Dear Lydia,
I woke up this morning with your "honey sticks" and hot tea on my mind. How hospitable you were to the lot of us on Sunday mornings who would file into your home, drink your hot beverages, and discuss the Word of God! I thought of those tall, Styrofoam cups of hot water steeping one of your gourmet tea bags and your generosity in letting us make ourselves at home in your kitchen, picking out a slender, plastic envelope of tantalizingly-diverse-colored honeys to empty into the hot liquid.
How well your kettle worked! Often I would sit holding my cup, glancing at it between comments around the circle, and watch the steam rise for almost half the class time, only to down the sufficiently-cooled drink as quickly as possible at class's end so as not to be late to church.
You mean so much to me. All those mornings spent pouring over the Scriptures as a class, all those weekdays learning from your skilled hands & knowledgeable words as you imparted to me the ability to play guitar, all those moments holding your babies or playing with them.
How I love you! How I miss you!
Today especially. As we moved in the next dear family it finally felt... final. They are here to fill the spot you and Bro. Nick left. They are the ones the Lord has brought us as He wisely and lovingly unfolded the next phase of His plan for you, moving you back to your familiar state, your familiar friends, your familiar family.
But, (may I say it?) I take a tearful joy in the fact that we had seemed to become your familiar place. We were your friends in place of those you had moved from. We became family when flesh and blood were so many miles away from you.
How I love you, my sister! My eyes are moist with the missing.
Yes, a new, wonderful family has arrived, but not to replace you. No, instead they come to be used by the Lord to lead us into a deeper relationship with Him, to teach us things we couldn't have learned from you, to grow and stretch us in ways in which you were not meant coach us. And His plan, (as hard as it is sometimes in living your absence), is delightful to me! For He devises with wisdom and I rest in Him with peace knowing that His plan for you is good, His plan for this church, this new family, and even me is good. He is our dear, loving Father and oh! how wonderful to know He keeps you (there where you are) & me (here where I am).
How I love you, my precious sister! Missing will one day be consumed (delightfully so!) in Heaven when we all get to be together with our Savior forever!
Dear Wynneth,
Hello, my new, dear friend! Your move today was filled with answers to prayers! Just having you in the neighborhood means our Gracious Lord did not overlook our plea for a youth pastor and his wife! How sweet our Savior is!
Added to that, His protection on the road as you were stalled at a wreck (I am so grateful that you were not part of it!), and His holding back the rain as your belongings were trekked inside your new residence. More blessings come to mind as I think, with humble thankfulness, that you and Bro. Herald were willing to accept the position that included such a small house.
How it blesses my heart to see your relationship with each other! Even though you were dog-tired, you both exhibited such a cheerfulness and respect & love for each other that blessed my heart!
Your five children delight me, even though I have only met three of them. I look forward, the Lord willing, to becoming very fine friends with them!
How sweet to hold little Ike, to look down into
his handsome, olive-skinned face, to relish his deep-brown eyes. He is a gift from our Father and I my heart bursts to see the love that our He has in placing outcasts into love-inspired families.
You've moved away from things dear and familiar, from places, from family, from friends. I hope that we can be to you new friends (not replacements), and additional family members to add to your "clan".
Your heart blesses mine. I appreciated hearing about your quiet time with the Lord, your sweet, childlike prayers as your petitioned our Father about keeping Ike should you & Bro. Herald come to fill our youth pastor & family position. I loved hearing that your oldest three have come to put their trust in Jesus Christ Who died on the cross and rose again so that sinners like me could be made right with Himself!
You are dear and I already love you! You come to fill a gap. I do not want to place expectations on you that you function, speak, act, etc., like our dear former youth pastor's wife. You are unique and precious and, with the Lord's help, I will grow to learn you and work with you and build you up and learn from you.
I am so thankful that the Lord saw fit to bring you to us and I have been praying that we would be mutual blessings the one to the other.
I bless His Name that He takes such great care of us as He sees right to take our other family for special service elsewhere and to bring you here for the special service He has for you in this place. I know that all things work together for His great purpose and I am super-excited to see what He will do in the days ahead!
Love to you both,
~"Trissy"
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Friday, September 18, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Celebrate
The word is celebrate, and 'though there are SO MANY things I could write about celebrations and celebrating, I decided on the idea that first came to mind...
Go:
My mother's cousin passed away. It was unexpected. A shock. The details were disturbing and made me think about a dear friend of mine, the mother of some acquaintances, who died through mysterious events a few years ago around this time of year.
I think about her every year as fall comes on and miss her.
But then, {as I pondered it today} I thought, what a grand celebration for both my cousin and friend! Wow! My cousin has been suffering in a fragile body for so many years. My imagination can't even do Heaven justice as I think about the grandeur that he must be experiencing now reunited with his parents, grandparents, my grandmother, and Most Important of All, his Savior Jesus!
I think too about Mrs. C., a pastor's wife, vibrant, a godly mother... She's still rejoicing in Heaven! After all these years, 'though the details {of her passing} are still no more easy to think on, she is pain-free, continuing to drink in joy after joy and experience upon wonderful experience of being blissfully with her Lord, without sin, without regret. Now that's a celebration!
I can hardly wait sometimes as I think about it!
So, while we mourn the passing and absence of dear ones, we celebrate those of them that were redeemed through the Precious Blood of Christ and are forever celebrating with Him in His glorious Home!
Stop.
{Yes, I did editing, as you might have guessed from the decorative parentheticals above. There was also some inexcusable misspelling and much needed punctuation that I simply could not let lie!}
For other wonderful thoughts about the word celebrate, visit my friends over at the Five Minute Friday blog party!
Go:
My mother's cousin passed away. It was unexpected. A shock. The details were disturbing and made me think about a dear friend of mine, the mother of some acquaintances, who died through mysterious events a few years ago around this time of year.
I think about her every year as fall comes on and miss her.
But then, {as I pondered it today} I thought, what a grand celebration for both my cousin and friend! Wow! My cousin has been suffering in a fragile body for so many years. My imagination can't even do Heaven justice as I think about the grandeur that he must be experiencing now reunited with his parents, grandparents, my grandmother, and Most Important of All, his Savior Jesus!
I think too about Mrs. C., a pastor's wife, vibrant, a godly mother... She's still rejoicing in Heaven! After all these years, 'though the details {of her passing} are still no more easy to think on, she is pain-free, continuing to drink in joy after joy and experience upon wonderful experience of being blissfully with her Lord, without sin, without regret. Now that's a celebration!
I can hardly wait sometimes as I think about it!
So, while we mourn the passing and absence of dear ones, we celebrate those of them that were redeemed through the Precious Blood of Christ and are forever celebrating with Him in His glorious Home!
Stop.
{Yes, I did editing, as you might have guessed from the decorative parentheticals above. There was also some inexcusable misspelling and much needed punctuation that I simply could not let lie!}
For other wonderful thoughts about the word celebrate, visit my friends over at the Five Minute Friday blog party!
Friday, July 3, 2015
Loved Ones
He doesn't worship him. He just loved him. And now he misses him. Twenty-seven plus years and he's still so close to my Daddy's heart, sometimes Dad tears up when he mentions him. My Grandpa, a man I never got to meet.
"I wish you could have known him," Dad'll say, his mouth quirking at the corners a little, eyes getting a bit red. My Dad, the strong, the affectionate, the hard-working, showing emotion at the memory and the missing of a man I never knew, a man who impacted his life in more ways than I'll ever understand.
--------
Interesting how someone can be here one moment and unattainably gone the next. This truth has struck me so strongly with the passing of both my maternal grandparents within 10 months.
Meemaw (that's what we called my grandmother) was so full of life, so animated, so not old, even after 85 years of life. She was the primary caregiver to my grandfather, (Peepaw), her husband of over 65 years. I thought of her as the strong one of the two of them. She washed clothes, fixed meals, got Peepaw up in the mornings, did the shopping, drove them to church. She had a passion for the Bible, the things of the Lord, and for seeing people come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior. She was a tech-y: she learned the computer in her 50's or 60's, got a cellphone, a kindle, an ipad. And then, just before we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, just before all the family came in and all the celebration commenced, Meemaw started feeling bad. She wasn't one to run to the doctor for "just anything," but finally she went.
I remember standing in the dining room hearing the report like it was moments ago: "Meemaw has cancer."
No, not Meemaw. Surely not. And then with the next breath, as my brain reeled with the news, my head started pounding, Will everyone I love get cancer? It wasn't a new thought. Mother's eldest brother had, then her eldest sister was diagnosed with it. Thankfully, Mother's sister was surviving, but now Meemaw... I was in shock.
When the day of Peepaw's party arrived, Meemaw was still in the hospital. Peepaw had rarely been without his life-companion, his bride. He didn't talk much, but while she was away, he said quietly one afternoon, "I miss Mama." (His name for Meemaw ever since they had had children.)
It went so fast. She was diagnosed in mid-March and gone by July 1. I was in denial practically throughout it all. Everyone else would tear up or cry occasionally. There will be plenty of time for that after she's gone, I would think. I won't cry now, I'll just live this moment while she's here.
But then she was gone and all the family left and the house got quiet and there was no Meemaw sitting in the overstuffed orange recliner. No Meemaw to hear scuff-scuffing through the house, hurrying on her way to put on lunch or a load of wash. And I couldn't cry. I tried. I wished and longed to cry, but no tears came. I had numbed myself for so long that nothing would happen when I had the opportunity, when things were right, when no family was around to see me red-faced and blurry-eyed.
We plugged along, finding "a new normal". Fall came and I enrolled in college again. Mother stayed with Peepaw, working hard caring for him; Daddy and Kyrie were at their jobs, working hard in their respective fields. We fell into something of a routine. Breakfast with it's pertenences, lunchtime, naptime, various medical and home-aid workers rotating in and out in the mornings and afternoons, supper time, time in the evenings to sit as a fivesome where we had been a sixsome.
I grew to love my grandpa more in the months that followed my grandmother's passing than I probably ever had. I'd hold his hand at mealtime prayers, I'd scoot his food around on his plate closer to him, I'd give him his vitamins and pills, I'd help him into his wheelchair, I'd comb his hair, I'd work on his supper, I'd take off his veteran's braces at night, I'd warm the heating bags for his cold feet, I'd kiss his wrinkled forehead, push his covers up around his chin, and tell him I loved him. That I will never regret: that I realized that I should tell him that I loved him, and I began to tell him more often.
And then, one day I came in from school and my Mother said something was not right, that Peepaw seemed to have had a stroke. And in half a month, with him getting better, (I thought), and then worse, he had left us, too.
I let myself cry as I saw his decline. I didn't want a repeat of what I had done, my impassiveness, with my precious grandmother. I missed him, even as he was still with us, and I let myself cry. The day he passed away, his favorite day of the week: Sunday, just hours before he left us, I leaned my head toward his resting there on his pillow. He was at his own house; they had issued the bed for convenience of care. I hugged his wooly head and cried. I was quiet; he couldn't hear me, but I'm sure he felt my shaking. How can I let you go? my thoughts sobbed. But I would have been selfish to keep him. What a fight he had fought for the Lord! What an example he had been to his friends, his neighbors, his cousins, his siblings, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren! What a testimony for righteousness, what a faithful man to follow! How can we go on without you? How can we let you go? But I was wrong. The same Lord that led him when he was orphaned at 13 years of age, the same God Who had protected him as a 19 year old in the foxholes and hedgerows of countries at war with one another, the same God Who had lead him to Bible college where he met Meemaw, Who had given him seven beautiful children, Who had taken a small-town, country boy to the capital city of Brazil and made him His missionary, a pastor and preacher for Jesus Christ, He Who had never--not once!--failed my precious grandparents was the God Who was vastly able and Who is vastly able to help us and carry us on.
And so, we hold on to the memories of those we loved who have passed from this life--and we press on, that we might be faithful followers of our Lord Jesus Christ Who has loved us and forgiven us of our sins as He did for them.
"I wish you could have known him," Dad'll say, his mouth quirking at the corners a little, eyes getting a bit red. My Dad, the strong, the affectionate, the hard-working, showing emotion at the memory and the missing of a man I never knew, a man who impacted his life in more ways than I'll ever understand.
--------
Interesting how someone can be here one moment and unattainably gone the next. This truth has struck me so strongly with the passing of both my maternal grandparents within 10 months.
Meemaw (that's what we called my grandmother) was so full of life, so animated, so not old, even after 85 years of life. She was the primary caregiver to my grandfather, (Peepaw), her husband of over 65 years. I thought of her as the strong one of the two of them. She washed clothes, fixed meals, got Peepaw up in the mornings, did the shopping, drove them to church. She had a passion for the Bible, the things of the Lord, and for seeing people come to know Jesus Christ as their Savior. She was a tech-y: she learned the computer in her 50's or 60's, got a cellphone, a kindle, an ipad. And then, just before we celebrated my grandfather's 90th birthday, just before all the family came in and all the celebration commenced, Meemaw started feeling bad. She wasn't one to run to the doctor for "just anything," but finally she went.
I remember standing in the dining room hearing the report like it was moments ago: "Meemaw has cancer."
No, not Meemaw. Surely not. And then with the next breath, as my brain reeled with the news, my head started pounding, Will everyone I love get cancer? It wasn't a new thought. Mother's eldest brother had, then her eldest sister was diagnosed with it. Thankfully, Mother's sister was surviving, but now Meemaw... I was in shock.
When the day of Peepaw's party arrived, Meemaw was still in the hospital. Peepaw had rarely been without his life-companion, his bride. He didn't talk much, but while she was away, he said quietly one afternoon, "I miss Mama." (His name for Meemaw ever since they had had children.)
It went so fast. She was diagnosed in mid-March and gone by July 1. I was in denial practically throughout it all. Everyone else would tear up or cry occasionally. There will be plenty of time for that after she's gone, I would think. I won't cry now, I'll just live this moment while she's here.
But then she was gone and all the family left and the house got quiet and there was no Meemaw sitting in the overstuffed orange recliner. No Meemaw to hear scuff-scuffing through the house, hurrying on her way to put on lunch or a load of wash. And I couldn't cry. I tried. I wished and longed to cry, but no tears came. I had numbed myself for so long that nothing would happen when I had the opportunity, when things were right, when no family was around to see me red-faced and blurry-eyed.
We plugged along, finding "a new normal". Fall came and I enrolled in college again. Mother stayed with Peepaw, working hard caring for him; Daddy and Kyrie were at their jobs, working hard in their respective fields. We fell into something of a routine. Breakfast with it's pertenences, lunchtime, naptime, various medical and home-aid workers rotating in and out in the mornings and afternoons, supper time, time in the evenings to sit as a fivesome where we had been a sixsome.
I grew to love my grandpa more in the months that followed my grandmother's passing than I probably ever had. I'd hold his hand at mealtime prayers, I'd scoot his food around on his plate closer to him, I'd give him his vitamins and pills, I'd help him into his wheelchair, I'd comb his hair, I'd work on his supper, I'd take off his veteran's braces at night, I'd warm the heating bags for his cold feet, I'd kiss his wrinkled forehead, push his covers up around his chin, and tell him I loved him. That I will never regret: that I realized that I should tell him that I loved him, and I began to tell him more often.
And then, one day I came in from school and my Mother said something was not right, that Peepaw seemed to have had a stroke. And in half a month, with him getting better, (I thought), and then worse, he had left us, too.
I let myself cry as I saw his decline. I didn't want a repeat of what I had done, my impassiveness, with my precious grandmother. I missed him, even as he was still with us, and I let myself cry. The day he passed away, his favorite day of the week: Sunday, just hours before he left us, I leaned my head toward his resting there on his pillow. He was at his own house; they had issued the bed for convenience of care. I hugged his wooly head and cried. I was quiet; he couldn't hear me, but I'm sure he felt my shaking. How can I let you go? my thoughts sobbed. But I would have been selfish to keep him. What a fight he had fought for the Lord! What an example he had been to his friends, his neighbors, his cousins, his siblings, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren! What a testimony for righteousness, what a faithful man to follow! How can we go on without you? How can we let you go? But I was wrong. The same Lord that led him when he was orphaned at 13 years of age, the same God Who had protected him as a 19 year old in the foxholes and hedgerows of countries at war with one another, the same God Who had lead him to Bible college where he met Meemaw, Who had given him seven beautiful children, Who had taken a small-town, country boy to the capital city of Brazil and made him His missionary, a pastor and preacher for Jesus Christ, He Who had never--not once!--failed my precious grandparents was the God Who was vastly able and Who is vastly able to help us and carry us on.
And so, we hold on to the memories of those we loved who have passed from this life--and we press on, that we might be faithful followers of our Lord Jesus Christ Who has loved us and forgiven us of our sins as He did for them.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Thoughts on Anniversaries
Today is July 2nd. One day after the first anniversary of my grandmother's passing. One day before the two-month mark following my grandfather's passing. It's been a different year. I felt my grandmother's absence (we call her Meemaw) strongest three days ago. I was cleaning her house which my family began living in over a year ago to care for Meemaw after she was diagnosed with cancer. So many memories flooded back as I worked. There was her hot pink housecoat hanging in her closet, (she loved pink, even before the brand came into being), and her navy houseshoes that I can still hear scuff-scuffing with her footsteps as she hurried off to some task. (Yes, we still have them. Some things just take time.)
I vacuumed around her purple recliner. Bobby pins used to litter the carpet beside that chair, a testament to her great use of the wonderful little inventions and to the crowdedness of the ledge she tried to drop them on.
I polished the sink and mirror. Her denture cup was there just months ago, her toothbrush and the orderly caddies, one on either side of the sink, holding her's and Peepaw's toiletries.
The hospital bed that Peepaw used, (such a help as we gave him home care following his stroke), is now made up with a purple coverlet, so different from the pristine look it previously had.
The day progressed and I moved on to other things. Soon it was supper time and I swung open the fridge to see what we could eat. In a split second I was back in "Peepaw's supper-fixing mode," starting to look for the milk to fix the sugar-free chocolate drink he always had at supper. Suddenly his absence washed over me, and I crumbled a bit inside.
In the mornings, after meals, in the evenings, I find anytime I can to sit down at the old, deep-
chocolate, Howard piano in the living room. How can it be that it is mine, that I've inherited the instrument my grandmother played from a child? It's not in perfect condition, of course. It's got scratches and one of the keys stick and a few sound flat. But still I play it; I try to mimic my Meemaw's effortless style as she would "tickle the ivories," sounding out "There is a Fountain," "He's Still on the Throne," or "Jesus, the Name High Over All." I find such a disconnect between my hammering and her trilling, but still I press on.
My grandparents were such a huge part of my life. I lived down the lane from them for 15+ years. Every Christmas, every Easter, every birthday, Friday evenings and Sunday dinners were spent with them, plus hundreds of visits and calls and drop-bys sprinkled throughout it all. I'm not sad that my grandparents have gone to be with the Lord. I'm not sad that they are free from pain, from physical difficulties, from sorrow, from sin and the effects of living in a sin-filled world. I miss them, but I am so comforted that they are with my Heavenly Father with Whom I hope to be someday soon. And until then, I'll keep on with my Savior's help, remembering my grandparents and trying to live a faithful, God-fearing life as they tried to do.
I vacuumed around her purple recliner. Bobby pins used to litter the carpet beside that chair, a testament to her great use of the wonderful little inventions and to the crowdedness of the ledge she tried to drop them on.
I polished the sink and mirror. Her denture cup was there just months ago, her toothbrush and the orderly caddies, one on either side of the sink, holding her's and Peepaw's toiletries.
The hospital bed that Peepaw used, (such a help as we gave him home care following his stroke), is now made up with a purple coverlet, so different from the pristine look it previously had.
The day progressed and I moved on to other things. Soon it was supper time and I swung open the fridge to see what we could eat. In a split second I was back in "Peepaw's supper-fixing mode," starting to look for the milk to fix the sugar-free chocolate drink he always had at supper. Suddenly his absence washed over me, and I crumbled a bit inside.
In the mornings, after meals, in the evenings, I find anytime I can to sit down at the old, deep-
chocolate, Howard piano in the living room. How can it be that it is mine, that I've inherited the instrument my grandmother played from a child? It's not in perfect condition, of course. It's got scratches and one of the keys stick and a few sound flat. But still I play it; I try to mimic my Meemaw's effortless style as she would "tickle the ivories," sounding out "There is a Fountain," "He's Still on the Throne," or "Jesus, the Name High Over All." I find such a disconnect between my hammering and her trilling, but still I press on.
My grandparents were such a huge part of my life. I lived down the lane from them for 15+ years. Every Christmas, every Easter, every birthday, Friday evenings and Sunday dinners were spent with them, plus hundreds of visits and calls and drop-bys sprinkled throughout it all. I'm not sad that my grandparents have gone to be with the Lord. I'm not sad that they are free from pain, from physical difficulties, from sorrow, from sin and the effects of living in a sin-filled world. I miss them, but I am so comforted that they are with my Heavenly Father with Whom I hope to be someday soon. And until then, I'll keep on with my Savior's help, remembering my grandparents and trying to live a faithful, God-fearing life as they tried to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)