An Unexpected Gift

I have been given the greatest gift – the gift of Time.  Oh how I always crave more ‘free’ time, although as a believer in Christ all of my time is actually His to redeem as He sees fit.  But time that isn’t allocated to work, or as in the case with this gift, prison ministry, is a precious thing.  How to use it?

I’ll work on my book and web site preparations, of course.  And have time to sit, pray, read devotions and scripture, and just be.  Which is what I like to do on January 1 each year anyway, reflecting on my many blessings and writing goals for the coming year that stretches out before me like an unused roll of fresh drawing paper waiting for a story in pictures.  So many things to choose from:  house projects, picture projects, writing letters, culling things to give away or sell on craigslist, updating my prayer list, putting the house back in order after the wonderful week of having kids and grands here.  Plus I’m always in danger of ADD moments – oh look, there’s a cabinet I need to reorganize, or a closet to clean out, or I’ve always wanted to move that couch to the other side of the room which means rearranging everything and before you know it a day has passed.  Maybe I’ll even get out of my pajamas and get dressed.

So I pause before letting my mind get on the thought racetrack speeding towards overwhelmed.  Looking around the grandkids room I marvel at Emily’s version of cleaning up.  She did a great job, and I enjoy looking at how she arranged the books, stuffed animals, puzzles, toys, and arts and crafts, different than I would but not so different after all.  The toy Tonka digger that usually sits by  Mike and the Steam Shovel is now parked in front of the wooden blocks next to the golden books.  Which have been read and much loved this visit, I’m happy to say.  The Peter Rabbit family shelf is playing host to Noah’s Ark and all the animals stored inside.  The Winnie the Pooh section is relatively undisturbed, except that Eyeore looks anxiously at Piglet’s foot which is stuck in his ear.  Clifford and Company are in their place, as are the Three Bears and their book.  The Bambi and Jungle Book area is definitely in disarray.  Bambi’s head is leaning back into the corner, exhaustion emanating from every fiber of his stuffed body, while Baloo and Lion King look quite happy to be perched atop the Peter Rabbit puzzle case, digger’s tractor tread perched atop Lion King’s head like a black rubber halo.  Stickers adorn everything – books, the floor, toys, and sleeping bags.  Pooh sleeping bag is neatly folded away in the closet, but Caterpillar sleeping bag is languishing on the floor in need of a wash.  

Across the top of the shelves things are almost normal.  Cat in the Hat leans over into Ramona, who has one shoe hanging off as always, their books as backrests.  Minnie and Mickey have been left to their own devices, as has the Very Hungry Caterpillar, while Spot was only recently placed back after being loved on by Liam over Christmas.  Mouse is nowhere near If You Give a Mouse a Cookie but is sitting over in the new toy wooden rocker with Nativity Bear, on the floor next to Raggedy Ann.  My blocks that spell grandchildren’s names no longer say Emily, Molly, Lily, Lola or Liam.  One set says May, another says Mo, and yet another grouping has an I leading an E and Y on their sides – clearly Molly was involved in this.  The musical water globe is still perched next to the box of crayons and stickers, directly beneath Little Red Riding Hood and right in front of Curious George.  Snoopy sits at the far end, one ear looped over his head, looking content.

Which is how I feel.  Content.  I LOVE the evidence that my grandchildren have been here, and am reluctant to make any changes.  So I won’t.  I’ll spend this gift of time as the Spirit moves, some in quiet gratitude, some in creative writing, some in productive cleaning, but all bathed in the knowledge of how filled with love is my life.

Letting Go of Christmas

I always have a hard time letting go of Christmas.  Not just because I’m a poor transitioner, but also because I love the season.  For some people this time of year isn’t filled with love, laughter, joy and hope, but the Lord has greatly blessed me and my cup overflows with those things at Christmas.  The birth of my Savior, the beautiful music that goes with the season and the matchless Nativity Story.  Christmas cookies.  Lots of them.  Parties.  Family gatherings.  Christmas lights on the house and the tree, memories that flood when I hang ornaments and place the Spode china in the cabinet and put out the Christmas shelf decorations, in the past for my children now for the grandchildren.  I love it all.

This morning I sat with my granddaughters on a generations old cedar chest in my bedroom.  Emily read aloud a book she made for me when she was 5 and played the recording of her sweet voice saying, “I made this just for you Grandma because I love you so much.”  Molly stood on my other side and with my arms wrapped around them both as we talked and laughed all I could think of was that my heart was smiling.  These wonderful moments – why would anyone ever want to let them go?!

Their annual weeklong visit just ended but the glow that is in the house when my daughter and her family are here stays with us for weeks.  Our traditions are simple and not unique – early morning day after Christmas shopping just my daughter and me, Emily and Molly out in our front yard selling my homemade Christmas cookies (some years are better than others), watching a Christmas movie as a family, playing games (Clue and Monopoly are the current favorites), a big Christmas feast on the Christmas china with all my children and theirs (Lena we missed y’all this year, only illness could have kept you away!) and my baby sister, lots of visits from my son and his, building villages and cities and compounds with my serious collection of Legos kept from when my two were little, hot chocolate with tons of tiny marshmallows, Christmas cookies, lots and lots of stories, and time to just visit.  Heaven.

Now the house is quiet, not in a lonely sort of way but in a soft lingering way that is peaceful and hopeful, mitigating the underlying emptiness of already missing these loved ones.  I am grateful that we had this time, for we have other kids and grands that live so far away we don’t see them nearly as often.   That distance has taught me that real family love isn’t hampered by miles when hearts are aligned.  

Over the next few days I’ll pack up the Christmas china, the shelf decorations and the tree ornaments and store them away until next November.  The few remaining Christmas cookies will be eaten at home and shared at work.  I will once again get used to the grandkids room as my prayer room and the guest room will be freshened to stand ready and waiting for its next occupants.  But for now I’m going to savor the moments and memories, sitting in the soft glow of the tree lights sipping from a Christmas cup and thanking God with all my heart for my blessings who have been living among us this past week.  I’ll let go on another day.

Ducks, Duke and Digging Out

In my perfect world, all of our children and their families would live within minutes away, we would spend time together often and every holiday as one big family.  I would never miss a single school or church event for any grandchild and time would pass slowly.  But in reality, anything that comes close to that is pretty wonderful.  Like our pre-Thanksgiving weekend.

All but two of our kids’ and their families were at the Ranch.  Those who grew up there call it the Farm, but I’ve never quite understood that.  The land is an active cattle-grazing and hay-baling acreage, but there are no crops grown or even a garden at this point.  Doesn’t matter, it’s a wonderful place no matter what you call it.  Rains or shine, you can hunt fish, target shoot, hike, chase cows, feed donkeys, pet horses, and all while dodging an assortment of kids, dogs, vehicles and animals.

This November weekend featured children ages 11 months to 15 years (Dakota, you aren’t really a child but I can’t quite group you in the adults category yet :), 6 dogs from King Duke at 12½ years old to the younger ones only a couple years over pup stage.  The atmosphere is all the more charming when God blesses us with rain, so that by the end of the weekend we welcomed sunshine and the chance to dry out even with the combined smell of wet dogs, damp clothing and not-quite-fresh men and children.

Whether it’s hog hunting at night or duck hunting in the pre-dawn morning, our guys are hard core.  Duke can still duck hunt with the best of them and continues to amaze the guys at his instinct and retrieval skills.   Saturday night they headed out in the pouring rain to hung for hogs in the Hog Assault Vehicle.  Katelyn and Emily, determined to go regardless of weather, donned heavy plastic bags over their clothes to try and keep our some of the rain.  No hogs were killed but the HAV got stuck and needed digging out.  Which only meant more fun the next day when Chris drove his brand new honkin’ big Chevy pickup down to bring it back.

Brother Joe worked his magic to prepare another fantastic Thanksgiving feast with turkey, dressing and all the fixings, topped off with Heather’s delicious pie.   On full stomachs we settled around games of Parcheesi or cards.  Bedtime comes early at the Ranch, because waking up does too.

Kids  as young as age 9 are allowed to drive the old jeep or mail truck around the property for fun and for free.  Kids from the age of 4 freely walk over to the hay barn and roam among the round bales, cowboy boots not slowing them down at all as they climb the bales and rafters.  That’s nothing after using the ladder to get to the top bunks in the grandkids room.  The mail truck was put to good use as Katelyn, too young to drive legally in the outside world, put the pedal to the metal and covered some serious ground.  The dads used the Jeep or the motorcycle to cover ground quickly as they worked to clear brush and gather wood to build a deer pen.  Our assortment of vehicles also included a brand new Chevy truck, travel trailer, and 4 door sedans.  No shortage of wheels.

Which were used to rescue the little girls.  They became enchanted with the idea of chasing the donkeys, not realizing how far away from the house they’d traveled and how heavy the bag of treats would become.  Also not realizing the amount of ant beds, cow patties and stickers they had to wade through, remnants of each now clinging to their leggings.  At the sound of their cries Carri drove to pick them up and we spent the next half hour scraping shoes and pulling stickers.  Note to self:  buy rain boots for the girls to use at the Ranch.

Inside I busied myself with mending Katelyn’s jacket hem, loving the sense of life back in the day where the most pressing chore involved a few minutes with needle and thread as I listened to my daughters share pregnancy stories and mothering tips.  In the distance I could hear rifle shots and shotgun shells, see several of the men wearing holsters for their pistols.  How many pioneer women had done just that?  Of course they didn’t have my modern kitchen with running water, a custom designed tile shower or a Dollar General close by for staples.   And they didn’t have a large digital picture frame showing pictures from our recent trip to Europe to provide beauty and grace amidst their Ranch life.  Come to think of it, my world is pretty perfect after all.

Grandkid Palooza

I have this saying:  “I’m not going to let your lack of preparedness stress me out.”  I developed that for the times when my dear, wonderful husband let’s his enthusiasm for an event outpace his preparation.  Let me explain.

This weekend we are at Grandkids Palooza, babysitting one set of grandchildren at their house while their parents are out of the country.  Two other sets of grands also came join in the fun, bringing their parents with them.  We’ve been going nonstop since we arrived.  I don’t know since I was never the popular one in school, but maybe this is what it feels like to those celebrities who never have a moment without someone wanting something from them.    After story time then bedtime – which took some time because there is a lot of excitement in this house – things finally settled down to a sense of quiet that made me believe I could go to bed.  Then the storm broke.

I attempted to sit quietly in the kitchen reading for a while, trying to be quickly available if the storm wok one of the children.  But Nelson, the dog who lives here, started whimpering and scratching the glass every time he saw me, no matter where in the house I moved to.  Grandpa brought his big lab Duke (because one big dog isn’t enough for this kind of weekend) who is well-behaved; the other one not so much.   By the time I got to bed Grandpa was sawing z’s, the rain was down to a nice steady flow and I think it took me until the count of 2 to fall asleep.

Two of the cousins were up at 5:30.   A.M.   I woke to the sound of their playing in the kitchen and got up to find all the lights on, one of the dogs let in and ½ a gallon of milk poured into 2 cereal bowls, still floating a few stray cheerios.  I went back to the bedroom.  “Grandpa, you HAVE to get up now – it’s almost time to take Tyler to his swim meet.”  Grandpa can get ready for the day in 2 minutes so I'd let him sleep as long as I could.  We would both need our energy for this day.  

Feeling very organized and on top of it, I reminded Grandpa to get the keys to the car he would use to take Tyler to his swim meet, handed him his map along with the required paperwork and went upstairs to get the girls ready for Reagan’s dance class.  My phone was downstairs in the bedroom charging, which was unfortunate because Grandpa really needed to get a hold of me.  After only a couple of minutes he drove back and leaned on the front door bell.  Which of course works best when you simultaneously bang on the door loudly.  

I ran down to unlock the door and breathlessly asked, “What is it?” 

“This is the wrong map.  Tyler says it’s the map for where they practice but not for where the meet is.  You gave me the wrong map.”

Me:  It’s the only map that said “swim” on it.  The other ones say “school”, and “dance”.   

Grandpa grabbed the map with “dance” on it and studied it, certain that it must be the map he needed.  I grab it back.  “You can’t have my map!”    Grandpa:  “Great.  You have a map and I don’t.”     Me:  “Well, you at least have an address and I don’t.”  

We sound like 2^nd  graders.  I had located my map and confirmed the address as soon as we arrived at their house.  It annoyed me that he had waited until he was on the road – tires were actually moving on the pavement – to see if he had either an address of the correct map.  He ran out the door, Tyler patiently waiting in the truck, probably wondering if he would ever get to the meet.

Half an hour later the girls and I went out to the car to leave for dance.  Reagan ran back in to get something, and fortunately I followed her , or tried to.  When the door from the garage into the house closed behind her it was locked.   I turned the handle but the door wouldn’t budge.  I had just seen her go inside so for a minute it didn’t compute.  Now I was the one loudly banging on the door.  Reagan appeared to let me in and I turned the knob, testing it several times to make sure we could get back in later.  So glad I discovered that before we left …..

After swim meet and dance class and trips to the grocery store we stayed home for the rest of the day.  Snacks and smooches, running and jumping (the kids, not us), playing school, coloring pictures, building with Legos, and using every inch of the large playroom upstairs we passed the afternoon, snagging adult visits between tending and supervising.  Amazingly there were few spats and hardly any tattle-telling – these cousins get along.

Molly was dying to get into the pool.  It was in the 50’s and chilly but she doesn’t care if it’s 95° or 59° she just wants to be in the water.  She started in the “hot” pool then went to the “cold pool”, and swam in one or the other for the next 2 ½ hours.  It wasn’t long after she jumped in that the others put on suits and joined her.  They spent more time in the hot pool, getting out for short float rides in the big pool and then back in to warm up.

There were only two injuries during our stay, and one of those was Grandpa.  The cut on his hand required only a bandaid; Molly’s head bonk from a sharp cornered table was much more dramatic.  Her dad calmed her tears and fears, gave her an ice pack to hold on the quickly-forming green and purple bruise at the edge of her eye.  Before long she was dancing in the show with the rest of them like nothing had happened.

Breakfast the next morning was served on the patio, for those who didn’t mind eating outside in the cold.  The kids ate their homemade breakfast tacos out on the patio and we adults had ours with coffee inside, watching them as we ate.

Grandpa had dressed in swim trunks and a t-shirt, determined to get some hot tub time before we had to leave.  After breakfast he got in, the two dogs close beside him to keep him company.  He enjoyed approximately 28 seconds of peaceful hottubbing when the kids came out and jumped in.  Immediately he egged them on to splash each other, him and the dogs.  I could hear their voices outside amidst the splashing water, the sound of joyful carefree abandon.  

One last review of all the rooms to make sure we don’t leave anything behind.  Molly’s stuffed “wolfie” is out on the front porch, patiently waiting for his owner to come retrieve him.  I have my children’s books, complete with the stuffed Mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Spot from the Spot children’s board books, and baby Clifford, the last two returned after being on loan to Lily.  Just about ready for the drive home.  Where we will promptly collapse and rest for 3 days to get our energy back.

Grandkid Palooza.  

Molly summed it up last night when, ice pack clamped to the left side of her head, she announced, “I love y’all guys!”