EVER HAVE ONE OF THOSE DAYS/WEEKS/YEARS?

In the space of one week, the dryer died, the kitchen refrigerator crashed, and I came home to find the above notice on my front door. All of this while I was in the process of trying to hammer out a workable, significantly-reduced budget.

Ever have one of those days/weeks/years?

Someone once challenged me this way: when faced with a difficulty, look for the opportunity instead of focusing only on the obstacle.

Endeavoring to put this good advice into practice, I asked myself, "What is the opportunity here?"

Opportunity #1: Instead of freaking out, I took a deep breath and asked dear friends to pray for me...to pray specifically for household appliances and for adequate finances.

Opportunity #2: I asked for help. My son got his dryer out of storage and installed it temporarily in my laundry room. My spouse paid the electric bill. 

Opportunity #3: I did a new thing, something I had never done before. I researched and purchased a large appliance. The new refrigerator will be installed next week.

Things I am learning:

• "Jesus, help me!" is a perfectly legitimate way to pray.
• More and more, my prayers are specific. "God, can you help me find a refrigerator?"
• I have wonderful family and friends. (I already knew this, but it is good to pause and remember.)

The window facing above my desk is cluttered with sticky notes: To-do lists, names of people I pray for, a verse that encouraged me this week, homework assignments, etc. Yesterday morning, I discovered a new sticky note. Apparently, my granddaughter found my sticky-note stash and found the brightly-colored squares irresistible.

Yes, He does love me. And, yes, He will take care of me.

Thank you, Jules, for the reminder!

HERE GOES...SOMETHING

The first step is often the hardest.

I opened up the blog and sat down to write multiple times over the summer. Each time, I thought I had something to write, but then I would end up staring blankly at my computer. Nothing. Just...nothing. My heart and my mind were numb.

It has been a difficult summer.

Today, once again, I find there is nothing. But today, I refuse the nothingness. Today, I will write, a first faltering stutter after a too-long silence. So, here goes...something.

I posted a couple of years ago about the difficulty of making "space to be human." You can read that post HERE. And if you are curious: I did learn to set more appropriate work boundaries, and I now have a lovely job that allows more time for doing "human" things.

On that note, I want to share a few small ways that I have enjoyed being human recently -

This summer, I registered for and completed my first-ever seminary classes. The coursework was incredibly challenging and I was way out of my league among the other students. Still, I felt like a fish in water, albeit a very small fish in very deep water. I enjoyed every lecture, every assignment, and every small group discussion. Second term begins Monday. I can't wait!

Over the past couple of months, I was given three of the most encouraging compliments that I have ever received:

• "You are one of the most humble people I know." (When I asked a friend to pray that God would humble me deeply and show me clearly my dependence on Him. BTW - do NOT pray that prayer unless you really, really mean it. God will answer, and it won't be easy.)
• "You are a very strong person." (From a co-worker who knows something of the difficulties of recent months.)
• "That is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." (In sixty-one years, no one has ever said that about me. Every woman should hear those words spoken about her at least once in her life. It made me cry.)

Today, I have celebrated being human in small ways. I had breakfast with my family. I enjoyed a personal yoga session with Mr. Ron. I washed mine and Mom's laundry and changed our bed linens. I wrote a letter to a friend. I sat on the porch swing and read another chapter in a book. I made BLT's for lunch; this evening, I am making gumbo for dinner, Daddy's recipe.

And I wrote.

SUNDAY WALK

Quiz for my children: Where was this picture taken?

Warmer temperatures and longer daylight inspired me to get out and walk back on the farm this weekend. Yesterday, I visited the Robinhood tree, the Great Hall, and the Cowboy hideout. This afternoon, I took a different path and hiked the Three Sisters, The Giant's Thimble, and Narnia. The ponds are full to overflowing, the creeks riotous with snow melt.  It felt wonderful to breathe deeply cool air that smelled of thawing earth, rotting leaves, and sunshine. 

I used to walk the perimeter of this farm almost daily. That was before nursing school ate my soul and before Granddaddy became unable to maintain the fields due to declining health. My daily walk was thwarted by waist-high weeds and brambles and the threat of snakes and chiggers.

Granddad has been dead for three years this June, and I probably haven't walked my favorite paths in over five years. It's sad how a farm slides into disrepair with neglect, just like an abandoned, derelict house. Still, the farm is beautiful.

* * * * *

At the recommendation of a friend, I am listening to the audio version of Jordan Peterson's "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote for Chaos." Regardless of what you might think about Peterson, this book contains quite a bit of very practical, helpful advice. In the chapter on Rule 2 - "Treat yourself like someone you are responsible for taking care of." - Peterson challenges the reader/listener to think of one thing he or she can do to make today better than yesterday, then do it. It doesn't have to be something big - small is fine.

Today, in the face of a personal disappointment, instead of feeling sorry for myself or wallowing in defeat or sliding into depression, I did one small thing to make my life better: I took a long walk back on the farm.

And that one choice made today very, very good.

GOODBYE, HELLO...THANKFUL

I wanted to write a post yesterday with reminiscences of the year just past...but life was big yesterday and the post did not happen. Today: first day of a brand new year. It promises to be a year of fresh opportunities and exciting changes.

The house is winding down after a day filled with rambunctious kids, mega-cooking, and daily chores. The adult children are tucking the grandchildren into bed, and I finally have a quiet moment to myself. Curled on the couch in front of a toasty fire, I am tired...and so very thankful.

To close out 2024 and welcome 2025, here is a list of things I am thankful for this wintry evening:

I am thankful that God is faithful when others are not, that He loves me unconditionally, and that He is big enough to handle my questions and my fears. He is so, so good.

I am deeply thankful for the beautiful, thoughtful, passionate and compassionate people who are my family. It blows my mind that I get to be counted as one of their number. They are my favorite people in the world.

I am thankful for The Aunties, my soul-sisters who love me unconditionally and point me consistently to Christ and with whom conversation is always easy. Every life-giving moment spent with you is sweet and precious.

I am thankful for a wonderful next-door neighbor. Thank you, dear friend, for the adventures, weekly movie nights, frequent "therapy" sessions, and all your help doing life during a challenging season.

I am inexpressibly thankful for the many hospice patients I was blessed to serve this past year and for their families. I am no longer working as a hospice nurse, but not a day passes that I don't think of one or more of these dear souls with warm affection. I am so deeply grateful for the privilege of walking with them right up to the veil.

I am thankful for a new and very different job working with a tremendous team of talented, compassionate, and fun healthcare providers. I have patient, good-natured teachers, and I am learning so much. I am excited to go to work each day. I absolutely love it.

I am thankful for a noisy, lively house that once again has craft things strewn over the table, toys in the floor, chickens in the yard, and a dog waiting eagerly at the door.

FEEDING THE CAT

I walked next door today to feed the cat, Grammy's gray fuzzball, Miss Kitty.

Two years ago, Grammy was with us, preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Grammy was so happy that Thanksgiving, her counters covered with food and her kitchen filled with family. So happy, so tired, so frail. She stumbled when she walked, leaned long against the counter, her skin deeply jaundiced, but smiling such a big smile the whole long, sweet, exhausting day.

Two years + a week ago, Grammy was gone.

I walked next door today to feed the cat, Grammy's cat.

I've walked next door often over the past 20 years. To use Grammy's washer when my washer was broken, to pick up the leftovers Grammy cleaned out of her fridge but couldn't bear to throw away, to shell pecans or work a jigsaw puzzle together, to check the mail and feed the cat on the rare occasions when Grammy and Granddad went out of town.

During nursing school, I walked next door daily - to use the internet for online classes, to eat caramel corn and watch TV and pretend like some part of my life was "normal," to cry countless tears of frustration and exhaustion. Nursing school was traumatic. Grammy was a good listener.

The last year - the very last year - I walked next door multiple times a day. Granddad was declining. I would get the call: "Are you home? I need help." "Yes, I'll be right over." Dying and death are such peculiar things. Caring for Granddad that last year, Grammy and I cried and laughed and talked much of the ridiculousness of this life.

I walked next door today to feed the cat, Grammy's cat. Grammy has been gone for two years, but the cat is still here and still needs to be fed.

I go an entire day now sometimes without missing Grammy. Other days, I feel her absence keenly, and my chest hurts and the tears start again.

Days like today.

I walked next door today to feed the cat, Grammy's cat, but Grammy wasn't there.

Y'ALL...

Y'all, I woke up Monday morning genuinely looking forward to going in to work. No tight neck muscles, no churning stomach, no clenched teeth...just a quiet smile as I headed out the door under a star-studded sky early Monday morning.

Can we all just pause a moment to appreciate what a HUGE deal this is?

Y'all, for the first time in I-can't-remember-when (at least 5 years!), I do not have to go to work or do a crap-ton of homework on Thanksgiving weekend. Several of the kids and their families are rolling in for the weekend, and I am super excited about cooking turkey, dressing, and all the fixings.

Can we just pause a moment to appreciate the gift of having time - finally - to be human?

Y'all, I am back in yoga class consistently, and I even attended a spin class last night for the first time in over 6 months. It felt wonderful to work up a sweat exerting long-neglected muscles.

Can we pause a moment to appreciate opportunities for self-care?

Y'all, in the past week, I had tea and a catch-up with a sister-friend who has walked this life with me for almost 50 years; I celebrated a major life event with a young friend I watched grow from a toddler to a man; I enjoyed Sabbath with a sister-friend who breathes Jesus all over me every time we are together; and I said goodbye-for-now to another sweet friend who worships now in the presence of her Savior and mine.

Can we pause a moment to savor the goodness of friendship?

It is the Golden Hour. The sun, already low in the western sky, casts a soft amber light across the hayfield outside my window. Early morning and late afternoon - sunrise and sunset - are magical times in the hayfield, simply because of the light.

Y'all...

I have been very, very tired - body and soul - for a long, long time. But today, I feel like I am waking up after a long and troubled sleep.

Today, I feel grateful.

Hopeful.

Awake.

A SOFT NOVEMBER MORNING

It's a soft, gray, mizzly day here at the farm. The air is cool and moist. Crows cackle in the trees behind the house and a soft drip-drip-drip plashes lazily from the roof edge into a rain-soaked trench below.

I could use more mornings like this.

Mom and I are staying home from church this morning. Mom had another one of her crash-&-bounce-back, cheat-death-again episodes yesterday. She is fine today, but she is tired.

Yesterday, we also celebrated the quickly approaching arrival of the newest member of our family. In the span of two weeks, I will have spent a weekend of fervent prayer in the hospital, applied my nursing training to revive an unconscious parent, and attended a baby shower, a wedding, and a funeral. Oh, and I also worked, bought groceries, cooked meals, did laundry, changed bed linens, and all the usual stuff.

It is lovely today to have a pause, a quiet day at home, a sabbath.

It's been a couple of crazy weeks since I last posted here at the blog. I tried to keep my once-weekly commitment - actually have two unfinished drafts from those silent weeks - but, you know, life. Both of my aging parents have commented to me recently - and I agree - "Life is so ridiculous!"

My mind is not clear enough this morning to write a well-thought-out post - am still processing so many emotions and needs and uncertainties - but I want to write something, if only to prevent two silent weeks at the blog from rolling into three. And so...

Today, I am sharing a few things for which I am thankful.

I am thankful I have a job that doesn't leave me completely emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of each day. I am thankful for a reliable car and a paycheck that allows me to put gas in the tank so that I can drive to a hospital two hours away. I am thankful for supportive co-workers, faithful friends, and precious family who check on me and who pray for me when I am anxious.

I am thankful for a son-in-law who loves my sweet daughter so very, very well, and for his gracious, kind, generous parents who love her like their own. My heart is overwhelmed at the goodness of God shown to my family through every single one of the in-laws He has given us.

I am thankful for my nursing education and work experience; thankful that a health crisis triggers a trained response instead of panic; thankful that "head down, feet up" is a reflex and I know how to "use my levers [bones]" to lift and transfer a large, unconscious person.

I am thankful that even though I STILL do not have anything to wear to this wedding on Friday, I know I will be welcomed no matter what I show up wearing, it will be a joyful celebration, and I have already been promised a dance.

And I am thankful for this quiet day at home and a slow, soft morning on the porch swing. (I think of you, Katherine, every time I sit here. Thank you!)