Happy New Year friends! As we close the book on 2013 and open the first page for 2014, I am flooded with emotion. Absolutely drenched in thought and reflection on all the things we have experienced, suffered, learned, and enjoyed these past twelve months. A year ago I chose the word “strong” for the coming year, and it turns out I would need it more than expected.
Icy Weekend, Ugly-Beautiful
We woke before sunrise to the buzz of electronics losing power. An ice storm had moved through Oklahoma while we slept, and eventually the pale dawn revealed a hobby farm thickly encased by glassy, stubborn, frigid ice.
Oklahoma ice storms are beautiful but brutal. |
Our animals are all fine, thankfully. Their extra fat and fur are keeping them all plenty warm, and they also have shelter, high protein food, and forage. The power outage changes life inside the house significantly, though. And on a would-be very busy Saturday filled with holiday plans and tasks, succumbing to frustration would have been easy. But we really didn’t. (Not much, at least. wink!)
Thanks in no small part to Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts, which gently nudges us to see the beauty in challenging situations, and also thanks to just a rich dose of Christmas cheer lately, my heart was light enough today to do just that. To see (mostly) magic in this unexpected Saturday Before Christmas. And you know what? Soon that is all I could see. I can’t even see the ugly any more.
I am so thankful for the breathtaking beauty of the gardens right now. These frozen herbs, these bent and frozen zinnias, all of this natural wonder in perfect wintry suspense.
When people say you can freeze your fresh herbs, this is probably not what they mean. |
It means we grew amazing things this year, that this little curve of earth is no longer void. It means that another swell of paradise is coming next year.
I am so thankful for the freedom and ability to buy nice gifts for so many children we love. We do not take this for granted; nor do we take their presence in our life for granted. Handsome and I are very lucky to be called “Uncle” and “Aunt.” We cherish it. Have I ever mentioned to you that we have three million nieces and nephews? Well we do.
The Christmas memories you make are far more valuable than any gift you purchase. Please remember this. |
I am also thankful for the warm, pleasant feelings of nostalgia that washed over me all day, remembering so many little-girl Christmas seasons with our own children. This year, bitterly sad for so many new reasons, is oddly the first year I didn’t cry the whole time I shopped for gifts. In fact I caught myself giggling over and over, remembering so many fun things Handsome and I have done together over the years, things we did to surprise the girls and give them the best Christmas we could, year after year. Above all, we made memories. Now more than ever, this is clearly the most important part of all the work parents do at the holidays.
I am so thankful for a messy living room, strewn with wrapping paper, Sonic ketchup packets, pine branches and other kindling, clean laundry, and unread books. I am thankful for the fluffy little dog my Father-in-Law has brought to live with us, because she brings so much new affection to our home. I am thankful for the paper whites blooming, for the pillows and soft blankets that beg us to cuddle, and for the candy canes, popcorn, and hot chocolate we can have for dinner. Because we’re grown ups and allowed to do that if we want.
The consolation of a deep, cold winter is a glowing living room. |
All of this means that we have a full life bursting with people we love and activities that truly nourish us. It means we have a home, not a perfect house. It means we work hard enough to relax on the weekend.
I am so thankful for this small, colorful, happy little kitchen. I am thankful for this wall hook crafted my loving husband, loaded with slightly soiled aprons. I am thankful for that honey bee photo on canvas, a gift from our friend M when she and Hubs went to Alaska recently.
This room reminds me that we always have plenty to eat. We often are surrounded here by people we love and who love us, and that I have been cooking lately with my youngest daughter, with friends, and by myself, feeding very special people, creating meals and desserts that nourish our bodies and make us priceless memories.
Difficulties abound, no doubt about it. But so does sweetness. So do opportunities to make really special, one-of-a-kind memories. Love reigns supreme if we allow it to.
“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” ~Philippians 4:8
I hope this finds you making the most of whatever circumstances are thrown your way. I hope your Christmas wish list is longer on “Fun to Have” and “Love to Show” than it is on “Things to Buy.” And I hope that, despite the romance of a power outage, you have all the electricity you need!
“He who has not Christmas in his heart
will never find it under a tree.”
~Roy L. Smith
XOXOXOXO
You BETCHA I am the Perfect Age!
Oh Margi. Margi, Margi Margi.
First you infuse my week with those strong, beautiful words, #furiouslyhappy. Then you throw down this challenge to a group of writerly women to declare why we are at the perfect age. Whew!
Eating the best local ice cream Austin has to offer.
who forgot to grow up in Oklahoma City with me.
What an inspiration you’ve been this week!
As an aside, may I just mention how good it feels to be included in this writerly group? Really good. I admire each of you ladies so much. Suzanne, the smart, quietly spiritual momma who writes her heart out at Periphery. Brittany who mesmerizes me almost to tears over at Vesuvius at Home. Jen who is not only a writing inspiration but a marathon-running one, too (remember she visited the farm last year to discuss her book with our book club?) and blogs at Jennifer Luitweiler. Jen in running the Route 66 marathon today! Rose, a sweet, funny fellow Okie who LOVES my gander and blogs at OK Roserock. Mama Kat. The Bloggess. And Brene Brown. See what I mean? Amazing women. I am in the company of truly amazing women.
Okay, here we go.
At this writing I am just past 39 1/2 years old. By the time next year’s earliest veggies are sprouting in an egg carton on my sunny windowsill, I will be 40. And that is exactly the perfect age for the life I’ve been given. Our culture sort of tells me I should freak out about this, but I just don’t. As a child, the adults ahead of me seemed fairly traumatized by this four-oh milestone, so I feel truly relieved to be so happy at this point. Care for some evidence?
I have been married to the love of my life for more than a dozen fascinating years. We have had plenty of time and millions of opportunities to build an incredible bank of memories and traditions, a magnificently rich, beautiful life together. We spent most of our twenties together and all of our thirties. AND we are still young enough to not hurriedly enjoy our financial security, travel, health, and romantic inclinations. I look forward to growing old with this incredible man, becoming grandparents, retiring, all of it. Every speck. S-L-O-W-L-Y.
My babies are now 16 and 18 years old. Healthy, strong, beautiful, smart, talented, good hearted, loving, and each of them on a path to a very, very good life. Loved unconditionally, just amazing sources of Light themselves. My heart tells me that prayers are being answered for them long before my eyes will see proof, and that is thrilling. Even from this little distance, I am so grateful to see my girls become young women. It’s a gift not given to everyone. Right now I am stable enough to help them and provide a home for them should they want it. And if in the future either of them decides to start a family of her own, then I will still be young enough to really enjoy being a grandma. It’s the best of both worlds.
This feels like the perfect age for so many reasons. In (almost) forty years, I’ve made plenty of serious mistakes but have learned so much. I feel steady and calm. Past those turbulent, insecure growth-spurt years and now plenty energetic, capable, and imaginative enough to manage this silly hobby farm.
Right now I have both the time and the ability to train for my first full marathon next April, something that wasn’t even on the radar ten or twenty years ago. And while I could have done so much more for my health back then, I am super happy to have a grip on things now, before the next season of life dawns. Perfect.
This is the perfect age to have a large, welcoming home for our friends and family. I am not slave to any complicated schedule; I get to decide my own work days and farm days. And I am no longer mystified by domestic things. In fact, I kind of love it, the cooking and the cleaning and the staying home and the being as quiet or as silly as I choose.
Because at this perfect age we have so many great friends! And if I am diligent here at home, then Handsome and I are always ready to have fun at the drop of a hat. And that is pretty golden. Speaking of good friends, another wonderful woman Marci and I were just this week remarking on how we both are enjoying deeper, more meaningful adult friendships than any other time in life. How incredible! What a gift. Not something to take for granted, folks.
This is the perfect age for being a true-blue bibliophile. Seriously. I lacked the attention span in high school. I had the desire but not the time when my babies were babies. And then for a while I was just too sad to read. Now? Bring me all your books. All of them. Every genre. I feel like maybe it’s the curious, thirsty, philosophical women in their late thirties who should be issued mandatory reading lists instead of awkward messy hormonal teenaged girls. But no one asked me.
This is also the perfect age to really dig deep with the garden. (Did you see what I did there?) I have a couple of decades of true learning under my belt now, and I am plenty young and healthy enough to work hard at implementing all of it. Watching my Grandpa, I still have several decades to garden. Perfect.
So, I feel really great. The perfect age for me. Yes, there are days when I feel bristly toward younger, prettier, more accomplished women. I sometimes wish I could rewind about twenty years to make better life decisions then and always be a size six, etc. But as the saying goes, why question broken roads that lead to paradise? Haven’t I been given every opportunity for my particular dreams to come true? Yes. And I am so grateful.
There are also days and seasons when my maternal heart aches wistfully for the baby years or the school day years with my beautiful miracle girls, slices of my own heart that they are. But there is no shame in nostalgia. God has eased my memory of those deepest pains, replacing them with unparallelled hope and excitement. I lack the words to describe it to you. I’m at the perfect age to sense it. Old enough to sort through the spiritual impressions and young enough to still be amazed by them.
So what do you think? have I convinced you that I am at the perfect age for my own beautiful, crazy life?
And how do you feel about YOUR life? I would love to know. Join Margi’s sweet, smart challenge and let us hear it. Check out the other bloggers, write your thoughts, spill your guts.
Thanks very much for stopping in! Oklahoma is bedding down with sleet and snow today, so I am about to go enjoy a cozy day with Handsome and his Dad. Reading, Eating. Cuddling. You know, just being the perfect age.
XOXOXOXO
How it Goes
Last night we celebrated my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary here at the farm. Loved ones came from near and far to congratulate them and encourage them on a hard earned and really happy milestone. It was a lot of fun and much deserved. My parents are the best and are loved by so many people.
Still, of course, it was a terribly bittersweet celebration in the wake of losing Handsome’s Mom. When Judy passed away, she and Harvey were on the eve of their own fortieth anniversary party here at the farm. I don’t think we’ll ever forget that detail. So, as beautiful as the evening was in a thousand ways, it was fraught with difficult emotion. All rooted in love.
I will tell more of these stores as we go. For now, a sudden insight from video gaming.
Today after church, Handsome, his sweet Dad, and I went to lunch with Handsome’s sister and her beautiful family. Everyone is understandably steeped in sadness right now. The shock of their Mom’s death is wearing off. The crowds have all gone home. And the pain is visceral.
In a deliberate effort to lighten the mood and give the kids at the table something upbeat to think about for a while, my husband, “Uncle B” as he is known to the kids, struck up a conversation with our blue-eyed middle-school nephew Koston. About Minecraft.
Koston is a Minecraft devotee. A Minecraft guru. A Minecraft genius it’s fair to say.
Uncle B made a few remarks about the difficulty with which his own Minecraft adventure had recently started. He complained good-naturedly about the built-in obstacles and frustrating surprises that come with trying to build something from nothing in this imaginary digital world. He was playfully soliciting sympathy from his nephew.
Koston, this blue-eyed boy who I have come to love so dang much, grinned just a little, shook his head casually, and said, “That’s just how it goes at first.”
“That’s just how it goes?!” Uncle B objected with a measure of exaggeration. I couldn’t help but laugh. My husband has a way of slicing through a really thick atmosphere. I love him for this. Some people may interpret it as irreverence, but they’re flatly wrong. It’s nothing but love.
“That’s just how it goes.” Koston chuckled a little and shrugged one shoulder. I am guessing he thought it hilarious to be giving any kind of instruction to his tall, strapping, accomplished Uncle, the man who is anchoring the entire family right now. Koston’s blue eyes were as clear as Mexico waters, just gazing steadily through his few words. He knows his stuff. Especially when it comes to Minecraft.
“Okay! I guess!!” Uncle B laughed too and threw up his hands. Then he continued his mocked up complaints and prodding to get his boys to smile for a moment longer. For the most part, it worked.
I just keep wondering about the simple assurance Koston was providing with a grin and a shrug. That’s just how it goes at first. So true. What’s also true is how things tend to get better with time and effort. How the many games we play are still worth playing, no matter how difficult.
And I keep hoping that everyone has lots of people nearby to give them this assurance when needed. I know I need it. Life is hard. A lot hard. And that’s just how it goes at first. But I believe deep down that it gets better.
Be gentle with each other.
XOXOXOXO
Two Weeks Later, Love Remains
This is gonna be an unusual blog post. Please forgive me if it’s even more rambly than normal. I want to organize my thoughts and relay them poetically, with some meaning or message, but all I can muster right now are observations and a few cell phone photos.
The last two weeks since losing Handsome’s Mom have in many ways been unlike any others in my life. Daily, hourly, by the moment, life has been unpredictable and volatile. On the other hand, some beautiful, familiar ribbons of love and stability have carried us from day to day. While we are once again broken in many places, the most important things between us have not changed, they have only strengthened. For this I am so grateful.
The shock is just beginning to really fade. In its place I am seeing pain, confusion, loneliness, and much more. A flash of anger here and there. Judy was so much to so many people, that she is leaving a void no one person can fill. And she is gone far sooner than anyone was prepared to let her go.
This is a time everyone relies on God to fill the gaps in our hearts, and He does, if we wait. We all try to be of service to each other, to be used in any way He asks. Preparing meals, cleaning, laundering, driving, listening, praying, organizing, repairing… Anything. But the grief is so ongoing, so revealing of a love that is deep and forever, that no tasks we perform from day to day really feel like enough. So we just keep trying.
brightontheday |
Handsome’s sweet Dad, Harvey, is staying with us at the farm for as long as possible. I hope to share lots of his stories as time passes. He is wonderful, and many days I feel like I love him as much I love his son. We really appreciate having him here, and I only hope the togetherness is as good for him as it is for my husband. The farm had been filled with dozens of other beloved visitors day in and day out for the past two weeks, so now the three of us will begin to discover a new daily routine. I know already that everything will be different. That’s okay.
God is so good. I don’t have to look too hard to find hidden blessings, special skinny little silver linings that take the edge off the pain, but I also feel incredibly guilty enjoying those gifts. The circumstances under which they have been sent are so hard, and most times as daughter-in-law I feel like on onlooker, sometimes even an intruder into a dark, terrible, intimate family room. I loved Judy very much and admired her perhaps more than I ever realized, but my grief is completely different from everyone else’s. That’s probably normal, I don’t know.
The Tiny T love story will continue. I don’t feel like writing it exactly, but last week I was really surprised to learn that my in-laws had been reading the series together and had even started making guesses about what kind of woman T would end up with. So, especially because I love my father-in-law so much, T will return pretty soon. I missed the 31 day challenge again, but the love story will keep going for as long as it needs to.
The farm is torn between cold and balmy, between new life and a deep, chilling slumber. Several of us noticed with lots of wonder that the forests were all lush green until the day after the funeral. Now every branch is bearing as much gold, crimson, and russet as green. Still, though, the apple trees have been blooming again, like it’s spring time. The herbs are still growing like it’s June, except for the tell tale seed spikes begging to be collected. And we harvest peppers and tomatoes, day after day. Kind of amazing.
The horses have already found their thick, fuzzy winter coats. Chanta is so silky right now, so tempting. When I need to cry I go to the middle field and lay across him, combing my fingers deep through the gold and white hair all over his big belly, and he wraps his neck over me.
Today my baby brother and I will be preparing a fortieth wedding anniversary celebration for our parents. It’s a wonderful occasion, and I’m so excited, but of course it’s bittersweet. Judy passed away just hours before we were to celebrate forty years for her and Harvey. See? Life is so wildly extreme. So all over the place. We must be limber and strong.
As I finish writing this, the late morning sun is streaming passionately through the big east window. Mammoth plants and flowers from the funeral are everywhere, gilded now and illuminated by the fresh new day. Really pretty and really sad. Just like every other detail lately. The living room is absolutely pulsing with color and light, and I have no idea what to do about that.
Thanks so much for all of your kind words, for all of your prayers. Every single speck has been relayed to the family.
There is much more to say. I don’t know when I will write again, or about what, but for us life goes on. Love is steady and reliable, stronger than ever. There are dishes to rinse. Beds to be made smooth and comfortable. Animals to feed. Aprons to sew. There is plenty to do. And once again, for this I am so grateful.
Work is love made visible.
~Khalil Gibran
xoxoxoxo
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