A Westful Wetweet

I could hardly wait to have the key turn in the ignition switch. "Come on, come on, let's go," I say impatiently to my husband. Heading off for 6 glorious days away from home with all its responsibilities from email, voicemail, and snail mail. AWAY...to peace, quiet, and rest. Deer Island, New Brunswick, Canada lay a mere 6 and a half hour drive plus 20 minute ferry ride away. The cozy little cottage overlooking Chocolate Cove (named for a plant that when scraped, smells like chocolate)beckoned to me. It is not fancy by any means. Most of the furnishings have been in the house for decades. The chaise with most of its stuffing falling out is positioned just right for napping in the late afternoon sunshine. The bathroom (complete with bare rafters) has a tub, sink and toilet crowded together in one area while the rest of the room feels like you're in grandma's attic. The funky bedrooms with the creaky springs on the beds and mothball smelling linens make you feel like you've stepped back into the 1930's. And all this is the most wonderful place to retreat from the 21st century.
As the car aimed northward (or should I say DownEast), the lupins along the roadside were prolific and magnificent in their purples, blues, pinks and whites. Usually we came to Deer Island in Augusts, way past lupin season. I drank in their beauty. We meandered our way along, enjoying the journey as well as anticipating the destination. Stops included a delicious bakery with unique pastries, a very "Mainey" gift shop (purchased Blueberry Honey for my eldest), and of course a stop at The Big Chicken Barn of Ellsworth and its enormous supply of used books. After a very late lunch, we put the car in high gear for the ferry landing. No more stops. Arriving at the landing, it was so hard to wait the 15 minutes until the John E. Rigby lowered its ramp for us to drive on.
Charging through the crisp early summer air, the wind trying to blow our hats off, we caught sight of the island. Only minutes now until our time of rest and refreshing begins. We land, drive off the ferry and wind our way toward the Cove on the islands one main road, passing all the spots that have become more familiar with each visit. Stuarttown (David's ancestors), Lord's Cove, the salmon cages, Big Meadow, the cemetary where lie past Fountains, and finally, Chocolate Cove. We pull in the steep drive up to the cottage. Bella Vista. So aptly named with it's views over the bay to Eastport and toward the Atlantic and Campobello Island. I know the week ahead will be amazing because of the simplicity of every part of the island experience. Let the pictures speak for themselves.

Come to me, my melancholy Baby

Did you ever have a day where you just feel like you could cry at the drop of a hat? No real reason, just having a "blue" day. Today was one of those. Maybe it was the conversation with my neighbor when she pointed out that I was referring to my mom in the past tense (even though she's still alive)and that maybe I had accepted the fact that I had lost a large part of my mom (due to dementia). I haven't accepted it; it just feels like she's gone. Maybe it was the fact that I am constantly thinking of my dad who passed away 5 months ago, especially today when my son was competing with his tennis team for the State Class B title (my dad loved tennis). Boo hoo, they lost. Or maybe it was the fact that any conversation with my 20 year old always is a struggle to not become adversarial. The simplest comment is always met with defensiveness or even worse, the attitude of "that was simply the stupidest comment ever". I guess at 20, they know all and I know absolutely nothing.
So here I sit at a computer which will let me type out my feelings and not give me a wisecrack remark or tell me to get over it. It will quietly not comment while I pour out my feelings. Maybe I'll even give in and let myself have a good cry. Is that wrong? I don't know. How long is a cry allowed to go on before it's considered wallowing in self-pity? Tomorrow I'll count my blessings, but tonight I'll just hug my box of Kleenex.

Things I Learn from Rock 'n' Roll

For two years now I have taught Sunday School to our high schoolers. It's always a challenge to try to engage them in the material given to me to teach. I do not come into it thinking, "Wow, I'm really going to blow them away this week". I doubt they'll even remember .0001% of what I say.
We recently decided to close out our class for the season (we don't have SS during the summer) with a look at the lyrics of some Christian bands. I'm not always super enthused about some of the "headbanger" stuff, but I was willing to go with it as it was the kids' suggestions and I felt it may reach into their hearts more. At their request we looked at songs from Toby Mac, Switchfoot, Red, TFK and Brandon Heath. My aim was to show them that beyond the music were some biblical principles. Wow, "Death of Me" by Red has some really deep doctrine. We need to let Christ put to death all the old ways of our flesh and allow him to recreate us into His Image. Who knew heavy metal could get at the heart of Christianity. And how about dwelling on and focusing your life on those things that are eternal. We talked about that from "Gone" by Switchfoot. Having the compassion that Christ had for those around Him is a blessed way to go through life. Brandon Heath sang of that in "Give Me Your Eyes". "Bring Me To Life" by TFK speaks of allowing the Holy Spirit to revitalize our lives and free us to live the life He wants for us. Can it get any deeper than that? Just incorporating these few thoughts would revolutionize our lives and our world!
I don't know how much this will impact the teens but I hope when they listen to music now they will think a little about how it fits into what God teaches us. Lyricists choose specific words for a reason; a lot can be learned from this generation's music.

Hope is for Today!

1 Peter 1:3 "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."

We gathered at the point of land just overlooking the entrance to York Harbor. Beyond lay the horizon of the Atlantic. A small band of people, united in purpose: to greet the sun as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus 2000 years ago. In the dim light of the pre-dawn sky, we anticipate the moment when that great star first casts its light over the horizon. Every year we wonder will the weather cooperate? Will there be fog or cloud bank at sea that will block the spectacular moment of light cresting the earth's curve to come into our view. Every year we hope it will be great. This year was shaping up to be incredible. And we were not disappointed.

We have hope each night when we lie down to sleep that the sun will come up in the morning. But this is not an unfounded, silly hope. It is assured hope, based on experience. It is hope that is part of our daily life. In the same way, our hope and faith in Jesus Christ is part of our daily life and experiences, not some baseless, pie-in-the-sky dream of nirvana to come in the future. Hope has caused me to be changed and made anew ("born again") each and every day that I allow His resurrection to be lived out in my life. Because He had victory over death, He can help me have victory over selfishness, pride, impatience, being judgemental, being unmerciful and unkindness. We are always presented with choices of character in life. Thank you Jesus for your resurrection which allows me to choose a living hope!

The Season of New Life

I can't believe it. Early March in Maine and I have 4 inches of daffodils popping up along the front of my house. This is unheard of. Maybe we actually will have Spring this year (as opposed to the season we usually refer to as Mud). Like those young flowers making their way out of the ground, little by little I feel as if I too am coming out of a season of being dormant and hindered from living. The past few years I have been so overwhelmed and all-consumed with caring for elderly parents. The needs of my family have often been shoved aside (please forgive me!), my friends have taken a backseat (in a stretch limo), my own pleasures completely ignored. Though I may not have liked every time I had to deal with a mom who was so confused that she didn't know up from down or help pick my dad up off the floor because he had fallen and couldn't get up, I did learn so many valuable lessons.
1. We only have our parents for a season; I don't have any regrets about the time spent caring for them.
2. Love enables you to do whatever needs to be done.
3. The Joy of the Lord is my strength.
4. Heaven is a real place we can long for with excitement.
So for me, this winter season is nearly over. Dad is gloriously HOME, mom is safe and adjusting to life at a care facility. Winter is necessary for healthy plants. I hope that the emerging me is healthier and able to give more joy than last season's me.

A Day in the Life

So I'm taking a friend's advice and just writing about anything. I was getting frustrated at not having any "inspiration" on what to write about. She told me good writers write about all sorts of mundane things. What separates good writers from average ones is that when you've finished reading about the mundane, you're thankful that you've just read it. You were drawn in and responded to the words. Response is the apex of good writing. So here goes:

Don't you love it when you try to save time by e-filing your taxes and you get a return email saying your information does not match last years e-file and you didn't even e-file in the prior year? So instead I'm filling out the paper form to mail in. Lately, my life is filled with forms. Financial aid for my college-bound son, tax forms, annuity forms for my late father, applications for aid for my mom in the nursing home. My head is swimming. Oh to curl up by the fire with a fun book! But then I think of the moments that keep me sane. My 9-year-old cuddled up next to me on the couch while we read the next exciting chapter of Harry Potter. Then there's the ooey, gooey, fudgy warm brownie downed with icy cold milk. Watching the embers dying in the fireplace sets me at peace for the night's sleep ahead. All in all, it was a mundane day, but it was my day.

Jesus Wept

Yesterday, I had a meltdown. I've had a few lately. Usually some trigger sets me off. Yesterday, it was a favorite hymn of my dad. I could just picture him singing this in the car while driving down the interstate on one of our many long-distance trips. I was comfortingly in the backseat, often sleeping or at least lying down attempting to enter that state that would make the miles seem shorter. My dad spent those time-filled miles either singing or quoting scripture while my mom would check him for accuracy. He could quote entire books of the Bible.

Anyway, back to yesterday. I quickly left the chair I had been sitting in at the nursing home (visiting my mom and trying to cheer her up--really did well with that). I hurried to my mom's room and sobbed uncontrollably. The tears just wouldn't stop. I tried to logically tell myself, This is ridiculous, just stop. Haven't you just spent the last 10 years watching your dad depart this life, step by step, inch by inch. When I finally got composed enough to tell the CNA I had to leave and to explain to my mom why I didn't return to the hymn sing, I ducked out a side door. I just could not stay any longer. As soon as I got to my truck, I let loose again. Try driving with tears and snot running down your face. I probably should have pulled over but I just wanted to get home.

Grief is strange. It hits you at the strangest and most inopportune times. We try to be so strong about life's trials and not be "weak". I want the "joy of the Lord" to be my strength. Does joy allow for tears? Yes. My greatest comfort is in John 11. "Jesus wept". Death caused Jesus himself great human pain and grief. His friend had died. Jesus let it out and wept. He was not just sad or unhappy, He wept. To me, that indicates a bit of time; it involved much sorrow that needed to be released. Death has a sting to it, but thankfully it is not forever.

So for now, the tears will flow freely at any given moment. Don't be uncomfortable with them; don't try to fix them. Just hug me and pass the Kleenex.

REVELATION (read at my dad's memorial service 2/6/2010)

Parents are supposed to teach their children many things in life. How to walk, talk, keep clean, eat properly and eventually, how to function as adults in society. But there are some things that are very important for a father to teach his children that can change their life forever. I was blessed to have a father that cared to teach me the most important thing in life. My father showed me MY FATHER.

My father demonstrated unconditional, sacrificial love to me. I never thought anything other than that my daddy loved me so much, he would go to any length to help me have the best future I could. Whether that meant sacrificing what little he had so that I could attend a Christian school, or playing “just one more” game of dominoes, or a comforting hug after I banged up my car. He just wanted me to know a father’s love that valued his child above all else. My father showed me MY FATHER.

My father always provided for my needs. I didn’t necessarily have everything I wanted, but dad always knew what I needed even when I had no clue what that was. I always had plenty to eat but he also made sure my spirit was fed. I remember him helping me to learn Bible verses; he showed me his “system” to real memorization. And it worked; I can still recite John 1 and several Psalms that are locked in my heart forever. We had devotions every morning before heading off to school. I often would rather have spent the time either cramming for a 1st period test or just being lost in my own thoughts, but my dad knew this is what I needed to build within my life—Godly character not just educational success. He was a good provider – for the spirit, soul and body. My father showed me MY FATHER.

As a child I never had a care in the world. I knew my father would take care of everything for me. Did I ever worry about food on the table, the mortgage being paid, or what tomorrow would bring? Those things never crossed my mind because my dad took care of it all. I never had to be afraid when my daddy was nearby. He kept me safe and secure. I could completely trust my father. But that was only because he trusted HIS FATHER. My father showed me MY FATHER.

My father had great joy in his children. He loved hearing of their accomplishments in life. He was so proud of the electrician, the computer programmer, the carpenter, the teacher, the scientist, the manager and the mom. He loved getting the family together for holidays and vacations. As a child, I can remember a living room full of yelling and cheering as they watched football together. Spending time goofing around on York Beach was a thrill for him too. Cuddling up with grandkids was always a treat. As we all grew and went off to our various parts of the country, I know he treasured any time he could spend with his family. My father showed me MY FATHER.

Dad knew there was right and wrong. He tried his best to relay that to his children and his congregations. Maybe he was a little too “zealous” some might say, but that was only because he understood the consequences of going the wrong way. He passionately wanted everyone he had contact with to choose the “narrow way which leads to life”. His heart longed for everyone to “Come to Jesus, and Live.” My father showed me MY FATHER.

Unlike my Heavenly Father, my earthly father was not perfect and I think he knew this and struggled with this. One memory I have that will stay with me forever occurred just 3 years ago. I took my parents to see the Amazing Grace movie at the theater. The closing scene of the movie is a powerful one. A contingent of Scottish bagpipers is playing that most famous hymn in front of Westminster Abbey. The swells of the music enveloped us in the theater audience. I looked over at my dad and tears were rolling down his face. He never could fathom God’s “Amazing Grace that saved a wretch like me”. This is what I received from my father, a glimpse of the Amazing Grace of MY FATHER. I am truly grateful …my father showed me MY FATHER.

Final Farewell

I spent Monday, January 11, 2010 at my dad's bedside. Having just reached 90 on the 7th, he was at the end of his life. Breathing was coming in very shallow attempts, swallowing was near impossible. Oh dear Lord, I prayed, Please have Mercy, have Mercy. I could not bear to sit through this much longer. This roller coaster ride of good days and bad days had gone on for 2 weeks now. I struggled to continue saying, God is Good. Mom and I began singing hymns, one after the other until our voices were hoarse (not that they were that good to begin with). With each one, my faith was reconfirmed. Dad was able to look at us with one open eye. I know we were communicating if only in just that simple way. We stroked his hair, held his hand, quoted whatever Bible verses came to our mind. I finally left at 5pm, so exhausted from several nights of little sleep. I went to bed at 9 and received the phone call at 2:20a.m. Nurse Joanne said the words I was relieved to hear, "I'm sorry to tell you your dad passed away about 5 minutes ago." I had so wanted to be with him in his final moments. Maybe he needed to just slip away without mom and I hovering over him. I hope we were able to ease those hours for him; it was a blessing to me to be able to have those hours. As hard as it was, I know I will treasure them.