Memories Made

I have been a bad blogger and no New Year's resolution will fix that. December has been a hard month. The rest of the year I count as wonderful. Many wonderful memories were made. I met Ayu, my sponsor child from Indonesia, who has now graduated from the Compassion program. I got to know several wonderful women during that trip and was able to reunite with them this past August in Colorado. I felt a baby kick from inside one of my best friend's abdomen. Sweet joy. And I also was able to visit her for several days in August. I laughed with my little cousins in New Mexico. I watched my own boy learn his letter sounds and complete numerous Rush Hour car puzzles in a row. We took in the most beautiful view of the St. Lawrence River. I am more in love with my husband now than ever before. I joined a small group Bible study and have been challenged to study God's word. We switched churches. We grew. We learned. Gramanita was able to visit this year. Twice. I held my brother's newborn baby girl. My sister and I, giddy with glee, stopped to look at every little girl outfit in Target in the weeks after her birth.

Maybe this next year hold as many or more wonderful memories to be made. Perhaps, we will go camping "up north" in Minnesota. Maybe we really will pay off our mortgage. Or travel the world... Maybe I will have another baby to love... And maybe I will be able to speak to my brother again...

And now to celebrate the last day of 2011. Me and my boy, who loves to cuddle in with me every morning. *love*

Appropriately Honored

Today is the two year anniversary of when my Grandpa walked through those Pearly Gates. Two years ago today he breathed his last laboring breath after a brief battle with lung cancer. I had intended to stop by the cemetery where his ashes were buried, but time ran out ahead of me and I failed to catch up with it. But as the evening progressed, and my commitments met, I realized that the way I ended up spending my evening would be much more honoring of my Grandpa and the way he lived his life.

Grandpa was almost constantly serving others in ministry. He spent countless week hours at nursing homes holding Bible studies and singing old hymns. During the last years of his life, he also began serving at the Open Door Mission, the local homeless shelter. He would sing in his usual style, with his banjo, harmonica or guitar, and preach the sermon before the men and women would be served their meals. Grandpa was passionate about telling others of Jesus' love and forgiveness, and the Open Door was a ministry he supported wholeheartedly. And this evening, exactly two years after he passed into Glory, that was where I spent my evening. The community group that I attend Bible study with, had arranged to help serve dinner at the mission, and we spent a couple hours there scooping hot meals onto plates. This was a much more appropriate way to honor my Grandfather, much better than a flower on a gravestone.

Little Faces

This is my 600th post!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Whoa!


The following is an excerpt from a letter I wrote two weeks ago.

Today I have little faces in my head, but these are far away faces. Little boys and girls that I must give to Jesus. Deep brown eyes that stared into mine from outside our bus. A dirty face and a dirty green cap, bare feet and worn clothes on his young back. Not looking for my pity, but looking none-the-less. Sack over his shoulder, working to feed his own mouth and who knows how many more. A boy of, how old? Maybe 11? But his eyes wore so many more years...

Add on a few days of my life and add another set of dark brown eyes. She's watching me wave goodbye. Her dark hair cropped chin length. She's waving at me now. I am in the bus and she, outside. I see her eyes, welling with tears, and she quickly wipes them away. I turn away to choke back my tears. Why does my soul rise up within me with such emotion?

Yet bear with me once more, for this one time will always be etched into my memory, filled with pain and regret. Why each memory finds me inside the bus and unable to wrap my arms around their shoulders, taunting me in my helplessness? Perhaps it is because I must learn that it is not I who can help, but only pour Lord. Only our Lord can now soften the blows of the sticks upon his head as he crouched in the alleyway, knees tucked to his chin. Why were those other boys so cruel? Why did I not holler "STOP" to the bus driver and rescue the young boy from his torture? Why did I only look on in horror as he was beaten mercilessly? Today he is again on my mind, and I lift him up to our Savior. I am no longer there to witness his beatings and the possibility of me being his rescuer is a moot point. My God sees. He knows his need. He knows if the beatings are often and repeated. He also knows what would've happened if we had tried to rescue him from the cruel hands of his peers. *Sigh* And so I give the faces to Jesus. The Lover of our souls. The nameless faces. But He knows them by name.

Today is another day. God sees the children on the other side of the world and He sees the ones who live next door. He loves them more than I ever could. He cares for their needs. And I will trust Him.

Sponsor a child today through Compassion International.

Remembering

I can't believe that it's been one year already. Today I thought of the last thing my Grandpa taught me. I was out in the garden with a pitchfork in my hand loosening the soil around the carrots so the kids could pull them up. My Grandpa taught me how to do that. That was only a few days before he passed. He had been sitting on the couch and he was tired. Even the bowl of peaches he was trying to eat was wearying him. But he was thinking of the hard work he had put into his garden that year. He told me exactly where to find the pitchfork, in his well kept wood shed. Grandpa explained how to poke the fork in around the carrots and loosen the soil just a bit... And he sent me off on a mission to see if those carrots were ready to be harvested... My Grandpa and I had always shared a love for gardening. We compared the progress of our gardens during the summer. His was weed free and the weeds growing in mine were nearly sky-high. My garden was large. His was small. His tomatoes were dying and so were mine. Our gardens gave us something in common. He was more than willing to hear about how things were growing at my house, though I was always a little nervous that he might stop by unexpected and see how I had let the weeds grow too. I thought of my Grandpa probably every time I was out there in the dirt this year. I think I tried extra hard to keep the weeds out this time. This year was the best that my garden has ever looked and I blame Grandpa for that. Even though he wasn't here to see it (and even if he could see it, I'm sure he'd be preoccupied with praising our Lord), I think my garden would've made him proud this year. Especially my "prize-winning" Brussels sprouts, which have been producing edible sprouts since July.... I can't wait to see him again.

Lost Heart Pieces

It's not that I don't have anything interesting going on, it's just that my mind doesn't want to sit still long enough to blog. (Maybe it's cause of that cookie I ate...) I've taken pictures, but not uploaded them. I've started blogs in my mind nearly a dozen times. I'm full of excuses. And not nearly interesting enough. Haha, the last part was a joke. Now let's see if I have an interesting photo somewhere...
Mmmm, last year, on this day, I left these kiddos behind in El Salvador. I almost cannot believe it's been a year. The girl in the back is a sheer reminder of H1N1. But that was hardly on our minds as we hugged those little girls and boys. I still wish to go back, but that won't be happening for a while. The plans have been set in motions to go to Indonesia this coming February. I sponsor a girl there and have signed up to go on the tour. I received the okay to go from the two most important people, and so I am stepping out in faith. Don't know exactly how I'm going to get there, but am confident that God wouldn't have said to go if He wasn't going to provide. So I am sure that I will leave a piece of my heart in Indonesia with a certain 17 year old girl and then I will have two missing heart pieces. But I am sooo looking forward to meeting her face to face. (Three secret cheers for gladness! Woot-woot-woot!!)

Dreaming...

I am finishing off last nights' left over cheesecake. I'm pretty sure I have eaten enough desserts in the past two weeks to last all year. And now I feel pretty gross. Actually, I feel disgusting. I eat more sugar than anything else this time of year. What I really need to do is bust into the spinach greens I bought today at Wegmans, sprinkle grape tomatoes over them, along with red onion and feta cheese and drizzle the whole thing with balsamic vinaigrette. Except I left my vinaigrette at Mom and Dad's house on Christmas... Can I have that back please? Ah... Healthy food. It is so much easier to eat healthy in the summer, when the garden is bursting with cucumbers, snow peas, beans and tomatoes. Josh and I would regularly wander out into the garden this summer, pick a ripe cucumber and eat it together, sitting on our back steps, the sun warming our arms and legs. At this moment, the picture painted in my mind is a far distant memory. On the other side of my bedroom window, the wind is whipping snow wildly about, gathering it into drifts and filling every nook and cranny. The garden is a forgotten dream, lying buried in the snow. I trekked though the drifts this evening to find our compost pile. The snow must be at least two feet in spots. The forecast only calls for more snow. I find the whole prospect of more snow to be rather exciting... Maybe because I don't have to shovel it or maybe because I have a nice warm house. You can guarantee that I won't be leaving the house wearing my flats tomorrow. I will have my furry boots pulled up to my knees and a hat over my ears. The drive to church will be a slow one. But, what else can we expect on a January day in New York?

Days of lazy blogging... Or non-existent blogging. And I return with a heavy heart.

Thoughts of him are almost constant. Who is this man, one that I love? Why do so many hold him dear? Why must he go so soon? And who will fill his shoes? He is faithful. He is God-fearing. He is young, but also old. Who will tickle me with their beard? Upon who's knee shall I climb onto, when I get that hankering to draw? Who will always welcome me with a kiss and a hug like he does? Where can I go where I will be so welcome and never be turned away? No one will be able to do those things, quite like this man. He is tall. He is scrawny. He is strong. He is wise. Who will play his banjo for me? And sing to me about fox's, Jesus, Jesse Taylor and trains? Who else could be so excited to hear of my gardening adventures and be so willing to share his own? Who will be my Grandpa, when he is gone? I dread the day when I will have to say good-bye, though it be only temporarily. I know Jesus will welcome him home with open arms and we will be reunited one day. But in the meantime, I will soak up all I can of this man. We may not have many days together, but I will enjoy every minute I can. I will listen with open ears as he recites scripture and to the stories he tells. I will cherish this time. There will be time for tears later. I am grateful that God has given us this opportunity to say good-bye, rather than abruptly taking him from us. I am so grateful. Thank you dear Lord.

Mommy's Big Helper

Josh and I have had a busy morning together. Daddy had to take his van to the garage this morning, so it was just Josh and I. (And Uncle Joe, but he minds his own business pretty well.) The two of us busied ourselves with the morning housework. Josh "helped" me make the bed. We washed some laundry together. Josh is very good at pressing the buttons on the washing machine and putting the dirty laundry in to wash. He also likes to help put the wet laundry in the dryer. After we did the wash, the dishes were next. Josh stands on the chair next to me and dunks the dishes in the water, scoops water from the dish pan into the other side of the sink and over the edge of the counter onto his shirt. He like to take the clean dishes out of the dish drainer and put them back into the soapy water. I will say, "Hmmm, I think I've washed this spoon before." It may take me a little longer to get the dishes done, but I enjoy Josh's help and I know he loves helping Mommy. After all, I remember helping my Mommy wash dishes when I was very little. I would practically beg her to let me help. Sometimes she would yes, and sometimes she would say, "No, I need to get them done quick this time." I don't think my Mom realizes that I remember helping her way back then. It must've been before I went to Kindergarten. Sweet memories for me. I'm glad she took the time to let me help. Thanks Mom!

Big Dogs and Small Kids

Little kids can be fun. Especially country kids like these. The one on the far left is my Grandpa- he was a cutie. Yesterday, I got to spend some time with some country kids. You know, the kids I teach... Right before lunch they like to run down to the creek and stand in the muddy water and catch slimy frogs. They carry them around a bit and then stick 'em in a bucket for the day. I can't blame them... I used to do it too. My brothers and I would spend hours during the summer months in the little creek that ran behind our house catching frogs, lots of crayfish, minnows if we could, and maybe, once in a while, a snake or two. It was one of very favorite things to do. And of course we would leave them in a bucket in the yard for a day or two or three till we let them go. It was fun being a kid... And I suppose, that my pupils also should have a chance to catch frogs and enjoy sunny afternoons too. Of course, we try to get school done as quick as we can so we can go outside and play. Yesterday, I went for a walk with three of the girls. Bethany (who is 11, almost 12), Rebecca (6), and Katherine (4) and I hiked on out over the creek and out to the woods. We walked through fields and followed the tractor trails on up the hill. Watch out for muddy spots! I braved 'em and walked through the middle on the high spot. The girls took the safer route. Once we hiked up the ridge, we noticed a single, beautiful trillium blooming under the canopy of the trees. It was like a treasure among the leaves and twigs and undergrowth. It was so precious in its' singleness. I explained to the girls what it was and how it was endangered and against the law to pick them. They ooed and awed over it and then we walked on. Pretty soon we began to notice a few more trilliums here and there. We got so excited... Bethany said they had never seen them before and she was so glad we took a walk when we did. I wished that I had my camara. The farther we walked the more and more flowers we noticed. They seemed to be growing everywhere along the ridge or that hill. They were so pretty and I am so glad we decided to take a walk that day. I don't get to see many trilliums and they only bloom in the woods in early spring. So that was a treasure. But that wasn't the only exciting thing that happened on our walk... When we were almost done with our walk (nearing the road, which we would follow back to the house) we saw, standing in our pathway up ahead of us, a big black dog, just standing there watching us. I stopped in my tracks and tried to remember what to do when you saw a strange dog and didn't know whether he was nice or mean. I told the girls not to look him in the eyes and we backed up a little. But we couldn't turn around now... it would take us forever to get home if we did. And then the dog started trotting toward us. I told the little girls to stand behind me (just in case). You have to understand... this dog was huge. He was at least part Great Dane and his head came up past my waist. I decided that I would talk sweetly to him and called out to him "Hi puppy". He was hardly a puppy, but that didn't really matter. When he came too close for comfort I stood there and told the other girls to walk on ahead but not run. The dog stood there next to me... he didn't seem mean, but he hadn't wagged his tail yet either. How could I tell what he was thinking? He was wearing a collar, and when he wanted to follow the girls, I took hold of it gently and told them to keep walking. When they were far enough away for me, I let the collar go and started walking down the path, the dog walking next to me. I caught up to the girls and took Katherine's hand in mine, and kept myself between her and the dog. The Great Dane dwarfed Katherine. She was scared of him. I patted the dogs head just to make sure that he knew we were okay and so I knew he was okay too. Rebecca got brave and patted it too. I did not want her to do that. Whenever we would stop walking the dog took a few more steps then turned around and waited for us. It looked like he was there for the duration. When we got farther down the path we could see some kids playing at one of the houses next to the road. They were jumping on a trampoline and I took the educated guess that the dog belonged to them. It turned out that he did and his name was Mozart. And although he was scary looking, Mozart really was a nice dog. Good thing for us. It was quite the adventurous walk. And fun too. Sometimes it's nice being a kid, and then sometimes one has to be the grown up, and at least act like you're brave because there are younger people looking up to me. Good thing I have someone watching out for me too.

The Kiss I Never Would Forget

Today I rearranged my living room. It brought back memories of when I was young and Mom would rearrange the living room. Us kids would get in the way more than help. But it was fun. Joe and I would often crawl behind the couch and hide. One time, when crawling behind the couch behind Joe, he stuck his foot in my mouth. Yuck! It was so gross and I haven't forgiven him for it yet! But I guess it did get me back for making Dave kiss my foot. He used to chase me around trying to kiss me. That really made me mad. Who wants their big brother to kiss tham anyway? It's really nasty, especially when you're in 1st or 2nd grade. Anyway, one time Dave was wrestling me in the living room trying to place his lips on my cheek, and I stuck my foot up toward his head to push him away, and guess what he got... Yup, my foot on his lips. He was so mad, but I laughed and laughed. Dave had kissed my foot. I sure got him back for being such a mean big brother. I'll never forget it... the day I got one on Dave. I never could beat him at anything ever before... or again.