Last night's twilight finds me rocking a sleeping baby. The house is quiet except for the creaking of the rocking chair and my voice softly, and somewhat off-key, singing hymns. That chair has rocked several generations of this family. Those songs have comforted us as well. Rainbows from the slanting sunlight hitting prisms hanging in the windows frolic across the ceiling and walls. The dappled light beneath the trees creates an impressionist's masterpiece painted by the hand of God. A bluebird ventures from his home in the backyard to a branch in the front. Bunnies hop with stems of clover in their mouths, the last meal of the day before darkness sets in. It is a peaceful respite from the clamor of the day.
All around me there is disarray. The baby has been restless most of the day. Crying more than is his norm. Intellectually, I know that babies cry, but in my heart it hurts to hear. His parents are working hard to get moved into their new house, but with school and work and a baby, it is a slow process. There is so much to do. My own house is a mess. Until some projects are completed there is little hope for order. Minor obstacles that will not matter a year from now.
Within me there is a tangle of confusion. Family members who are hurting because the need to downsize has arisen. They are packing. They are leaving a house that holds many memories. They are wise to understand that they are leaving a house. They are not leaving their home, for where they are together is home. But, still, there is poignancy in the move. I am feeling that for them as I rock that sweet baby in the gloaming.
Within me lies a broken heart for a friend who is dealing with devastating loss. It is an event that will matter a year from now. The loss will forever change the topography of her life's map. I find myself voicing my anger at God for the loss. We have begged on our faces at the Father's feet for relief, and it seems that our pleas go unheard. I do not have fear that voicing anger to and at God will bring down upon me some terrible calamity. I know that He can take my anger and frustration. My anger is a sign of my faith. Because of that sweet baby in my arms, my railing is done silently, but I know that I am heard. When oh, Lord, will you bring my friend relief and the desires of her heart? And, still, I live with hope. Some would call me foolish. It is all that I know to choose as I rock and sing in the gloaming.
A writing in the paper this week has created angst in the heart of one I love dearly. It is a puzzle that will never be put back together. There are missing pieces and pieces from other puzzles that do not fit. The most important piece is gone, and so befuddlement continues. No logic can be applied to work it out. As night falls, I ponder these things as I rock and sing in the gloaming.
As I breathe in the sweet warmth of a newly bathed baby, listen to the creak of an old rocker, weep for a wounded friend, enjoy the beauty of the dying day, I wish you hope for the future, courage for the moment, faith to sustain you, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Bedsheets, Paint, and Life
Bedsheets are a lot like life. Have you ever tried to fold a fitted bedsheet? It is virtually impossible to do it neatly. Well, probably Martha Stewart could do it neatly, but for us mere mortals, it is virtually impossible. I have tried many different ways, but always, I end up just cramming the corners into the middle and trying to smooth the outside so it looks nice when placed in the linen closet.
Sometimes, I think that is what my life is....a bungled mess on the inside, but looking neat on the outside. I want to be honest with myself and with others, but sometimes, I just hide all the mess inside, and smooth the outside over it.
I have been painting. For several years now, I have had a vision for my living room. Now is the time for the vision to become reality. The last time I painted, I promised myself that I would never, ever do that again. I either would live with what I had (fat chance), or hire someone to do it for me. When it gets right down to it, however, it is very difficult for me to pay someone to do what I should be able to do for myself. I thought I had hired someone, but their life situation changed, and painting my living room, entry hall, and hallway did not fit into their schedule. So, I have been painting.
While painting, I have had a lot of time to think. Painting is a solitary endeavor. It came to me how painting is a lot like life. Well, I hope my painting is not a lot like my life, but I think I must entertain the notion. Painting is messy. I am an exceptionally messy painter. I do not mean to be. I mean to learn from my mistakes....like leaving the top of the paint can where I can step in it. Having failed to learn from that lesson, one would hope that I at least have learned not to walk around with the paint on the bottom of my shoe. But, alas, it is not so.
Sometimes, in life, I just do not learn from my mistakes. I say exactly what I have told myself time and again not to say. I do what I know does not work. I do not do what I know is good and right for me. Life is messy. Sometimes, I just step in the messiness and track it wherever I go.
As the hours of painting turned into days of painting, fatigue began to overcome me, not to mention the aches and pains in my neck, shoulder, elbow and hand. As I grew more and more weary I discovered that I began to "cut corners." I did not remove anything from the closets, and just painted the outside of the doors. I dripped the white paint for the crown molding on the "ocean cruise" ( lovely turquoise-blue color) wall. Early in the day, I wiped the drips up. I touched up the spots with fresh paint. At first glance, the room looks pretty good, but if one were to look closely, it would be very easy to tell where I began and where I ended. It would be simple to know when fatigue set in. Those mistakes will not show when the room is furnished for I will strategically hang a picture or place a piece of furniture to hide the imperfections. I will always know they are there, but my guests will not.
I fear that sometimes, in my life, I begin to "cut corners" when fatigue overtakes me. I try to look good at first glance, but if closely scrutinized, it would be easy to tell when I began to make compromises and take short cuts. I tend to want to hide my imperfections behind some grand gesture, yet, I will always know they are there.
Despite my poor sheet folding, I still love to take out clean sheets fragrant with Gain fabric softener and stretch them across my mattress. Despite my flawed painting, I already love sitting in my living room as the sunlight catches the prisms hanging in the window, casting dancing rainbows all about. I am reminded that I do not have to be perfect to be good. I do not have to be flawless to be loved. I know that everyone grows weary; that "fatigue makes cowards of us all." I know that because of my imperfection, I have a greater understanding of grace and mercy. I have a greater obligation to extend them as well. So, I will embrace my flaws, try to learn from them, and be forever grateful for a God who delights in me.
For today, I wish you the knowledge of the Father's delight in you, the wisdom to learn from your mistakes, the wisdom to rest when you are weary, smooth bedsheets, and I wish you
blessings
Sometimes, I think that is what my life is....a bungled mess on the inside, but looking neat on the outside. I want to be honest with myself and with others, but sometimes, I just hide all the mess inside, and smooth the outside over it.
I have been painting. For several years now, I have had a vision for my living room. Now is the time for the vision to become reality. The last time I painted, I promised myself that I would never, ever do that again. I either would live with what I had (fat chance), or hire someone to do it for me. When it gets right down to it, however, it is very difficult for me to pay someone to do what I should be able to do for myself. I thought I had hired someone, but their life situation changed, and painting my living room, entry hall, and hallway did not fit into their schedule. So, I have been painting.
While painting, I have had a lot of time to think. Painting is a solitary endeavor. It came to me how painting is a lot like life. Well, I hope my painting is not a lot like my life, but I think I must entertain the notion. Painting is messy. I am an exceptionally messy painter. I do not mean to be. I mean to learn from my mistakes....like leaving the top of the paint can where I can step in it. Having failed to learn from that lesson, one would hope that I at least have learned not to walk around with the paint on the bottom of my shoe. But, alas, it is not so.
Sometimes, in life, I just do not learn from my mistakes. I say exactly what I have told myself time and again not to say. I do what I know does not work. I do not do what I know is good and right for me. Life is messy. Sometimes, I just step in the messiness and track it wherever I go.
As the hours of painting turned into days of painting, fatigue began to overcome me, not to mention the aches and pains in my neck, shoulder, elbow and hand. As I grew more and more weary I discovered that I began to "cut corners." I did not remove anything from the closets, and just painted the outside of the doors. I dripped the white paint for the crown molding on the "ocean cruise" ( lovely turquoise-blue color) wall. Early in the day, I wiped the drips up. I touched up the spots with fresh paint. At first glance, the room looks pretty good, but if one were to look closely, it would be very easy to tell where I began and where I ended. It would be simple to know when fatigue set in. Those mistakes will not show when the room is furnished for I will strategically hang a picture or place a piece of furniture to hide the imperfections. I will always know they are there, but my guests will not.
I fear that sometimes, in my life, I begin to "cut corners" when fatigue overtakes me. I try to look good at first glance, but if closely scrutinized, it would be easy to tell when I began to make compromises and take short cuts. I tend to want to hide my imperfections behind some grand gesture, yet, I will always know they are there.
Despite my poor sheet folding, I still love to take out clean sheets fragrant with Gain fabric softener and stretch them across my mattress. Despite my flawed painting, I already love sitting in my living room as the sunlight catches the prisms hanging in the window, casting dancing rainbows all about. I am reminded that I do not have to be perfect to be good. I do not have to be flawless to be loved. I know that everyone grows weary; that "fatigue makes cowards of us all." I know that because of my imperfection, I have a greater understanding of grace and mercy. I have a greater obligation to extend them as well. So, I will embrace my flaws, try to learn from them, and be forever grateful for a God who delights in me.
For today, I wish you the knowledge of the Father's delight in you, the wisdom to learn from your mistakes, the wisdom to rest when you are weary, smooth bedsheets, and I wish you
blessings
Monday, June 11, 2012
Like Riding a Bike
When much time has passed between like activities, and there is fear attached to the trying, people often say, "it's like riding a bike. You never forget." I discovered a bit of falseness in this statement the first time I tried to ride a bicycle after many years of not. My children were young, and we were cleaning out my parents' basement. This was a dirt basement, really just a tall "crawl space." Amazing and marvelous things were found there, including an entire antique canister set, stamped and signed. It sits on my kitchen counter to this day. But, I digress. There was also an old bike. It seemed a really fun idea to go back to my youth and ride around a bit. I hopped on, began to roll (I cannot call it riding) down the hill, realized that things were quickly getting out of control, began to scream, "Kenny, Kenny, Kenny," as I picked up speed. I have this visual of the horror on my children's faces, my father's concern, and Mr. Lincoln's puzzlement as I ended my ride by running into the side of the neighbor's house. It was not exactly the carefree ride I had anticipated.
The first day I was to keep Simeon by myself, I sort of had visions of my antithetical experience of the "it's like riding a bike. You never forget." What if I did forget all the things I needed to know to be able to take care of him by myself? I mean things have changed. Never, ever put a baby in bed on his tummy. Really? When my children were babies, the rule was to never, ever put a baby in bed on his back. It seems this on-the-back thing has really reduced the instances of SIDS. Thank goodness for whoever figured that out.
Of course, when I am keeping him, Simeon must use a bottle. Truthfully, I really know very little about bottles. I remember the bottle sterilizer my mother used for my younger brother and sister. It seemed complicated, and the improper sterilization of baby bottles brought with it the threat of instant death for any poor child whose mother did not follow the directions exactly. I am not known for my meticulous attention to details, and it is for that reason that neither of my children ever took a bottle. I nursed them until I weaned them to a cup. The need for sterilized coffee cups (I don't think we had sippy cups) did not seem as dire. I learned, however, that the dishwasher is perfectly acceptable for baby bottles now, with a weekly bottle, nipple, cap boiling. Nice.
Diapers are different. I used cloth diapers. Yes, there were disposables, but, like lots of new mothers, I did what my mom did. I used a diaper service. I once tried disposables, but MP had a terrible allergic reaction to them. The convenience was certainly not worth her discomfort. I have to admit that I love the diapers that have a colorful decoration on the front. That way, I am much less likely to put it on backwards. Have you seen how many different kinds of diapers there are? My grandsons only use chlorine-free diapers. Sometimes they can be difficult to find. In addition to which, some of the adults in their lives know how much each brand costs per diaper, and where the best deals are. And, they come in all different sizes. With cloth diapers, you just fold them to the size you want. It's all different.
I never used baby wipes with my children. When bottoms needed cleaning, they got stuck in the bathroom sink, washed off with Dial or Ivory soap and warm water, dried with whatever towel was close by, and presto....clean as a whistle. Now, we use chlorine-free wipes. These are harder to find than chlorine-free diapers. They are not cheap, either. MP can change a diaper in about 2 seconds, get Simeon squeaky clean, and only use one wipe. I am not quite so efficient. It takes me much longer, at least 4 wipes, and sometimes I even lose the clean diaper I placed beneath the baby to keep the changing pad clean. Oops, that change cost 79 cents. Mp's changes cost about 32 cents.
But, I found that some things have not changed. I found that keeping a baby is a lot like riding a bike. That incredible sweet feeling of perfect peace as a baby sleeps on my chest has not changed. Putting the baby someplace safe while I run to use the bathroom, and trying to quietly shout (an oxymoron for sure) words of comfort to him as he discovers he is by himself has not changed. The big stain of spit up on the front of my shirt, or the waiting for someone to drop by so I can take a quick bath has not changed. The total charm of a baby's toothless grin has not changed. The fact that I will do and say the same silly thing over and over just to get a giggle has not changed. The feel of that sweet baby skin has not changed. The softness of silky hair against my cheek has not changed. The sense of accomplishment we all feel when a baby rolls over has not changed. Oh, if we would only be so encouraging of all his efforts throughout his life. The overwhelming love and feelings of protection have not changed.
So, Simeon and I have had some successful days together. I look forward to successful days caring for Max when his mama goes back to work. I have great plans for these boys on the days they spend at Mellie's. Maybe some of the details of baby care have changed over the years, but the basic needs of love and care and closeness will never change. It is such a privilege for me to spend time with these baby boys. I am so grateful. And, when some time passes, maybe, just maybe, we will ride bikes together.
For today, I wish you abundant
blessings
The first day I was to keep Simeon by myself, I sort of had visions of my antithetical experience of the "it's like riding a bike. You never forget." What if I did forget all the things I needed to know to be able to take care of him by myself? I mean things have changed. Never, ever put a baby in bed on his tummy. Really? When my children were babies, the rule was to never, ever put a baby in bed on his back. It seems this on-the-back thing has really reduced the instances of SIDS. Thank goodness for whoever figured that out.
Of course, when I am keeping him, Simeon must use a bottle. Truthfully, I really know very little about bottles. I remember the bottle sterilizer my mother used for my younger brother and sister. It seemed complicated, and the improper sterilization of baby bottles brought with it the threat of instant death for any poor child whose mother did not follow the directions exactly. I am not known for my meticulous attention to details, and it is for that reason that neither of my children ever took a bottle. I nursed them until I weaned them to a cup. The need for sterilized coffee cups (I don't think we had sippy cups) did not seem as dire. I learned, however, that the dishwasher is perfectly acceptable for baby bottles now, with a weekly bottle, nipple, cap boiling. Nice.
Diapers are different. I used cloth diapers. Yes, there were disposables, but, like lots of new mothers, I did what my mom did. I used a diaper service. I once tried disposables, but MP had a terrible allergic reaction to them. The convenience was certainly not worth her discomfort. I have to admit that I love the diapers that have a colorful decoration on the front. That way, I am much less likely to put it on backwards. Have you seen how many different kinds of diapers there are? My grandsons only use chlorine-free diapers. Sometimes they can be difficult to find. In addition to which, some of the adults in their lives know how much each brand costs per diaper, and where the best deals are. And, they come in all different sizes. With cloth diapers, you just fold them to the size you want. It's all different.
I never used baby wipes with my children. When bottoms needed cleaning, they got stuck in the bathroom sink, washed off with Dial or Ivory soap and warm water, dried with whatever towel was close by, and presto....clean as a whistle. Now, we use chlorine-free wipes. These are harder to find than chlorine-free diapers. They are not cheap, either. MP can change a diaper in about 2 seconds, get Simeon squeaky clean, and only use one wipe. I am not quite so efficient. It takes me much longer, at least 4 wipes, and sometimes I even lose the clean diaper I placed beneath the baby to keep the changing pad clean. Oops, that change cost 79 cents. Mp's changes cost about 32 cents.
But, I found that some things have not changed. I found that keeping a baby is a lot like riding a bike. That incredible sweet feeling of perfect peace as a baby sleeps on my chest has not changed. Putting the baby someplace safe while I run to use the bathroom, and trying to quietly shout (an oxymoron for sure) words of comfort to him as he discovers he is by himself has not changed. The big stain of spit up on the front of my shirt, or the waiting for someone to drop by so I can take a quick bath has not changed. The total charm of a baby's toothless grin has not changed. The fact that I will do and say the same silly thing over and over just to get a giggle has not changed. The feel of that sweet baby skin has not changed. The softness of silky hair against my cheek has not changed. The sense of accomplishment we all feel when a baby rolls over has not changed. Oh, if we would only be so encouraging of all his efforts throughout his life. The overwhelming love and feelings of protection have not changed.
So, Simeon and I have had some successful days together. I look forward to successful days caring for Max when his mama goes back to work. I have great plans for these boys on the days they spend at Mellie's. Maybe some of the details of baby care have changed over the years, but the basic needs of love and care and closeness will never change. It is such a privilege for me to spend time with these baby boys. I am so grateful. And, when some time passes, maybe, just maybe, we will ride bikes together.
For today, I wish you abundant
blessings
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)