she suffers blindness in her right eye from a playing accident with her brother.  Oddly enough, rather than show compassion for her disability, her parents begin to treat her like a liability and not as someone to cherish.  The men rule in the Muslim world she describes, both at home and in the mosque.  Women are berated and worn down, but it's considered acceptable.  This isn't to say all Muslim homes are like this, but this was Rifqa's experience.  I won't speak for others.  

Her story escalated when she had to flee her parents's house after it was discovered that she'd become a Christian.  Her father actually threatened to kill her if she wouldn't abandon her Christian faith. What followed was a series of court cases, an extended stay in juvenile detention, and more.  Really amazing.

Without going into too much detail, I'll just say that I was so inspired by her reaction in discovering what the Christian church is all about.  We as Americans are exposed to evangelism all the time, and forget the wonder of our faith.  Rifqa was hearing it all for the first time, and her innocent reaction to it was so refreshing.  She gave me hope.  And her belief was so strong, she was willing to sacrifice everything, even her life, if need be.  How many of us who were born free in this country, and also believers would be so passionate?

(i received this book free to review from waterbrook/multnomah)

Muttering along

I'm such a slow mover.  Signed up for email notifications in regards to a book I'll review in the next few weeks--there's a Bible study/book study to go along with it.  The first few emails poured in---actually poured in, and the women who run the site are so full of energy and enthusiasm.  Frankly, it makes me tired. :)  As I said, slow mover.  Too much effervescence makes me want to run the other way.  I had to put my email notifications on snooze for a bit.  Otherwise I'll just delete.  

When you get to looking, there are plenty of Christian women's sites like that.  They have such big, white teeth.  Beautiful 30-something young women who have such a following.  Good for them, but I need a tired old fifty-something women's group.  The one where you really don't care what the other person looks like, and you toss off your shoes and put up your feet.  Not into making an impression, just making it through the day. 

Can I hear an Amen?

The older I get, the less I'm impressed.  Folks try so hard.  Me, I try hard, but in different ways.  Honestly, when I get in bed at night, I'm so relieved.  I'll joke with Gary that we've survived another day.  Thank you, God, that we made it.  Might sound defeatist, but if you had some of my children, you'd feel the same way.  Gosh.

* * *

Cleaned behind another cabinet in the living room today.  The least one got behind it and did the walls, trim and floor.  Sparkly, pretty much.  Moved it back at a different angle and re-filled the shelves.  Just refreshing to see it all tidy.  And that was all I could do.  Naptime!  Tomorrow we'll pull out the piano and clean there, then redo the arranging on top of it.  My energy level is still sorta stinky.  You'd really think I'd been sick. Anyway, it's gratifying to get things neat.  Does my spirit such good.

Be sweet.