Last Days of Summer..................

Last days of summer……………

          Today was the hottest day of the year. Early morning bright, clear skies, sun warming the earth with hot, yellow rays early in the day. I wanted to drive to the ocean and escape the heat by walking bare-footed in the cold, bracing surf. Instead, I stayed home and did a favor for one of my children who needed me to watch my two young grandsons while other family came together to paint a house.

          Early, I drove to the store and stocked up on food for the little ones. Green sweet grapes, turkey sandwich meat, pepperoni and cheese to make pizza, another gallon of milk. Together we weathered the heat and the day. I showed them all the children’s video’s I had unpacked earlier this week. In unison they would ask, ”Did you buy this for me?” Again and again I tried to explain I had bought them for their mom when she was little; or their uncle when he was little but at 3 and 5 that particular concept is beyond their comprehension. They asked questions about each movie; “What was it about?” and the ever-present,  “Did you buy it for me?”

          While they looked over movies I readied the kitchen, making pizza dough, cutting up toppings and setting up their pizza making areas. The boys, hearing the fridge open, kept running down the hall and kept begging pepperoni slices to eat by the handfuls. Finally, the dough was ready and I gave each boy a ball of dough and a floured bread board to knead it on. I showed them how to press, fold and turn the dough until it wasn’t “sticky” anymore. Then I showed them how to use a big old marble rolling pin to roll the dough flat. They patted their dough in oiled pie pans, carefully pat, pat, patting it into shape.

          I got out 1930’s desert cups I’ve never used and poured in tomato sauce for each boy. I gave them small spoons and showed how to put the sauce on their dough. I thought they’d enjoy using their fingers to spread the tomato sauce but they chimed, “No Gramma, could you spread it with your fingers please?” A bowl of shredded cheese and they had fun covering the red sauce with the bright orange cheddar. Their eyes lit up when I brought out the platter I had used with sections to put the cut up toppings; small home grown cherry tomatoes; chunks of white turkey meat; slices of spicy pepperoni; small chunks of pineapple. They had so much fun adding the toppings. They were careful too; little tiny artisans creating their masterpieces.

          A last layer of cheese and in the oven the pizzas went. The timer was set and we retired to the movie watching. The decision was reached to watch a Sponge Bob movie. The two small brothers, both climbed up into the rocker-recliner that’s in their room at Gramma’s and I sat on the twin bed. Amazingly the movie was interesting. For a while I had watched so much Sponge Bob with my grandson Jesse, I was, “Sponge Bobbed” out. This movie, however kept all our interests. Now and then they would inquire about the pizza being done. One of them followed me out to the kitchen when I went to check on it.

          Finally their piping hot layers of yummy goodness were out of the oven and cooling on the counter. I cut tiny wedges and took them into the movie room. The youngest grandson looked me dead in the eye and said, “Gramma, Could you please take the stuff off the pizza?” I looked back at him just as steadily, “You made the pizza and whatever you don’t want you can go ahead and take off.” He glanced at me again and left the pizza untouched. The other child didn’t want any pizza either. Hilarious.

          The movie ended and the heat became oppressive and the younger grandson and I got the hose going on the back deck. He filled a large blue tub and played for a long while; floating plastic trucks and pretending to cook and having me taste everything. Watching “Flushed Away" in the family room, the five year old finally decided the heat had got to him too and changed into shorts. I got him a green tub and he filled it up, again and again, loving to jump in slosh most of the water out yelling, “Cannon Ball!” at the top of his lungs. They both decided me spraying them with the hose was the funnest thing ever and for a long while they delighted in the cool spray with the abandon of joy that only young children experience. “Rainbows!” they cried, “Rainbows!” “Gramma make bigger rainbows!”

          Eventually we all tired of this and retreated to the family room to watch the rest of, “Flushed Away.” The smallest grandson, using his best ever big-boy 3 year old voice said, “Grandma, could I have some cheese please?”  So with a small sigh over the neglected plates of pizza I got him a bowl of shredded cheese. He ate it promptly then moved over from his window seat to come sit closer to me. He eyed me steadily again, “I’m hungry Gramma. If I don’t eat I’ll die!”  Well I couldn’t help but smile at the drama since he’d already turned down pizza and a bowl of grapes, but I obligingly made him a turkey sandwich on soft potato bread. I got him a glass of milk and he sat near the large family room window, contentedly munching his sandwich.

          The five year old announced he’d like a sandwich also, “But don’t cut mine Gramma.” Then the two of them almost conspiratorially, decided to inquire whether I had washed their cups. I reassured them the cups were clean but they both looked at me suspiciously. Again hilarious.

          I got up to get more milk for the youngest child, and then I stand at the fridge, asking the other child, “Would you like more milk?” I ask twice. I go sit down and I hear the five year olds distinct voice, “More milk please.”  I get up and remind him I just had asked him, he appears not to hear me but inspects the cup I hand him with serious intent.

          The temperature is about 100 degrees, it is hot, sticky and little air seems to move from the spinning ceiling fan. Fed, full and somewhat cooled off by the long play in water the boys start to liven up. The three year old steps, (felt like stomped) repeatedly on my bare feet. “Stop,” I ask, “You’re hurting my toes.” I see a small smile break at the corners of his cherubic face. His eyes twinkle a bit and I realize just possibly one or more of those stomps on my toes might have been a little less than accidental. The boys start rough housing with each other; the older swinging his brother around by his shirt narrowing missing a coffee table corner. “Stop boys” I tell them somewhat sternly. “Mom and dad don’t want to come home to find you hurt. You can’t play like that with furniture around.”

          “Come on,” I encourage them, “Let’s get things picked up. Mommy and daddy will be here soon.” No one moves, but undeterred I start picking up their things and putting them together. Parents finally get there, visit for a while and my daughter is kind of surprised when I finally say, “Ok guys, lets get your stuff maybe mom and dad will let you play in the hose when you get home!”

          My daughter looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”  I tell her honestly, “Nothing, but I’m tired! The boys are very, very active and you’ve got to watch them every single minute or they get into something.” She smiled, “I know” she agreed, it’s like that for me every day.”

          Shoes on, bags packed ready to go I stand by the fridge and ask the 5 year old if he wants to take home his pizza. He looks at me, looks up, takes a rather long pause then raises one hand and very seriously answers, “Ah, no.” My daughter smiles, I half-laugh, I have pizza in my fridge for a lot of my week. My daughter says, “Well mom, you can eat it.” “Yes,” I agree, “I can eat it, but some of their toppings are this thick!” (holding up my fingers to show a generous inch or two.)

          One of the last hot days of summer shared with two adorable grandsons whose active engagement in life challenges me to ask the question, “Whatever happened to my “joie de vivre?” Why shouldn’t I be just as happy about the small things in life as they are?

          Well, if you’re reading this, I think you are probably an adult. And for everyone I know, staying happy in the midst of the trials of life, (bills, health, relationship, problems, problems, and more problems) is a huge challenge. For me, I would like to say that my faith in God buffets all these factors for me and I am perpetually in a state of joy; but that would be a lie. Many of the people I know use drugs and alcohol, (prescribed and unprescribed) to ‘take the edge off things.” For me, overweight and again, (yes again) out of shape it’s impossible to deny that I find comfort in food.

          Well, and as tempting as it might sometimes sound, I’m not having my physician prescribe me a little something to take the edge off. I’m not throwing stones at people who do this, but I do know that for me it would be a cop out of sorts. If I believe that God loves me; if I believe that He hears and answers prayers; if I believe that no matter what He’ll see me through; then if I’m not happy, it’s a spiritual issue and no amount of taking the edge off will fix that.

          So, as the heat begins to subside and the breeze ruffles the outside window leaves I make my plans to seek the ocean tomorrow; and some serious prayer time with God. As the ocean winds breathe the summer over-ripe heat from my soul may my prayers wash away the things that keep my face, faith and outlook from being secure in the love of God. May I find renewal and rediscover my joy in the morning.

          Be loved and be blessed……seek His face; find His grace….sorrows erase.

 Thou wilt show me the path of life. In thy presence is fullness of joy. At thy right hand are pleasures for evermore.  Psalm 16:11

          

Sabbath Rest

August 28, 2014 6:00 am

          I was awake before 4 am this morning, the skies still dark, the woods still silent. Across the canyon I could hear log trucks come rumbling through the hills. Outside my own home I hear the rumble of a truck and look out to see an empty log truck seemingly lost  on our street looking for the way down the hill.

          I am filled with a sense of expectation this morning. I have five whole days off work which I can fill with anything I want, and can afford. A jaunt to Europe is off the table. A brief trip to Disney World is not on the agenda; but, there are so many more things I can do; camping, hiking, museums, mountains, ocean, rivers, National Parks, State parks, ferry boats, train rides, bike rides, shopping, picnics, barbecues, reading a good book, movies, grandchildren, sewing, painting and so it goes. Right now, the skies still dark, brief edges of dawn peeking through the gray clouds, I eat my pancakes and sausage, drink my coffee and spend time contemplating what to do.

         Earlier, I read my devotionals and spent time in my Bible. Finished the Gospel of Mark today and feel somewhat inadequate in that I cannot comprehend the crucifixion. It is beyond my ability to understand. This I know, that having Jesus as my Savior gives me a sense of hope in a world where there is so much chaos. I sense God’s presence in my life. So often in the field in which I work, I feel inadequate to face the misery of the client’s lives I work with. I might dread the drama of interoffice politics and long to flee to the hills to find comfort for my soul. But, and for me this is critical, when I pray and ask God for strength, courage and guidance, I am able to face the ‘giants’ in my life.

          So now, I wonder, does God have an opinion of how I’m supposed to fill these days? Earlier, I had a fleeting thought, awareness, an impression, “Let me plan your days.” Was this God speaking to me? I’m not sure. I don’t hear God speak, well, except for once, early in my life, when as a pregnant, young,  deserted wife I wandered the streets of Tacoma, Washington trying to find comfort for my wounded soul. My husband had gone to the store one day, taken all our money and never returned. 

            I was left alone in a small apartment in Tacoma, crying, desperate, I’d get up each day, start walking and end up down town. I’d buy a small meal at the Newberry’s lunch counter and keep walking. I can’t remember what I was thinking, walking around like that. I only remember that my heart was agonizingly broken and my mind numbed with the pain of rejection. One night, darkness shrouding the abandoned streets with gloom I was walking my walk when I heard an audible voice whisper my name, “Robin”. It was a soft gentle voice, but it was real and it cut through all my confusion and made me aware, I was in danger. It was dark, the streets were deserted and I was a young woman alone in a big city. I sort of came to myself, got on a bus and went home to my apartment. Was this God warning me? Keeping me from harm? Yes, I believe it was. I had praying parents and I believe sometimes, God breaks through the supernatural barriers and makes his presence known in a tangible way.

 However, on a daily basis, I don’t hear the voice of God. I wish I did, in many ways it would be easier to make decisions in life, but for the most part, that’s not how it works.      I pray, I read my Bible and I attempt to make the best decisions I can. God gives us the ability to choose.

So now….. what to do????  

Six hours later. Just fixed mini pancakes and sausage for two little grandsons. One is in the family room watching All Dogs Go To Heaven, the other in their “room” at gramma’s house watching the original Alice In Wonderland. Peaceful here, still overcast and I wash a few dishes and generally take it easy. I guess it’s ok if the first day of the five I kind of rest. Projects beckon all round my home; outside bushes needing trimming; inside, letters still to write. For a few whiles I will listen to the sounds of happy children’s movies and small boys playing cars. One of the joys of being a grandparent, you get to see how adorable the children are without the accompanying anguish of being their parent.

Outside the window white butterflies say goodbye to the few remaining roses, pink, red and orange turning their bright faces to the sky. As winter comes I will miss the flowers. Inside, I think part of me still wants to move to Florida, small condo some where, annual pass to Disney World, it seems like a lifestyle I could enjoy. But then, I would even more seldom see any of my family. Well, today anyway it appears I will have a day of no big plans, trips to beach, mountains parks, just enjoying some of the true joys of life. Sweet little voices saying, “Please cut my pancakes.”  “More syrup please.”  “I want more apples.” “Not that cup I want the yellow cup.” The true substance of life.

Hard for me to be quiet though, silence is an art I have not mastered.

To those of you enjoying your own quiet moments, enjoy. Time enough for the stress and hurry of life to push it’s way into the peace. God is good and He created the Sabbath rest, today will be a Sabbath.

Sabbath- 

         The word sabbath is from the Hebrew word SHABÀT, meaning 'cessation,' or 'time of rest.' 

Take care and be blessed, joy does come in the morning.

Letting Go................

          In my short life, (64 years), a small dot in the history of the existence of mankind; I have found that most of my life has involved very painful situations where I had, to let go. Often, I've envied people who seem to breeze through life; nothing seems to faze them. Disappointments? “Who cares?” “A better opportunity will come along.” Heartaches? “Tomorrow will be a better day.” Being a perennial optimist seems like an ideal position from which to face life’s challenges. Never matter that they are not the people I choose to go to when I’ve been wounded. They are also not the people I go to when I want to enlist people who will muster forces to tackle a cause that needs addressed. They not only don’t seem to feel as deeply about the heartaches of life, they are also not as deeply moved by the pain and suffering of others.

          And so, I accept that I’m one of those people who care and conversely, who grieves. And add into that, life is a serious of situations where each person is kind of a helpless spectator watching people and places change in ways they so seldom would have chosen. And so we suffer and rebirth ourselves in intellectual and spiritual processes where the option of “letting go,” is part of our growth and acknowledgment that acceptance of things is part and parcel of faith, and hope in God, who we hope will support our efforts to be strong and endure until the end.

          Part of me finds solace in reading excerpts of what other Christians in distant and not so distant past have to say about suffering and learning to let go. For me, it as is I have all these friends bound by common faith, struggles and experiences and from their thoughts, their growing faith have shared  insights and gained wisdom to help me in my time, now, an aging woman in an end times world.

          Most recently, I am facing the ensuring journey of letting go of career. And hard on the heels of that, I will be facing losing my home. This awareness is with me as I wake and as I sleep. I face it in pieces. Wrapping my mind around a goodbye to the substance career gives to my life. An economic bastion against which I rest, waiting for the next leg of the journey towards retirement and impoverishment and the descent towards a lessening of strength of mind and body.

          The goodbye to my home, the letting go is a process that is taking place over time; a view towards the mountains that I store against the long dark night; a breath of fresh air I relish tucking away, knowing many “retirement homes” do not have windows that open. I savor the moments of walking in my small yard, visiting the trees planted as young saplings now towering 30, 40, 50 feet above my head. “Goodbye trees,” I echo in my heart, “goodbye.”

          Last week, facing gridlock on the freeway in Seattle at dead-on five pm, I took the West Valley freeway and went to my home town Auburn to grab a bite to eat and wait out the bumper to bumper. The fields, (in my era, verdant green pastures) are now covered by light industry. The city streets, once neighborhoods are riddled with mismatched commercial enterprises; some prospering, some failing, a patchwork of a once small town now infested with “growth”.  I stopped by for a break at the City Park where as a young child I spent many happy hours, playing in the wade pool, playing on the swings, dreaming from the circular brick bandstand. The land was still there. A few trees removed as being too large after some sixty years. The wade pool? Paved over. The swings, gone, grass grown over the scars in the earth. I looked around. These were not the only changes. Here and there homeless men lay on the ground surrounded by their belongings, bags, and blankets and a pack or two. Some of them never moved; another watches me with eyes nervously assessing for risk.

          I leave, headed for food and a return to freeway. I past the last remains of my high school; outbuildings bulldozed; the last remaining building looking exactly as it did in the 60’s. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror and realize unlike that building I've aged and face the bulldozers of my own existence nearing closer as I enter the gateway to old age.

          And so, here I am on a Sunday afternoon, facing a short workweek, and straightening the parts of my life I can control; closets, laundry, an overgrown shrub or two. I am learning to let go…. Of children seeking their own destinies; of grandchildren recreating their own values; of careers where power is might and right and wrong become blurred by titles.

          I hang on to my quiet times where I anchor my soul in prayer and Biblical truth. There are many old hymns where Christ is called the anchor of the soul. In my life, He is an anchor that keeps me out of the slough of despair and keeps me ever hopeful that when all else fails; He is still there; with comfort, with encouragement; with Words of peace in the middle of my storm. He is there challenging me to ‘walk on water’ so to speak as I let go of every earthly prop; career, money, family, strength and health. My mother, at age 91 spoke to me of her fear facing death, “I’m scared,” she said. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like.” For weeks, when I visited she shared this fear. One visit to the nursing home where she stayed in the last few months of her life, she told me with an air of a confidant, “I’m ready to go. I’m not afraid anymore.”   A few weeks later, she passed to eternity in the night; waking to look on a world where there is no more crying, ever.

          I find comfort where I can; a daughter’s comfort; a grandchild’s smile; a few believing friends offering me encouragement on my journey; my Bible, (a daily comfort), cover ripped from use, pages curled from reading, passages underlined with ink written with a pen dipped in the inks-blood of experience. And above all else, is the comfort of my Lord.

 Jesus, hiking in the hills prior to Gethsemane, faced his own agonizing “letting go” experience. Being pure and sinless, God in man, He faced a cross where He bore the sins of the whole world. The cry from His heart, “Father why have you forsaken me?” rang throughout history and time severing the links between heaven, earth and hell. He knew what it was to face things that were beyond imaginably horrible. He knew, and He knows, and He cares.

          That divine love has enabled millions before me to face the letting go times of life with grace in the midst of fire; with peace in the midst of storms; so with my hand in His, my heart ever seeking His face I will face tomorrow.

         This old song, typifies my hope and my comfort. May you each find your own hope in being secure in His love.

          

                             Bill and Gloria Gaither