Barge and Tugboat

As I sit in our hotel room overlooking Lake Michigan this evening, a spry-looking, black-and-white tugboat is huffing through the mouth of a nearby river, pushing (rather than pulling) a huge barge piled high with stone.  The barge sits very low in the water, encumbered by (and yet obviously prepared to manage) the massive weight, as the tug does its job with spunky, tenacious precision.  This team is headed for the beautiful expanse of BIG WATER just ahead.  Looks like an adventure to me!

I must digress for just a minute. 

This is the final night of our memorable anniversary trip; sometime late tomorrow we’ll be home.  Looking back, I feel we’ve also been guided and propelled, almost as if we were the clueless barge at times, heading in some general direction, and the Lord intervened to nudge us along – scoot this way, try that, be inspired by this - with very unique guidance.  It’s been quite a journey in every way: emotional, spiritual, as well as geographical.

For example, the couple we met at the bed and breakfast – who knew we’d check out and then run into them again on the road many miles away where they’d offer valuable advice about sightseeing in an area where we knew NOTHING?  We would have missed that spectacular elevated view if not for them. 

How about just “happening” to intersect with a grand surprise - a stunning kite-propelled wake board performance along an otherwise wild Lake Superior shoreline?  Just few minutes earlier or later we would have missed the whole “show!” It seemed hardly coincidental, and perhaps ordained.

There’s no way to explain the unusual momentum and blessing of visiting old friends who exude patience, kindness, commitment, and – in the midst of their own trials – HOPE.  How could we help but be inspired and strengthened by their hospitality? Not to mention energized?  Renewed? And encouraged to live with passion?

Even tonight, a total stranger spontaneously mentioned a restaurant just a couple of blocks away from our hotel (we had no idea how to scout restaurants in the area, especially when we were jello-legged and foggy-brained with weariness).  This was the perfect spot to celebrate with our final “special” anniversary meal with exquisite food, a perfect waitress, and even an amazing slice of Snickers cheesecake!  I think we might have settled for a fast-food sandwich if the recommendation hadn’t practically slapped us in the face.

These are just a sampling.  It has truly felt like an anointed trip.

As I peer out the window, the tugboat and barge have disappeared from view into Lake Michigan in search of some distant destination.   We will likewise be headed home tomorrow, energized by a special celebratory week punctuated by unexpected blessings and the customized care of a gracious Father who watched over us all the way.  And He’ll continue to point and propel.....what peace of mind.

Flying the Coop

I’m getting up at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow (yawn, I’m tired just thinking about it!).  We’ll pull out of the driveway no later than 6:00 to head out on our 40^th wedding anniversary trip to Michigan’s upper peninsula, and will be gone a week.  Exciting!

My computer will accompany me, but am not sure how much time I’ll actually spend online.  Hope to share highlights here either during or after the trip – bon voyage!

The Cottage of Content

The Cottage of Content

I enjoy using my mother’s collection of mis-matched blue plates, and keep them in the same sideboard she inherited from her family at the time of her wedding in 1932. 

One plate is one stamped with “Royal Staffordshire Ceramics” on the back.  A pastoral scene is displayed on the front – a simple English-looking cottage stands on the right, perhaps with a thatched roof, and hollyhock-like flowers grow near the door that faces a dirt road. On the left a tree bends appropriately to fit the round contour of the plate.  The following lines are inscribed:

“As I was wandering o’er the green

Not knowing where I went,

By chance I saw a pleasant scene

The cottage of content.”

I’ve tried to find the author of this quote, but so far no luck.  I did discover a verbatim reproduction of it online, which verifies that it probably is not unique to the plate alone, although no credits were given.

In my search, I did find another reference to “the cottage of content” in David Copperfield by Charles Dickens:

“Miss Mills replied, on general principles, that the Cottage of content was better than the Palace of cold splendour, and that where love was, all was.”

I’ve been thinking about living in the cottage of content despite inevitable challenges, especially those fraught with pain.  I am grateful for, and hope to be satisfied with, a small but adequate cottage (an icon of simplicity) inhabited by divine love.

“Christian contentment is a conviction that Christ’s power, purpose, and provision are sufficient for any circumstance. In its simplest terms, contentment is saying out loud in your heart and soul: ‘I have Christ and that is enough.’” – Rob Kuban

After the Storm

Following several hours of prime lake time tubing and swimming, the rain came without announcement and sent today's lakeside crew (12 kids and 6 adults total) scampering inside.  As the drops pounded the lake’s surface with bouncing rain-bullets, the hungry crew downed (are you ready) TWO POUNDS of sliced co-jack cheese, the equivalent of a large box of crackers, and a couple dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies.  And this was only a mid-meal snack! 

As I type at the table beside the window, sunshine has returned, the lake is glassy calm, and a few high-energy kids are beginning to reappear on the deck while others remain glued to “Aladdin” on the TV screen.  I just ran outside to snatch a picture of Jesse, our special needs grandson, running gleefully back and forth, back and forth on the deck like a spring-loaded kid, splashing little puddles on the wet deck with his bare feet, squealing with delight, relishing his freedom.  He's living thoroughly in the moment, as an example to us all.

GRAND motherhood

I officially became a mother for the first time 38 years ago TODAY!  Since then, the job description for motherhood has changed and grown and expanded until…huff puff…all these years later I’m discovering what it means to be a GRANDmother to eight, almost nine, little urchins. 

Some of my mom-techniques have grown rusty, but are coming back with practice.

While most of the time our frolics are fun-filled, occasionally the kids and I dip into the deep waters of discipline. Here’s a glimpse into a recent one-sided conversation where I flipped the switch into the old serious-like-I-mean-it-voice while maintaining just a hint of grandmotherly compassion:

“I asked you not to do that – so why did you?”

No response.  Child freezes with stiff body language.

“You know, Grampa and I have rules just like your Mom and Dad.”

No response.  Chews fingers.

“You’re expected to obey them.”

No response.  More chewing.

“And remember - I know how to use that wooden spoon in the bathroom, too.”

No response.  Wiggles to create distraction.

“Look in my eyes, please.”

No response.  Body stiffens again.

“I’ll give you one more chance.  If you choose to do such-and-so, there will be no more playing outside for the rest of the day.  Do you understand?”

No response.  Looks around as if hunting for something.

“Look in my eyes, please.”

Sneaks a sheepish sideways eye-to-eye peek for a split second.

“Do we understand each other?”

“Yes.” (whispered ever-so-softly)

Whew-eee, that was a close call.  I didn’t want to spend the afternoon indoors either!  

“Okay!  Then let’s play!  What do you want to do NOW?”

Just goes to show I haven’t totally lost the old “mama-means-it and you’d-better-shape-up” tone in my voice and look in my bifocal-covered eyes…at least not this time.

How to Stay Cool - 101

Here’s today’s tutorial (via photos) on “how to stay cool” in the current Michigan tropics.  Of course we went swimming in the lake, but the water was like bath water – hardly refreshing!  On the other hand, this intriguing slip-and-slide, wading pool, and other assorted inflatable playthings were discovered hiding in the dark recesses of our attic this afternoon...and yes, we put them there who-knows-when, maybe as long as 7-8 years ago, but had forgotten.  Of course they had to be tried out by today’s wee ones.  I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves, but saved the best one for last – a five gallon bucket full of a beautiful, water-logged, blonde mermaid!

Recital du Jour

As I type this blog, my husband of 40 years is playing the piano – the same parlor grand where he learned to play, the one many years ago given to his then-eighteen-year-old father.

The mahogany piano cabinet is scratched here and there, despite kind and respectful attempts to keep it blemish-free.  We all know life has its way of marring things. Original ivories (yes, real elephant tusks rather than synthetic plastic keys) peel off periodically and have to be reapplied with super glue.  But the inner strings and hammers are in great shape – they’re protected by a special underside-humidifier and heating bar, as well as regular bi-annual tuning. 

The melodious sounds of familiar tunes/classics/hymns that pour forth from my hubby’s talented fingers bless anyone who might be fortunate enough to listen.  Right now he’s playing a spiritual entitled, “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.”  I just looked up the lyrics online:

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Long way from my home

Sometimes I wish I could fly

Like a bird up in the sky

Oh, sometimes I wish I could fly

Fly like a bird up in the sky

Sometimes I wish I could fly

Like a bird up in the sky

Closer to my home

Motherless children have a hard time

Motherless children have-a such a hard time

Motherless children have such a really hard time

A long way from home

Sometimes I feel like freedom is near

Sometimes I feel like freedom is here

Sometimes I feel like freedom is so near

But we're so far from home

I’m struck by larger truths reflected in this moment and even this particular song – how our exterior bodies are fading scratch by scratch and nick by nick, while our inner heart-songs only grow louder, stronger, more practiced and full of conviction; how the “Motherless Child” reflects human longing and groping for belonging even though eternal “freedom is near.” Living out this life can sometimes feel far from Home, and yet as the song says in the third repeat of the next-to-end line, “Sometimes I feel like freedom is SO near.”

Connections

It happens far too often to be coincidence - just the right person, place, experience or asset “turns up” when needed.  Not a moment too soon or too late, and not even necessarily when I think the time is right, but rather when it is best.

It happened again this week.  I’d been hoping to find good readers to critique a first draft of a manuscript this summer, and in the last several days a new one showed up right on my computer.  Amazing!  This is a person I don’t even know (except through common participation in an online writing guild), and yet she has just the right life experience, faith perspective, and passion for writing to make an excellent team member.

Just to clarify, I’m not saying my life is smooth or easy or predictable.  I AM saying I have to believe various unsolicited connections are evidence my life is orchestrated by God in a way that is not accidental – which is HUGE.

"Hot Death on a Stick"

 “It is hot death on a stick here at the fair!”  Our daughter, who is manning a booth at the local county fairgrounds, shared this earlier today – an expression she’d heard somewhere that seemed to fit.  

I can’t do quite as good a job of description in so few words, but it IS sizzly in a thick and soupy way outside, and has been the kind of day you could fry an egg on the car bumper or dashboard, or maybe your forehead, while breathing through a sponge or being tossed around in a dryer full of hot towels.  

Hot death on a stick.  Wow.

Quote from Dangerous Wonder

“The critical issue today is dullness. We have lost our astonishment….Dullness is the absence of the light of our souls.  Look around. We have los the sparkle in our eyes, the passion in our marriages, the meaning in our work, the joy of our faith…Jesus Christ came to rescue us from listlessness as well as lostness; He came to save us from flat souls as well as corrupted souls.  He came to save us from dullness…

“Somewhere along the way we had the child chased out of us.  Our childlikeness is usually snuffed out by people who tell us what we can’t do.  They are dream stealers….Christ is the Dream Giver who wants us to listen to His dream for us so we can run like children in the fields of His grace…

“We have lost the gleam in our eye.  Jesus no longer chases us in the ragged terrain of our souls.  We have forgotten what it is like to stand speechless in the presence of Jesus, hearts beating wildly, staggered and stunned by what God is doing in our world…”

- From Dangerous Wonder by Micahel Yaconelli

Through Kids' Eyes

Tonight at our annual Lake Association picnic I watched two of our granddaughters responding to the event as people milled everywhere and thronged around long tables full of all sorts of food.  Live music (interrupted by raffled prizes) entertained us, while corn hole, a hayride, and a bounce house particularly catered to the kids.  The girls loved it all, the busy and noisy craziness and barefooted freedom of it.

Here's Ellie groovin' to the music in her own folding chair:

We came home and took an evening swim afterwards to cool off.  A perfect end to a special evening!

Here's Josie with her most special Aunt Becky:

Definitions

From an online writer-friend’s ever-expanding collection:

Laughing Stock, n.: Cattle with a sense of humor.

Elecelleration (el a cel er ay' shun) n.: The mistaken notion that the more you press an elevator button the faster it will arrive.

Cinemuck, n.: The combination of popcorn, soda, and melted chocolate that covers the floors of movie theaters.

Inoculatte, v.: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

Witlag, n.: The delay between delivery and comprehension of a joke.

Elbonics (el bon' iks) n.: The actions of two people maneuvering for one armrest in a movie theater.

Carperpetuation (kar' pur pet u a shun), n.: The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.

Writing *Something*

Kitchen cleaned: check.

Floors vacuumed: check.

Bathroom spiffed: check.

Laundry caught up: check.

Dinner finished (no biggie since there’s no one here to feed): check

Emails answered: check.

Facebook read: check.

To-do list written for tomorrow: check.

FaithWriters weekly entry posted: No!  Agh, NO!  I haven’t even started!  And it is due in the morning!  The topic is “war and peace” (not the book).  What to write?  Heellllllp!  War.  And peace.  We do battle within our individual human hearts against ourselves, each other, and/or God.  Evasive peace is easy to verbalize conceptually/ideologically, while real spiritual peace passes human understanding. And.  So.  I.  Must. Write.  Something.

Never a Dull Moment

Yesterday I was painting with Josie, age 3, when rain started pounding bullets onto the surface of the lake.  “Have you ever had the electricity go out in a storm?” I asked her.  She wasn’t sure, but seemed to sort of remember “something like that.”  No big deal. I didn’t expect this storm to be bad, but was preparing her, just in case.

“Wow, look, the rain is coming even harder across the lake – see where that sheet of white is getting closer?”

Blink-blinkety-black.  AH!  We lost electric power!

After lighting a couple of candles, we proceeded with our painting like a couple of Michaelangelos who refused to be daunted by a silly storm.  Meanwhile, the wind grew stronger.

“Look, the lake is all fuzzy because so much wind is blowing across it,” I said calmly, suggesting that such storms are a mere curiosity and nothing to worry about.  Young minds are SO impressionable!

As we continued to diligently work on our artistic renderings surrounded by lightning and thunder, the wind escalated. (Later we heard it had reached 80 mph.)  Suddenly I looked outside to see the Hobie (our 16’ catamaran) which was strapped to its hoist, leaning precariously to one side while tempting the whole rig to tip!  The jib sail had come unfurled and was catching the wind, flapping like a shredded rag!

I quickly went to look for my hubby, not that he could rescue anything or make any difference, but just so he could watch with us.  Meanwhile Josie caught the sense of urgency and began shrieking, “No, NO!  I don’t want the Hobie to tip over!”

Knowing how kids borrow adults’ moods, I put on my quiet voice while Josie nestled in my lap like a curled-up baby bunny and we talked our way through the storm.  The Hobie regained footing, but then once again tipped to the side as its tattered jib sail, now defined by gaping holes and fringed edges,  flapped furiously.

“I don’t like the wind!” Josie said.

“But we’re safe inside the house, aren’t we?” I cooed, holding her tight.

“Yes.  But I don’t want the boat to tip over!”

“It’s alright.  See, the wind is dying down!  We’ve been protected, and the Hobie is okay!”  I kissed the top of her head.  Then I whispered (but loud enough for her to hear), “Thank You, Lord, for watching over us today…”

Eventually the storm ceased, the sun came out, and normalcy returned.  We removed the wind-whipped jib from the Hobie, threw it in the trash, and proceeded to hook up our portable generator to the freezer, refrigerator, and water pump.  Ah, the adventures of living on the lake!

Evidently we might not get power back until the end of the week.  In the meantime we’re becoming modern-day pioneers: cooking out on the deck (tonight will be pork loin steaks and grilled veggies), running power cords all over the house to provide a lamp here or a nightlight there, and  checking the internet occasionally  (despite “dirty power”) just to keep up with the rest of the powered world. 

Here are our art projects - Josie's on the left, mine on the right, and the well-used water-colors and semi-dried-up face paints in the middle:

This is my picture of the lake as the storm broke:

Here's the lake after the storm, with the Hobie still in its rightful place on its lift:

Vows

Forty years ago today my handsome husband stood next to me in a dashing white tuxedo while I wore a flowing lace-and-pearl-studded dress fashioned by my seamstress-genius mother.  Before an assembly of family and friends, we naïve lovebirds pledged to live together as man and wife. Whatever that meant.

At that time I had a shallow understanding of the sacramental aspect of marriage before God, and yet the vows were still a focal part of the marriage ceremony for me.  At my request we’d memorized them so that when we spoke to each other our pledges would be more than a matter of blankly repeating words that could soon be forgotten. 

At that time I had no idea I would continue to reference those vows and recite them to myself over the years, especially in times of challenge. I can still say them with the same conviction I did on July 10^th, 1971.  For those who don’t know, the word “troth” means “faithfulness:”

“I, Elizabeth, take thee, Frederick, to be my lawfully wedded husband - to have and to hold, from this day forward - for better, for worse - for richer, for poorer - in sickness and in health - to love and to cherish until death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.  And thereto I pledge thee my troth.”

During the exchange of rings, I said this:

“In token and pledge of my constant faith and abiding love, with this ring I thee wed.”

I knew little at that time about the implications of “constant” and “abiding.”  Perhaps now, forty years later, I have a better idea.

Prudence

This morning while alone and in a quiet/thoughtful mode, I challenged myself to revisit two opposing concepts: wisdom and folly.  In my pondering, I ran across another one: prudence.

According to various passages in Proverbs, one who is prudent is disciplined, mature, experienced, and shows good judgment and good sense.  Such a person overlooks insult, stores up knowledge and acts out of it, is thoughtful and wise rather than impulsive.  In the verse below (quoted from two versions), a prudent person sees trouble coming and avoids it, thus side-stepping unpleasant consequences.

“A prudent man foresees the evil, and hides himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished.” (KJV)

“A prudent man sees danger and takes refuge, but the simple keep going and suffer for it.” (NIV)

Proverbs 22:3 (also 27:12)

I know from experience how easy it is to form habits (both in thought and deed) that lead to cyclical stumbling and dead-ends.  Such habit patterns are like treading water: they require lots of energy but go nowhere.  Most of us easily defend such behaviors: “It’s the way I am – I can’t help it.”  Or perhaps, “Circumstances are driving me crazy.  It’s not my fault.” And yet the prudent person thinks beyond what seems most obvious and natural, and with God’s help escapes the folly of repetitive error. 

Redemption, again.  Everywhere I look are evidences of His redeeming love, perhaps especially when I recognize it functioning in light of imprisonment to my own limitations. Although I long to be prudent, I so often fail…and yet, I praise God for His ongoing faithfulness to me.  He is mercifully, if gradually, transforming and changing me in ways I previously thought impossible. 

Looking for Answers

Today the lifeless body of our manly outdoorsman friend, John, filled a proportionately slender casket surrounded by ribbon-wrapped flower bouquets.  His massive hands lay neatly folded across his barrel chest, and his facial expression looked much like one several weeks ago when he sat on our deck sipping herbal iced tea and chatting.  “Doc says I can’t go fishing for 6 weeks after surgery,” he’d said regretfully that day, confessing a reluctant need to sacrifice the rest of his summer to the recovery process.  His clear blue eyes seemed to overflow with various emotions. That memory seems so long ago now.

John’s bodily functions never woke up from the general anesthesia.  The surgery was “routine,” an abdominal hernia repair following a surgery last summer, and he was in excellent health for his 74 years.  Two and a half weeks later he was dead. 

At the funeral, his beautiful and vibrant wife of 55 years summarized well.  “It should never have happened.  He was so healthy.”

Following a surgery a year ago - another story in itself with its own set of questions - his body did the same thing.  That time his kidneys were slow to resume normal function, and it was necessary to surgically intervene to enable bowel movement and thus prevent death (that surgery was the cause of the hernia). So why was he given another general anesthesia this time?  Why take such a risk?  This is my question as one who once had abdominal surgery with an epidural rather than general anesthesia – a potentially safer option in a case like John’s.  Also, why did a plugged catheter go unnoticed until his extremities visibly swelled, toxins ravaged his body, and bacteria-laden fluid destroyed his lungs to the point that if he had survived he would have been invalided?  This is my question as one who has had five major surgeries after which the careful measurement of IV fluids and urine was regularly documented.  Why?  WHY?  The whys keep piling up, only to be met with deepening silence.

Can such unanswerable questions be resolved?  NO. Let them go, I tell myself.  LET THEM GO.  I cannot understand, nor should I expect to. Instead, I know to praise God even in the midst of sorrow and confusion, for HE IS the ultimate resource for questions of life and death and everything in-between. 

Still, in my humanness I struggle to find reason-based answers, but they continue to evade me.  Perhaps it is good to wrestle with my heart and seek more-than-superficial meaning to all of this. Then I am forced to my rightful place as a created creature learning to trust the Creator, even (perhaps especially) in the midst of pain and loss that only He can redeem. 

Family Picture Take Two

Oops, just hit the wrong photo in the previous post....here's the "best" pose!

Family Picture

Here’s the annual family picture for 2011!  And to think 40 years ago there were only two of us! 

Birthday and More....

Today is birthday number (trumpet fanfare, please…are you ready?) Sixty-Two!  It was a stunningly gorgeous day at the lake – calm, clear skies, fish swimming near the pier (until aquatic grandkids took over their territory), laughter, an amazing buffet of leftover food from the past several days, and even a champagne toast (cheers!) in honor of the Birthday Matriarch. 

Here I am lounging on the deck in my new chair dubbed The Queen Chair, a gift from our daughter Emily and her family:

Fabulous Fourth

t’s been a beautiful blue-sky Fourth of July filled with relational highs here at the lake.   Special memories were created in the midst  of various activities including sandbox play, face-painting, corn hole, swimming- tubing-knee boarding, hammock rollicking, Dirt Cake, and…a spectacular and very personalized 40^th wedding anniversary talent show on the deck! 

My beautiful family blesses me beyond measure!  In the wake of the day there are not words to capture so many unique and treasured moments, but here are a few pictures: 

Life

We received hard news this morning – a dear friend passed away last night due to complications following “routine” surgery (hernia repair). We’ve been stunned all day as a result, although “the beat goes on” with the very lively activity of kids and grandkids – a good diversion.

Among other activities, we rigged the Hobie today for its maiden voyage of the 2011 summer season.  Our 10-year-old grandson seemed to show a budding interest;  maybe he’ll be the next skipper someday? 

Our friend is no longer with us, and yet we’re surrounded by so much life and new promise…..

Holiday Weekend Kick-Off!

Today marked the onset of the 2011 Mulie 4^th of July celebration, complete with traditional water play in the lake - and not-so-traditional dancing girls on the picnic table!  We’re up to 15 people and one dog tonight, and expect 4 more people and one more dog to join us tomorrow!  Here are a few sample pictures from this afternoon and evening:

Whistles, Bell Choirs, Static, and Kyrie Eleison

In recent years, I’ve referred to noise from overlapping referee whistles as a close-but-not-perfect description of my tinnitus. Yesterday another image came to mind. Imagine the half a dozen or so of the highest, most shrill bells of several bell choirs (perhaps like those used by Salvation Army ringers) shaking in a loud frenzy over a static-filled radio station.  Now blare it through headphones - in other words, put that all inside your head, non-stop.  You can imagine the effect.

This morning I woke early, aware of the need to prepare for the upcoming reunion with our family over the extended 4^th of July weekend.  It will be wonderful but very noisy, of course!  Breathe…release.  Breathe…release.  Relax.  Put the noise in perspective.  I am not the noise; it is not me!  It resides in me, but does not define me.  Breathe…BREATHE…release the air slowly, from the gut.

I needed to pray, and some liturgy learned years before came to the fore. Lord Jesus, have mercy.  Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from Your presence and take not Your Holy Spirit from me; Restore unto me the joy of Your salvation.   Uphold me with Your free Spirit!*

As I type, the noise blares on, raucous and shrill, like auditory bear claws drawing soul-blood. Lord Jesus Christ (while inhaling), have mercy (while exhaling).  Lord Jesus Christ (while inhaling), have mercy (while exhaling).  Lord Jesus Christ (while inhaling), have mercy (while exhaling)! Kyrie Eleison!**

*Psalm 51:10

**KYRIE ELEISON – Greek for Lord, have mercy – a repetitive chant used by Christians from at least the 4^th century, and perhaps earlier.