by jphilo | Jul 26, 2010 | Family
Since the end of May, our nest has been anything but empty. First Anne came home from college the weekend before Memorial Day. Since all her summer sewing projects were of the large variety, she was into weekly baking extravaganzas, not to mention her constant concocting of environment-friendly hygiene products, her flotsam and jetsam gradually oozed into every cranny of our nest. Of course, her sweetie came for several weekends between then and their wedding, so for much of the summer, the spare bedroom was occupied, too.
Then there was the wedding shower for both couples in mid-June. That weekend, Allen and Abbey were in the spare bedroom, Anne was in her room, and her sweetie slept on the sun porch until the mosquitoes drove him into the living room.
Mom kept the nest hopping, too. She used the spare room a night or two before we drove to an all-school reunion Fourth of July weekend, one week before the wedding.
I barely had time to change the sheets before the influx of wedding house guests hit: Anne’s sweetie on Thursday, Allen and Abbey on Friday, five girl cousins on Saturday night. Add to that crowd friends and family – the groom’s immediate family, the groomsmen, bridesmaids, Anne’s personal attendant, my extended family – but somehow, the nest expanded to accommodate the masses.
Two days after the wedding, which wasn’t enough time to tend to our nest, Hiram and I went to Idaho for a week of R & R in the cool, mountain air. When we got back, Anne and her new husband were packing their vehicle with a mountain of wedding presents and boxes of Anne’s possessions.
Over the weekend, we put set things right, and this morning, Hiram went back to work. So today, for the first time in months, I’m alone in our empty nest.
Anne’s room is vacant. Most of the pictures are gone. All but three dresser drawers are empty. The closet is clean and organized. There’s no thread, fabric scraps, or stray pattern pieces on the floor. Strange toiletry concoctions aren’t perched precariously on the sink or bathtub rim. The bathroom floor isn’t littered with dirty clothes. No wet towels hang from doorknobs.
For a minute or two, it weirded me out.
Until I remembered the unanswered emails waiting for answers in my inbox, the thank you notes waiting to be penned, the www.DifferentDream.com blog posts that need to be written, the workshop to practice for next week’s International MOPS Convention, the research to be done so I can write Different Dream Parenting by deadline, the weeds in the flower beds, and everything else on the to do list in my planner. Then I realized I don’t have time to mourn our empty nest. God has given me a very full life.
Now’s the time to live it.
by jphilo | Jul 20, 2010 | Family
Kids are almost as numerous as mosquitoes at Family Camp this year. I’m exaggerating, of course, but with three toddlers under three years of age trying to keep up with two active seven-year-olds, the constant darting about rivals the insects.
But last night, one seven-year-old created his own peace and quiet in the midst of the crowd. I wasn’t aware of his clever strategy until one of the more observant adults among us nodded to the tall grass beyond the pavilion and asked, “What’s going on down there?”
We watched the grass sway. The movement was more than what the little camp dogs could generate. “One of the neighbor’s dogs?” someone else suggested. A patch of blue cloth nixed the suggestion.
A flash of recognition, and the observant adult said, “It’s Lewis. He’s hiding in the grass.” We grinned and watched as a round, blond head peeked out, then ducked back before the toddlers saw him. For a good long while he lay there. When the peace and quiet he had manufactured turned to boredom, he slowly and stealthily crept through the grass and joined the younger crowd. Soon he was darting about again, eyes twinkling, while pint-sized hero worshippers followed hard after him.
Laughter and squeals filled the air.
Tears filled my eyes.
A prayer filled my heart.
God, may Your peace hiding in the grass of Family Camp surround our children wherever life takes them, wherever you lead them. May they always follow hard after You. Amen.
by jphilo | Jul 19, 2010 | Family
Every now and then, though not nearly often enough, I am startled by God’s sharp grace. This morning was one of those now and thens as our family and friends gathered to worship.
In our midst were believers equipped to meet every need:
- a worship leader
- musicians to accompany the singing
- a congregation ready to make a joyful noise
- preachers who interpreted God’s word so hearts of all ages could understand it
- children who needed adults to serve them
- adults with servant hearts for children
- believers who know God is bigger than any box we make for Him
- mountain views to remind us God is bigger than our boxes
- master cooks and bakers who prepared a feast to share once worship was done
Throughout the morning and since our banquet ended, several questions keep running through my mind:
- Has ever a family received so much grace as this one?
- Why should we receive such grace?
- How does God want us to respond to it?
- How can we steward it?
- How can we share it?
- What work does He have prepared for us?
The answers to these pointed questions will be revealed throughout lifetimes and generations. The answers will cut us to the quick, transforming us in the process. Much is required of those to whom much is given. And we have been given much.
Sharp grace. Startling grace.
My awareness of it is awakened every now and then, not nearly often enough.
But when it is awakened, God reminds me that the adventure will last a lifetime…
and then some.
by jphilo | Jul 12, 2010 | Family
Wow! After weeks of planning and wedding tasks that bumped real life activities to the bottom of my to do list, the wedding of our daughter and new son is history. More details will be forthcoming, once I’m not so tired I nod off the minute I’m not moving, and more pictures will be posted once my sweet cousin assigned to taking candid shots has time to download and send them, but for today here are a few highlights:
- Sunday morning’s rain tipped the scales in favor of moving the wedding ceremony to the pavilion in the park. Though the weather improved as the day progressed and the sun was shining for the ceremony, we were glad of the change in venue. The gnats and mosquitoes were bothersome, even in the pavilion. They would have been unbearable in our yard.
- The bride was lovely and her new husband handsome. But their outward appearance is nothing compared to the maturity of their love for one another. We are so grateful our daughter has such a devoted husband who appreciates who she is.
- The flower lady, also known as my sister, outdid herself with the flowers. Who knew Queen Anne’s lace and purple cone flowers, combined with greenhouse roses and gladiolas could be so lovely?
- The work done by the reception planner, also known as my friend Diana, was a gift I can never repay. She took a load off my shoulders by organizing food, materials, and workers…the day before heading to LaCrosse, Wisconsin for her last week of graduate school.
- My long time son and new daughter deserve hugs and kisses for decorating the reception pavilion while I rode herd on the bride and bridesmaids back at the ranch until the ceremony.
- We are blessed with loving family – from our new son’s parents and siblings pitching in to my sister doing the flowers, from one of my cousin’s daughters teaching ballroom dancing at the reception to the cousin who took the pictures, from my brother staying late to help Hiram load and return tables to everyone who participated in Anne and her husband’s joy.
- We are blessed with a loving church family, young and old – sisters and brothers in Christ who came early and stayed late, contributed food, served food, helped with sound equipment, acted silly in the photo booth, hugged our children, and joined in the dancing and merriment.
Such fun. Such memories. Such a support system for us and such strength to lift our sweet children into adulthood. So many blessings. So much grace.
Our cup runneth over.
We are so grateful.
We are so blessed.
Thank you, dear God of all blessing.
by jphilo | Jul 7, 2010 | Family
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
by jphilo | Jul 2, 2010 | Family
We had a houseful over Father’s Day weekend, with both kids and their sweeties home for a joint wedding shower. The weekend with them was pure joy. Our two old children and our two new children are thoughtful, kind, loving, and well-mannered. Watching them, I marveled at their maturity and wondered what had become of the kids they had once been.
As the weekend progressed, their younger selves peeked out from their grown up blankets. Our new daughter fussed over and mothered her dog, a reminder of her childhood propensity to carry a baby doll where ever she went. At the wedding shower, our new son pinned a bow to his shirt and struck a comic pose reminiscent of the super heroes who fascinated him for years. When our long-time cousins arrived, they started talking a mile a minute, like they’ve done every time they’ve been together for years.
But we’d held a competition about who revealed the most childhood self during the weekend, our long-time son would have swept the vote. He dressed for the wedding shower in clean blue jeans, a cream-colored western shirt, black cowboy boots, and the new cowboy hat his wife bought for his birthday.
Talk about a flashback.
For the first three years of his life, we lived with our son in cowboy country. As soon as possible he graduated from overalls and onesies to cowboy clothes. He wore his blue jeans with pride, wore out several pairs of cowboy boots, and wouldn’t leave home without the big, old cowboy hat Gerald Burghduff gave him one night at a school program. Even after we moved to Iowa, our long-time son insisted on a new pair of boots whenever we went to visit our cowboy friends in South Dakota.
During our weekend together, all four of our young adults revealed bits of delightful children they once were. But our long-time son proved a point often stated by the friends, neighbors, and students who loved him for the first three years of his life: You can take the boy out of Harding County, but you can’t take Harding County out of the boy.
