Home Again

Just returned from a visit with the grandkids, trying to help Mom and Dad out with the rigors of everyday/ 24-7 parenting. It's a hard life! They are doing all the right things, and it's still hard. Sad to say, I think it's supposed to be. I think these hard times -- times when there is never enough help -- show us we are right where God can show us HE will take care of the really important stuff.

I referred many times lately to a book I found last spring called "Manna", meaning the food God gave his wandering Israelite children as they trekked from Egypt to Canaa, from uncertain misery to uncertain hope. I need to read the book again. It stablized me through some hard times. I'm hearing family now finding encouragement in reading it.

Sadly, I need to walk away from the grandkids and entrust them to the care of those good parents, but even more, that loving Creator who not only can, but wants to do more than I can. I need to let Him provide that "manna". Though I wish to be there, I realize the separation is good for both them and for me. Thank you God, for the "grandma fixes" but thank you for showing me what wonderful things you are doing in them.

PS. We tried for grandkid pics with me on the last morning. Joy took 5 or 6, trying for one when everyone was smiling, looking, not drooling (or spitting), not rolling to one side or the other. I wanted to show the progression of how "it takes a series" to get a picture. BUT...... I forgot my camera, at her house. Other things recently forgotten? My car tags .... 10 months after renewal date. Yes, 2 months BEFORE the NEXT renewal date.

Home again. Back to the drawing boards, looking for today's manna.

PPS. Here's one shot.

The Good Stuff

The house is coming together, as fast as we can realistically do it. I still wish it were all completely done. I'm a short term project person. Sewing, cleaning, financial projects -- about any kind -- I need to be able to complete in either a day, or a few days. Otherwise it's like a grain of sand in my teeth. My steadfast Larry turns projects into art, and I adore them when they are done, but I still thrill more to one job done so the next one can be begun.

Our entryway is gorgeous, and the steps, going both up and down, are a masterpiece! Larry took two days off work during the spring, before the summer spin began, and laid the entry tiles. No one could guess it was his first time to lay tiles -- unless they knew Larry. Whatever project Larry chooses, it will be done to perfection. He spent more time bouncing to hear those steps squeak -- so he could find EXACTLY where the squeaks came from -- than it probably took to do all the work. BUT! the steps DO NOT SQUEAK anymore! What a guy!

My part? I painted, and painted, and painted. I actually like painting, but 6 weeks of it is definitely over-the-top for Linda. I need conversation, so our contractor was my salvation while he was finishing flooring, installing closet organizers, laying baseboard, even hanging doors. I tried not to chatter too much. If at any time you've seen me replying rather quickly to your emails, understand you may have been my only contact during the day. I've learned a lot, even from the plumber, but I'm certainly not ready to do their jobs!

The house now? We are thinning down almost 32 years of "stuff" accumulation. I have passed on clothes, furniture, dishes, books, and fabric that I don't want anymore. There will be much more to go, I'm sure. These days the house holds little appeal for me if no one is there to share it.

Do I like the outcome? Oh, yes, it is wonderful! Do I need it? I think what I need most is order and the freedom to enjoy days at school. I look forward to coming home with stories and time to put up my feet and laugh with Larry at the kids. And Larry loves my stories.

Speaking of stories! I have new lines from the kids in Idaho. The first came when Mom had told company that Luke and Ian had iced the cupcakes for dessert. Company said, "thanks! you guys for making those cupcakes. They were incredible!" (or something on that order). To which Ian, the older cupcake-maker replied, "I'm glad you enjoyed them!" The intended approval was netted, to the point of Mr. 5-yr-old asking later, "Does anyone else want to say thank you for making the cupcakes?" Oh, the honesty of a child! Just show me you love me!

The next line came when both boys received new polar fleece blankets in their favorite character designs. They were elated, and showed their gratitude with multiple thank-yous, continuous sharing of the blankets, and even more blankets covering. Luke, our snuggler, kept asking Mom, "do I get to sleep with my new blanket?" "Yes, you do, Lukie." "Grandma, I REALLY love my blanket." Eventually Mom completed the mom-rounds a woman must make before she can sit down and rest, and then she sat alongside Luke. He'd snuggled with Grandma all evening, joking, pretending, reading books, but he turned to Mom, "Mom, you're my best friend." Aaahhh, all's right with the world when Mom is around.

So a house? It's a warm blessing to live in. At least, I'm thankful it's warm, and it's definitely a blessing as long as it isn't a burden. But would I rather have the house or the warm bodies that cover me till I sweat, just to say "I love you, Grandma"? Do you really need to ask?

Warm bodies, hands down! Love keeps me working when I hear no conversation. Love keeps me listening to feet looking for the squeaks! And love makes those steps perfect for me.

A warm body is the only good stuff. A house can burn, or blow away, or be outdone by someone down the street. A house is cold and empty -- without "the good stuff."

Children

A week ago I accompanied a 4th grade class to the Salmon Festival. Big, important event in the Northwest (no lie!) where salmon are a part of our heritage, our economy, our education, our conservation. Fall is when salmon begin the upstream climb to their beginnings, to start the next generation. The salmon journey holds many stories of instinctive determination and amazing feats, despite the interference of man. Conservationists fear we will run them to extinction, but other stories tell how salmon bounty is pilfered. Wow! We're a mixed-up people.

Nonetheless, teaching our kids about the world around them is important, not to mention exciting. It's thrilling to watch the kids' discoveries, so I needed only one invitation to come along.

The teacher I accompanied has 31 students. Most El Ed teachers like a class of 20-24. These kids are "squirrley", a word the principal likes to use. Good kids! Just four times the energy we have, and 1/4 the sense of how to use it! Ha! So Teacher had arranged 5 chaperones, to coordinate.

The day was well planned, an expanded program from 14 years ago when I last attended. We saw 6-10 varieties of live, chained falcons and other birds of prey, then moved to an inside lecture to an outside maze, to a fish ladder (where fish jump upstream), to a hike, to candy and pop and lunch, to a native American dance and display. My five kids were exciting! ranging from squirrley-squirrley boys to giddy girls. I hadn't seen them since last May, so branding names fast was a challenge. But fun! Fun with the arm around the shoulders, reminding, "OK, get the candy, but wash the fish food off your hands first...." or "guys, guys! back this way." It was a constant counting to see where my five had dissolved.

Yesterday I returned to help with reading in this same classroom. Madame Teacher is great, and part of her skill is her plan for repetition and reward. It was my privilege to watch and learn from her. Reading ended in an hour, but I returned later to observe more.

At the beginning of my time yesterday, she handed me 5 letters written by the students I had accompanied. Larry insisted on reading them. He has become as eager to hear my school stories as I am to tell them. I handed him the first letter, prefacing his read with my opinions of the boy: the quietest of the bunch, hispanic, didn't say a word to me all day till we walked away from the native American displays, then "I'm an Indian. There are Indian tribes in Mexico." That insight shocked me, but his letter showed more. Concise neat printing with more things listed to thank me for than any other student! An 9-yr-old diamond in the rough!

Then the squirrliest of the bunch who talks with his eyes, but you're never sure all he's trying to say. His letter was short and sweet, but his eyes are always talking.

And the sweet and prissy little red-head whose letter Larry said sounded like someone wrote it for her, so grown-up and thoughtful! Or the other two beautiful girls whose letters were likewise gracious and sincere.

Children have the greatest abilities to bless, of any creature on earth, but they also can cause the greatest hurt. They reach into our hearts, and may also run off again. They react, and may not understand. They express but aren't sure what they really mean. They are treasures that bring joy and sorrow. They are honest glimpses of our inner selves.

Loving children requires vulnerability, one of the most important gifts a person can give himself, yet one of the scariest. With it comes opportunity to see into the depths of human love, with the risk of not understanding the other person. Still, without it one will never get past the surface of kindness, to experience being valued, accepted, chosen.

Sometimes I struggle even now and want to protect myself from the people I love -- not just family. I'm tired of being tired, tired of being hurt, tired of being sad. What's the alternative? Miss the joys of being loved by a child? Withhold investment in their lives and never know their affection and admiration? Refuse someone's 2nd, 3rd, or 4th chance to prove himself, and miss one more polished diamond gleaming in the world?

Children are more than a gift, they are therapy. Most are honest about what they think. They reflect our own true intentions, perhaps on different levels or at different times. But they want to forgive. One teacher told yesterday of going to a disruptive child to discuss his negative behavior. The teacher expressed the problem, and the child said a simple, "OK." The child then went for a book, handed it to the teacher, climbed in his lap, sat while the teacher read the book, then willingly accepted correction.

I would benefit if I could accept my lessons that easily.