A farmer's daughter and an orphan, of sorts, in smalltown, Alabama, bore her.
A pony and peaceful enough life, of what can be remembered, were given her.
Daddy's new job changed farm life to suburb life for her.
"You are smart and pretty," over and over was told her.
Before anyone knew it, every contest was won her.
And soon, every eye was toward her.
Everyone wanted a piece of her,
especially men.
So, at the early age of 12, sneaking out became a game to her.
But at 13, again the new girl, everything got serious when friends convinced her
that an older guy would be a good first "experience" for her.
Instead, pregnancy was the experience found her.
Taken to an abortion clinic was the solution given her.
All she can remember is the lie that was sold to her
to convince her there was never a child inside of her.
And the shame, the shame that someone, maybe the teacher,
might figure out what weeks out of PE meant for that 8th grader.
Somehow, down it never slowed her.
The life of the party, the weekend drinker became her.
Not many boys for her, mostly men, and they liked her.
Before she knew it, she had been with as many men as the years before her.
Confession to someone was all she could think of to help her,
but all she remembers is the door closing, no Bible opened, no prayer for her,
at least not with her.
A blur are so many things to her.
But one day, that day her dad finally went away, was the day for her
she went and stayed with a man who was of no desire to her,
just a body, just a comfort, when everything seemed lost to her.
Achievements were earned by her.
Good grades were easy for her.
But none of it was relevant to her.
Broken and beyond all the norms, nothing spoke to her,
until
A man told her that he loved her.
He was exciting, completely different from what was known to her.
Chances are that she was more into him and he into her
than either of them was actually in love with the other.
But he married her
a month after her high school graduated her.
College in the big city was awaiting her.
So, she went, and within six months felt certain another baby was within her.
A classmate informed her they'd test her
at a clinic down the street, where they told her
a baby was bad for her.
And even her mother wasn't sure for her.
But that baby was hers.
No doubt she was having her.
School and work and marriage all continued with her
till that day she couldn't keep leaving her
with anyone else but her.
Being home wasn't easy for her.
She really didn't know what to do but to love her.
Working on the weekends seemed good for her,
until she met with a temptation she thought was gone from her.
The unthinkable happened while she was home with her,
a stranger where he had no business with her.
Regret bombarded her.
What had become of her?
Counseling seemed the only hope for her.
And that's where the Light came on for her.
Repentance and acceptance became real to her.
Jesus was alive in her!
Had he been there all along since he moved her
at VBS when she was 8, maybe saving her
all the while? No one had discipled her.
It didn't matter to her.
Now, her "her" was a "she."
Things didn't have to keep happening to her
as if no one could hear her.
She could make things happen through her belief in prayer.
She had four more babies and was pregnant with another before the tempter came again.
She had to see him every day, while the kids would play.
She had a way out when the summer was over, but
she revisited what had overcome her, because there was still part of her
she had not dealt with.
She still had imaginations no one knew of.
She had first seen porn in her childhood home and again in her own.
She wasn't wanting to be with another woman but to be that woman.
She would never have admitted it, but what she wanted was to be something of a goddess,
a deceptive perception of what she could nor should ever be.
She escaped the dilemma, not unscathed, but by fear of what damage she might have made.
She had that and one more baby, totaling 8 with the one gone above.
She thought is was over, the old her behind her, when men from school "found" her and asked if they could "friend" her.
She thought she had it under control, but
she had no experience with this way of communicating, and
she found that ears are far too willing to hear what woes are written between the lines.
She learned the hard way the trap that was set. Now,
she has boundaries in place to prevent such events.
She was to be tested one more time, during a lesson given twice a week. For months,
she knew all too well from the look in his eye, what way this was going.
She avoided. She sat in the car. But finally she knew there was only one way to stop it.
She had to leave. And she did. And for the first time, she had true victory.
She's learning that there's more to her than meets the eye.
She's learning that she can take God at his Word, because she reads it every day.
She's learning that God is her Father and her Husband and that purity is what pleases him.
She's learning that taking care of herself doesn't have to get any attention from anyone.
She's learning that, in fact, the better she looks the more she ought to hide it away as a gift.
She's learning that she too can be holy and is commanded to be so, just like the Savior
of the her
she used to be.
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
Dissenters, the Division
My husband had told me he saw the Blue Angels fly over while he was mowing last week. He loves them, especially since he spent several weeks of disaster relief in Pensacola, FL, where they are stationed and do regular maneuvers along the coastline. I didn't think anything else of it until we watched Washington, DC's Fourth of July Celebration. After a detailed history and due credit for each branch of our Service were given, flyovers were performed, including the Blue Angels!
I'm not moved by many things. Pride is certainly not one of them. But unity is. I couldn't help but well up with the passion of our President and of the people.
Immediately, there were dissenters, pundits expounding that it was a political play and that there has been no true unity or righteousness in America's past.
Our family's observations have been that the disunity is almost always irrefutably what used to be from the fringe element, but, thanks to public education and social degradation, we are afraid is now the norm and here to stay.
This week, a city council took a private vote to discontinue the Pledge of Allegiance at the beginning of meetings. As I was watching the fallout and the smug response of the leading member, I wondered to myself, "Do we need a war?!" Seriously, do we need a war to remind us that life is not always this easy?
For the Israelites, that was the obvious case. Every couple of generations, they had to be reminded of everything they took for granted. God made it so very clear what He wants, after a long list of sexual things he considers vile, "(For all these abominations have the men of the land done, which were before you, and the land is defiled;) that the land spue not you out also, when ye defile it, as it spued out the nations that were before you." (Lev. 18:27-28). This after having said, "And the land is defiled: therefore I do visit the iniquity thereof upon it, and the land itself vomiteth out her inhabitants. Ye shall therefore keep my statutes and my judgments, and shall not commit any of these abominations; neither any of your own nation, nor any stranger that sojourneth among you: ...."
And of the custom of Molech, whose sacrifice demanded children, the LORD said, "And I will set my face against that man, and will cut him off from among his people; because he hath given of his seed unto Molech, to defile my sanctuary, and to profane my holy name. And if the people of the land do any ways hide their eyes from the man, when he giveth of his seed unto Molech, and kill him not: then I will set my face against that man, and against his family, and will cut him off, and all that go a whoring after him, to commit whoredom with Molech, from among their people." (Lev. 20: 3-5).
First of all, thank Jesus that death is not the sentence anymore. It's interesting though how we dismiss Old Testament standards as archaic and, in our simplicity, don't understand that at the rate we're going, none of us would be alive to talk about it if not for the longsuffering of God, having sent his Son that generations might continue.
At large, we are consumed with lusts of every kind, so much so that when we receive the fruitfulness of them, we sacrifice it to the god of convenience to keep doing that thing which produces the gift that we don't want in the first place. And in the extreme of performing sexual intercourse that cannot even produce fruit, we prove exactly how disinterested we are in children at all.
So here we are, but Dust. We forget so quickly the lessons of the Bible and the sacrifices of our veterans, to provide us a lawful land of unity and peace, which is never possible without protection. Idealists don't believe it's necessary. Realists know that it is. So, thank God, our Defense is present and active and celebrated as it was this Fourth of July.
I'm not moved by many things. Pride is certainly not one of them. But unity is. I couldn't help but well up with the passion of our President and of the people.
Immediately, there were dissenters, pundits expounding that it was a political play and that there has been no true unity or righteousness in America's past.
Our family's observations have been that the disunity is almost always irrefutably what used to be from the fringe element, but, thanks to public education and social degradation, we are afraid is now the norm and here to stay.
This week, a city council took a private vote to discontinue the Pledge of Allegiance at the beginning of meetings. As I was watching the fallout and the smug response of the leading member, I wondered to myself, "Do we need a war?!" Seriously, do we need a war to remind us that life is not always this easy?
For the Israelites, that was the obvious case. Every couple of generations, they had to be reminded of everything they took for granted. God made it so very clear what He wants, after a long list of sexual things he considers vile, "(For all these abominations have the men of the land done, which were before you, and the land is defiled;) that the land spue not you out also, when ye defile it, as it spued out the nations that were before you." (Lev. 18:27-28). This after having said, "And the land is defiled: therefore I do visit the iniquity thereof upon it, and the land itself vomiteth out her inhabitants. Ye shall therefore keep my statutes and my judgments, and shall not commit any of these abominations; neither any of your own nation, nor any stranger that sojourneth among you: ...."
And of the custom of Molech, whose sacrifice demanded children, the LORD said, "And I will set my face against that man, and will cut him off from among his people; because he hath given of his seed unto Molech, to defile my sanctuary, and to profane my holy name. And if the people of the land do any ways hide their eyes from the man, when he giveth of his seed unto Molech, and kill him not: then I will set my face against that man, and against his family, and will cut him off, and all that go a whoring after him, to commit whoredom with Molech, from among their people." (Lev. 20: 3-5).
First of all, thank Jesus that death is not the sentence anymore. It's interesting though how we dismiss Old Testament standards as archaic and, in our simplicity, don't understand that at the rate we're going, none of us would be alive to talk about it if not for the longsuffering of God, having sent his Son that generations might continue.
At large, we are consumed with lusts of every kind, so much so that when we receive the fruitfulness of them, we sacrifice it to the god of convenience to keep doing that thing which produces the gift that we don't want in the first place. And in the extreme of performing sexual intercourse that cannot even produce fruit, we prove exactly how disinterested we are in children at all.
So here we are, but Dust. We forget so quickly the lessons of the Bible and the sacrifices of our veterans, to provide us a lawful land of unity and peace, which is never possible without protection. Idealists don't believe it's necessary. Realists know that it is. So, thank God, our Defense is present and active and celebrated as it was this Fourth of July.
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Lora
30 years married is a long time, especially for my husband and me. But as of July 1st, that's how far we've come.
He had an out of town doctor's appointment for his first annual check of his pacemaker. So, we were on a "doctor date," I call it. I think that's pretty common for anyone who has a chronically ill family member.
Since we were nearby, he took me to my favorite restaurant. And as we were leaving, I asked him if it would be bad of me to run by my favorite shoe store, the buy one, get one half off kind, to finish getting geared up for my return to the gym. Actually, I haven't done anything significant in the gym other than work there and tell other people what to do, since I was a member of the Racquetball Club in high school.
He patiently sat in the car while I went straight to the men's athletic isle. My feet are so wide, I don't even look at the women's anymore. I settled on a pair of throwback Reeboks and asked the girl packing boxes on the next isle if I'd be the only person in America sporting those at the gym. She liked 'em just fine. I told her our kids would probably make fun of me but that they like the 32 year old L. L. Bean bag I still have from high school and think I should tote it around at App State, where I probably wouldn't be on campus much, but have recently applied to finish college.
She said, "I know a lot of middle aged people going back to school." I grinned then told her it would be to write. She said, "I write too." Surprised, I said, "It'll probably be toward ministry." She said, "Women ought to talk more to women about those things."
I was still astonished at someone of her generation, when I had asked if she has a belief and if it is in God, then if it is in Jesus, she had a resounding, "Yes," for them all. They weren't cutesy, right answer "yeses," but serious, matter-of-fact ones. She looked all of 15, but she was 19, with a very thin and unassuming appearance, with glasses and lots of dark hair.
I told her what day it was and that I should be getting out to the car but first mentioned a few facts about the miracle of making it this far. I said that a lot of people make excuses, but God. She lit up and said, "'But God', that was the subject of my favorite sermon from my church in Ohio!" I could almost see her recounting it. Then, her face began to flush, as she encouraged me to do the writing. She said, "I'm the only Christian in my family. I just moved out on my own. And it's hard; I haven't had anybody to show me how to be a Christian."
I immediately identified with her and asked her if I could hug her neck. Her face was splotched with red. I didn't even know her name but I had to find out so that I could pray for her. And I told her that I would. And I will. Because it matters. All these encounters, they matter. As a matter of fact, they're all that matter, conversations that bear witness that our LORD is on His throne, as are thirty years of marriage between two fleshly, immature, passionate people evidences that God is real and that His Word still stands.
He had an out of town doctor's appointment for his first annual check of his pacemaker. So, we were on a "doctor date," I call it. I think that's pretty common for anyone who has a chronically ill family member.
Since we were nearby, he took me to my favorite restaurant. And as we were leaving, I asked him if it would be bad of me to run by my favorite shoe store, the buy one, get one half off kind, to finish getting geared up for my return to the gym. Actually, I haven't done anything significant in the gym other than work there and tell other people what to do, since I was a member of the Racquetball Club in high school.
He patiently sat in the car while I went straight to the men's athletic isle. My feet are so wide, I don't even look at the women's anymore. I settled on a pair of throwback Reeboks and asked the girl packing boxes on the next isle if I'd be the only person in America sporting those at the gym. She liked 'em just fine. I told her our kids would probably make fun of me but that they like the 32 year old L. L. Bean bag I still have from high school and think I should tote it around at App State, where I probably wouldn't be on campus much, but have recently applied to finish college.
She said, "I know a lot of middle aged people going back to school." I grinned then told her it would be to write. She said, "I write too." Surprised, I said, "It'll probably be toward ministry." She said, "Women ought to talk more to women about those things."
I was still astonished at someone of her generation, when I had asked if she has a belief and if it is in God, then if it is in Jesus, she had a resounding, "Yes," for them all. They weren't cutesy, right answer "yeses," but serious, matter-of-fact ones. She looked all of 15, but she was 19, with a very thin and unassuming appearance, with glasses and lots of dark hair.
I told her what day it was and that I should be getting out to the car but first mentioned a few facts about the miracle of making it this far. I said that a lot of people make excuses, but God. She lit up and said, "'But God', that was the subject of my favorite sermon from my church in Ohio!" I could almost see her recounting it. Then, her face began to flush, as she encouraged me to do the writing. She said, "I'm the only Christian in my family. I just moved out on my own. And it's hard; I haven't had anybody to show me how to be a Christian."
I immediately identified with her and asked her if I could hug her neck. Her face was splotched with red. I didn't even know her name but I had to find out so that I could pray for her. And I told her that I would. And I will. Because it matters. All these encounters, they matter. As a matter of fact, they're all that matter, conversations that bear witness that our LORD is on His throne, as are thirty years of marriage between two fleshly, immature, passionate people evidences that God is real and that His Word still stands.
Friday, June 21, 2019
Be Sober
Drinks, drinks everywhere. My husband figures it's because people don't want to think of how much they're spending on their vacation and because they probably don't much like the person they're with. I have to give him that.
This week has been our first trip to the beach in six years, and even that was a disaster relief deployment. This week was also our first alcohol free vacation. I have to give him that, also.
We had no plans for a vacation this summer, until one of our daughters accepted a job as a beach lifeguard. Her Daddy wasn't "having it" without going to inspect. Turns out it's a reputable company that's been there a long time. The interesting thing is that there are hardly any Americans. The owner said that their American lifeguards are "lazy." Instead, they have foreign exchange students from all over Europe and Russia. Our daughter is the only American girl. She has YMCA life guarding certifications and work experience that must've paid off. Her past swim team experience gave her the power and drive to swim the mandatory test, 500 yards in under 12 minutes, having practiced for less than a week.
The day after we arrived we set out to find her at her post. She hadn't returned from lunch, so we got to talk with her Polish trainer, who says he makes more money here in half a year than he can with his degree in his home country, which he returns to for the winter months. He also said after working with her for a couple of days that she works harder than the last couple of guys he's trained. After feeling more secure about her environment, we could relax a little and enjoy the beach and the pool with our younger two. Then, my husband decided our daughter with the twins ought to come, also. So, that child of ours packed up their stuff in about 15 minutes and drove four and a half hours by herself, arriving well after midnight, so the babies could go to the ocean for the first time, since they didn't have a plan to vacation either.
Her husband stayed behind, still mourning the loss of his grandmother, who passed just after the babies' second birthday party was underway last weekend. He kindly said they ought to go. For the most part, we shored her and the babies up, and while we were busy enjoying their excitement, our youngest daughter was making a friend, from Ukraine, no less. They played for hours. Then, I finally met her six foot tall mother. She was quick to let me know that she had a limited English vocabulary, although they'd been living in the states for over three years. She's a stay-at-home mom and says even when she is out with other moms, they really don't talk to her.
She was so very happy to have someone to communicate with. She told me so. I asked if they had only the one girl, and when she answered, "Yes, we have been trying for more than nine years, but I thank God for her," I was pretty sure she was a fellow believer. So, I asked and she said, "Yes, how do you say it, 'Baptist?'" I utterly loved hearing her talk, although she was often frustrated with herself to find the right words. When I couldn't figure out what she meant, she would look away and whimsically say, "Never mind."
Our girls wanted to go to the beach that night, so her husband and mine, and she and I got to talk while the kids looked for treasures in the sand and sculpted faces in it. I asked her about church in Ukraine, and she said, "It is Orthodox." Then she touched her heart looking for words and came up with, "Their heart is closed to God ...but our church in America, their hearts are open to God," as she looked up to the sky. "I learn so much about God since I have been here."
After the fireworks, we were walking back up to the hotel and she had her daughter interpret for me, "My mom says, 'You make her feel so free to talk.'" I take that very seriously, especially considering they are here on political asylum, because of Russia's invasion of the border. Freedom probably means a lot more to her in so many ways than it does to me.
Last night, our girls wanted ice cream and to swim once more, but since a storm had blown through, it was too cold and windy outside. So, we sat indoors by the heated pool. Loud and hot as it was, I couldn't let her departure go by without a prayer. I still feel uneasy taking charge of such a sacred thing, but I held her hand and before I could start, she smiled at me and said, "Thank you." After the fact, I realized I may have spoken too quickly for her to understood me, but God did. And if there is one thing I have learned, it's that when we obey, God listens.
And this is why we need to be sober on vacation and everywhere, because we just never know when these things are going to happen.
This week has been our first trip to the beach in six years, and even that was a disaster relief deployment. This week was also our first alcohol free vacation. I have to give him that, also.
We had no plans for a vacation this summer, until one of our daughters accepted a job as a beach lifeguard. Her Daddy wasn't "having it" without going to inspect. Turns out it's a reputable company that's been there a long time. The interesting thing is that there are hardly any Americans. The owner said that their American lifeguards are "lazy." Instead, they have foreign exchange students from all over Europe and Russia. Our daughter is the only American girl. She has YMCA life guarding certifications and work experience that must've paid off. Her past swim team experience gave her the power and drive to swim the mandatory test, 500 yards in under 12 minutes, having practiced for less than a week.
The day after we arrived we set out to find her at her post. She hadn't returned from lunch, so we got to talk with her Polish trainer, who says he makes more money here in half a year than he can with his degree in his home country, which he returns to for the winter months. He also said after working with her for a couple of days that she works harder than the last couple of guys he's trained. After feeling more secure about her environment, we could relax a little and enjoy the beach and the pool with our younger two. Then, my husband decided our daughter with the twins ought to come, also. So, that child of ours packed up their stuff in about 15 minutes and drove four and a half hours by herself, arriving well after midnight, so the babies could go to the ocean for the first time, since they didn't have a plan to vacation either.
Her husband stayed behind, still mourning the loss of his grandmother, who passed just after the babies' second birthday party was underway last weekend. He kindly said they ought to go. For the most part, we shored her and the babies up, and while we were busy enjoying their excitement, our youngest daughter was making a friend, from Ukraine, no less. They played for hours. Then, I finally met her six foot tall mother. She was quick to let me know that she had a limited English vocabulary, although they'd been living in the states for over three years. She's a stay-at-home mom and says even when she is out with other moms, they really don't talk to her.
She was so very happy to have someone to communicate with. She told me so. I asked if they had only the one girl, and when she answered, "Yes, we have been trying for more than nine years, but I thank God for her," I was pretty sure she was a fellow believer. So, I asked and she said, "Yes, how do you say it, 'Baptist?'" I utterly loved hearing her talk, although she was often frustrated with herself to find the right words. When I couldn't figure out what she meant, she would look away and whimsically say, "Never mind."
Our girls wanted to go to the beach that night, so her husband and mine, and she and I got to talk while the kids looked for treasures in the sand and sculpted faces in it. I asked her about church in Ukraine, and she said, "It is Orthodox." Then she touched her heart looking for words and came up with, "Their heart is closed to God ...but our church in America, their hearts are open to God," as she looked up to the sky. "I learn so much about God since I have been here."
After the fireworks, we were walking back up to the hotel and she had her daughter interpret for me, "My mom says, 'You make her feel so free to talk.'" I take that very seriously, especially considering they are here on political asylum, because of Russia's invasion of the border. Freedom probably means a lot more to her in so many ways than it does to me.
Last night, our girls wanted ice cream and to swim once more, but since a storm had blown through, it was too cold and windy outside. So, we sat indoors by the heated pool. Loud and hot as it was, I couldn't let her departure go by without a prayer. I still feel uneasy taking charge of such a sacred thing, but I held her hand and before I could start, she smiled at me and said, "Thank you." After the fact, I realized I may have spoken too quickly for her to understood me, but God did. And if there is one thing I have learned, it's that when we obey, God listens.
And this is why we need to be sober on vacation and everywhere, because we just never know when these things are going to happen.
Friday, June 7, 2019
All to Him I Owe
Sitting by the garden, waiting for the rain, my husband reminded me of the newest preconception brought out by his old hunting truck paired, no less, with his old overalls. He's started taking our youngest son to the high school's football workouts. And at a prior activity with the athletic director, he was rather dismissed, having driven up in the beat-up, old Toyota.
The whole purpose has been to get our son on the team but only on campus for two classes, as our state's new law allows. As far as we know, he will be the first homeschool student in the county, at least at that school, to try it out. His older brother went as far as an out of state boarding school to continue in sports. One older sister went full-time public high school in order to participate, which did not go as planned. So, we hope and pray that this "marriage" will be suitable for our younger son.
Every Christian parent should consider while their children are participating in youth, public team sports that they might get good enough to play in high school, then college, which lends itself to the desire of participating at the highest level, and that is unlikely at a small, private, Christian institution, scholarship or no. So, there your young adult is, on scholarship at a publicly funded university, the system feeding your child that which is "right in his own eyes," just as in the days of the book of Judges that the younger two and I finished up yesterday.
So far, our older children have had the wherewithal not to subscribe to farfetched ideologies, willing and able to debate the teachers. But the student culture is where things get hairy, especially in the subculture of team camaraderie: the music, the language, the "activities." All these things are insidious for a young person away from home who has no one to answer to at the end of the day but the team.
And that's where you hope you still have some influence to encourage that child who is continually in close proximity to what amounts to Paganism (many participants professing Christ, yet denouncing Him in deed) to take some sort of stand, because the student's sitting back and tolerating it is only a lie to tempt them into the "it's not so bad" excuses.
And before they know it, they're one of "them." The truth is that the Christian is either growing or withering. We don't get to make up the option of just standing still. Influence or be influenced.
And that is what we are wanting to convince our younger son of.
"Yes, you're the new guy. But when the coach asks if anybody has music they want to play, speak up...," just like he did yesterday here at home in our daily reading, giving special attention to this verse in John 7, "Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment."
It is easy to pin that one on the athletic director, since he had a better attitude when he saw my husband drive up in the newer car and in better clothes, or newer overalls anyway. But we all do this to some degree, fair as we may be.
God is perfect in this though. Acts 10:34-35, "Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons. But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him." Just now, after looking up "respect," I find three definitions before the one most similar to the Bible's, "deference to a right, privilege, privileged position, or someone or something considered to have certain rights or privileges." God does not have "respect" of persons, of positions of authority, yes, but not "respect" among people who believe. So, why do we? And why do we change the term "fear God" to "respect God?" Fearing God is understanding that he is the ultimate authority, the final say, the all in all. So, please do not change my Bible to say that I ought to respect God. I have much more than that for Him. I defer all things to Him and to Him all things I owe.
The whole purpose has been to get our son on the team but only on campus for two classes, as our state's new law allows. As far as we know, he will be the first homeschool student in the county, at least at that school, to try it out. His older brother went as far as an out of state boarding school to continue in sports. One older sister went full-time public high school in order to participate, which did not go as planned. So, we hope and pray that this "marriage" will be suitable for our younger son.
Every Christian parent should consider while their children are participating in youth, public team sports that they might get good enough to play in high school, then college, which lends itself to the desire of participating at the highest level, and that is unlikely at a small, private, Christian institution, scholarship or no. So, there your young adult is, on scholarship at a publicly funded university, the system feeding your child that which is "right in his own eyes," just as in the days of the book of Judges that the younger two and I finished up yesterday.
So far, our older children have had the wherewithal not to subscribe to farfetched ideologies, willing and able to debate the teachers. But the student culture is where things get hairy, especially in the subculture of team camaraderie: the music, the language, the "activities." All these things are insidious for a young person away from home who has no one to answer to at the end of the day but the team.
And that's where you hope you still have some influence to encourage that child who is continually in close proximity to what amounts to Paganism (many participants professing Christ, yet denouncing Him in deed) to take some sort of stand, because the student's sitting back and tolerating it is only a lie to tempt them into the "it's not so bad" excuses.
And before they know it, they're one of "them." The truth is that the Christian is either growing or withering. We don't get to make up the option of just standing still. Influence or be influenced.
And that is what we are wanting to convince our younger son of.
"Yes, you're the new guy. But when the coach asks if anybody has music they want to play, speak up...," just like he did yesterday here at home in our daily reading, giving special attention to this verse in John 7, "Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment."
It is easy to pin that one on the athletic director, since he had a better attitude when he saw my husband drive up in the newer car and in better clothes, or newer overalls anyway. But we all do this to some degree, fair as we may be.
God is perfect in this though. Acts 10:34-35, "Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons. But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him." Just now, after looking up "respect," I find three definitions before the one most similar to the Bible's, "deference to a right, privilege, privileged position, or someone or something considered to have certain rights or privileges." God does not have "respect" of persons, of positions of authority, yes, but not "respect" among people who believe. So, why do we? And why do we change the term "fear God" to "respect God?" Fearing God is understanding that he is the ultimate authority, the final say, the all in all. So, please do not change my Bible to say that I ought to respect God. I have much more than that for Him. I defer all things to Him and to Him all things I owe.
(Originally written in 2019)
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
Settled on Their Lees
"It was obvious the indentations on the bullet were teeth marks," maybe human, maybe animal, the implication the same, agony of someone's warrior son, whether he was for or against the cause, fighting for his life.
Mike has always had an interest in all things anthropology. He's dug up an Indian paint pot, convinced the whole family to spelunk, explore old caves, and has recently taken up metal detecting again. Turns out there was a Union Army camp just on the ridge behind us. Our county was a hotbed of Union sympathizers in an otherwise Confederate state. Mike has read the details from the Library of Congress of the troops' movements through our area and shared them with anybody and everybody who will listen.
Our sons and sons-in-law are Mike's detecting companions now, so much so that one son-in-law has moved his weekends around to spend them here, which also brings our daughter and their twin toddler girls into our company. This last trip gave McKala and me time to really talk for the first time in a really long time.
Sons, sons-in-law, fathers, brothers, husbands, I can't conceptualize what it was like having all the men in one's family leave for war, the women and children left unprotected and the soldiers often destitute of basic needs and wounded by the distinct kinds of bullets we're finding. These days, our most common concerns as Christian mothers of young men is whether or not they're "doing right," not whether or not they might die today, tomorrow, or next month. There must have been prostrate praying that we as this "postmodern" nation take for granted and sit back on its "lees" as written in Zephaniah 1:12, "And it shall come to pass at that time, that I will search Jerusalem with candles, and punish the men that are settled on their lees: that say in their heart, The LORD will not do good, neither will he do evil."
On this Memorial Day, with all its swimming and eating, I hope some of our family looked back on that hill and thought of the bewildered, homesick men whose sometimes only recreation was to carve a bullet into a chess piece or an animal head, while waiting for the the next encounter with death.
Recently, Mike has been searching out plantation properties and other camp ridges from maps he's found, asking for permission to detect, sharing history, and getting to know the neighbors, something that he's never really had, neighbors, not for himself anyway. He was always on the road or recovering from the road when he was home.
The other morning, he stepped out of the house and heard a planer. Since he's needing one to make a wooden truck bed, he jumped in the car to see which neighbor it was. That neighbor invited him back, so Sunday he and I went together to search the premises for metal. After some work on a tractor, a couple of hours detecting, and a good practical joke in the breezes under a great big walnut tree, we wound up having tea with him and his wife on their porch, circa 1893, and having a little tour of their house and studios. He's a musician, and she's an artist. And Madalynn, our musician and artist, can't wait to go visit them. Seems like this metal detecting is taking us places, including back into the realm of writing, as he is the one who challenged me to write again, based on the introductory sentence he assigned.
So, here I am on a Tuesday morning doing what I love, after sleeping as long as we could stand the 57 degree chill in the hammocks we hung in our own "campsite" by the fire pit Mike had the kids create yesterday, still none of us having a particular inkling of the trepidation the men must have had, camping behind us March 29 through April 1, 1865 in the cold and the wet of the nor'easter with no way of knowing the Civil War would end in only 14 days.
Mike has always had an interest in all things anthropology. He's dug up an Indian paint pot, convinced the whole family to spelunk, explore old caves, and has recently taken up metal detecting again. Turns out there was a Union Army camp just on the ridge behind us. Our county was a hotbed of Union sympathizers in an otherwise Confederate state. Mike has read the details from the Library of Congress of the troops' movements through our area and shared them with anybody and everybody who will listen.
Our sons and sons-in-law are Mike's detecting companions now, so much so that one son-in-law has moved his weekends around to spend them here, which also brings our daughter and their twin toddler girls into our company. This last trip gave McKala and me time to really talk for the first time in a really long time.
Sons, sons-in-law, fathers, brothers, husbands, I can't conceptualize what it was like having all the men in one's family leave for war, the women and children left unprotected and the soldiers often destitute of basic needs and wounded by the distinct kinds of bullets we're finding. These days, our most common concerns as Christian mothers of young men is whether or not they're "doing right," not whether or not they might die today, tomorrow, or next month. There must have been prostrate praying that we as this "postmodern" nation take for granted and sit back on its "lees" as written in Zephaniah 1:12, "And it shall come to pass at that time, that I will search Jerusalem with candles, and punish the men that are settled on their lees: that say in their heart, The LORD will not do good, neither will he do evil."
On this Memorial Day, with all its swimming and eating, I hope some of our family looked back on that hill and thought of the bewildered, homesick men whose sometimes only recreation was to carve a bullet into a chess piece or an animal head, while waiting for the the next encounter with death.
Recently, Mike has been searching out plantation properties and other camp ridges from maps he's found, asking for permission to detect, sharing history, and getting to know the neighbors, something that he's never really had, neighbors, not for himself anyway. He was always on the road or recovering from the road when he was home.
The other morning, he stepped out of the house and heard a planer. Since he's needing one to make a wooden truck bed, he jumped in the car to see which neighbor it was. That neighbor invited him back, so Sunday he and I went together to search the premises for metal. After some work on a tractor, a couple of hours detecting, and a good practical joke in the breezes under a great big walnut tree, we wound up having tea with him and his wife on their porch, circa 1893, and having a little tour of their house and studios. He's a musician, and she's an artist. And Madalynn, our musician and artist, can't wait to go visit them. Seems like this metal detecting is taking us places, including back into the realm of writing, as he is the one who challenged me to write again, based on the introductory sentence he assigned.
So, here I am on a Tuesday morning doing what I love, after sleeping as long as we could stand the 57 degree chill in the hammocks we hung in our own "campsite" by the fire pit Mike had the kids create yesterday, still none of us having a particular inkling of the trepidation the men must have had, camping behind us March 29 through April 1, 1865 in the cold and the wet of the nor'easter with no way of knowing the Civil War would end in only 14 days.
(Originally written in 2019)
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Labor of Love
Megan woke up this morning a married woman. I woke up slightly dazed. I couldn't sleep last night till well after midnight, trying to recall the events of the day. Megan said the same. She and Jeremiah stopped by this morning on the way to Miami after spending their first night together in the same little house the bridesmaids had the night before. Mike had offered for them to drive our car in place of their truck and Jeep. (The clean white car looked a bit like a chariot as they drove away.) Our only real contributions to the wedding have been service.
He got up this morning to have us all clean the inside and outside of the car perfectly. He also hauled the greenery that thankfully I was able to craft together all day Thursday for table garland the way I made wreaths years ago for his tree lot. I consider it a gift that when I finally went out to play in the two feet of snow from last weekend, I came up on the ten foot top of a holly tree (still covered in berries) that had broken, so I drug it to the house to use.
All the sisters met us Friday morning to set the arrangements out on the table runners Mike's mom made, with centerpieces of bowls and large wooden candle pedestals his dad made and vases full of cranberries and cut white poinsettias that I had seen online and put together, placed atop cedar cuttings my dad had prepared, walnuts and tea candles dispersed over the eleven barn wood tables. Once the glass and silverware were placed with the red cloth napkins, it looked nothing less than exquisite. Then, there were the eleven display tables to fill.
But first, before it all began, we came together in the center of the "barn," held hands in a circle and took turns praying. It was spontaneous and real. Miranda, who called the prayer, went up to the loft and turned on the playlist I'd prepared, and we went to work, all day, leaving just in time to change and come back for the rehearsal and bbq dinner.
His three sisters and Megan's four all went to the little rented house to spend the night, went on a midnight run to Walmart, and were up doing hair and makeup at 7 am. Melody had their makeup photo shoot quality, and McKala made their hair into luxurious braided crowns and curls. Unfortunately, they were not ready themselves when the photographer arrived. Nor had Madalynn, 10, gotten to have false eyelashes like the big girls and was moping. Since Megan had already treated her to a pedicure and long manicured nails with them Thursday afternoon, I gave in and called Dad because I knew he was stopping at the store. Next thing I know, he's calls me back, standing in front of the eyelash display of all lengths and colors, making sure he was getting the right ones. The thought of it was pretty charming.
When it was time to put things in vehicles, I decided to change into my boots because snow melt was everywhere. What girls were left got up in Dad's giant, white, covered, dually truck that they'd been transporting things in, and I climbed into Mike's little Toyota hunting truck, floor length dress and all. But soon, they turned off into a parking lot. Megan had left her veil! So, I drove back to get all 10 feet of it with it's Latin flair (that she had bought with her dress, not far from the Texas border on deployment) and arrived at the venue 10 minutes before the 2 pm scheduled ceremony! Needless to say, the cowboy boots stayed on, even though I'd told everyone else theirs couldn't.
In no time, Michael, our now 20 year old, nearly 300 pound O lineman was escorting me to my seat. Very soon, after Macklynn escorted one and Madalynn the other, I had a lap full of 18 month old twin. Mom had the other. The girls all dressed in white toile barely made it to the front, much less to stay there. I had pacifiers and snacks in my pockets, along with Kleenex and my glasses and a comb and lipstick.
And then the violins cued Megan in. She looked majestic.
I think the particulars of the wedding were so important to her, because normally she's found working on or driving something. She wanted to be a "girl" for a day, and, boy, she pulled it off.
The ceremony itself is a bit of a blur to me, except that they both were visibly moved during the vows and during Pastor Kevin's thorough explanations of marriage and how the wife ought to prayer over her husband when he can't.
We were shuffled outside into the mist to start pictures. Inside, the guests had access to a bar of hot chocolate, coffee, and apple cider alongside a display of milk and cookies both grandmothers had made and manned, Lauren Daigle's Christmas album playing all the while.
I was struck in the picture taking when all seven of our children were lined up with Megan in their gray tuxes and red satin dresses, and no one looked small anymore, not even Madalynn.
We took the babies in for casual clothes, so I didn't see but am told Megan and Jeremiah used the snow covered hill and fog as their backdrop. She wanted snow. Man, did she get it.
Megan came into the kitchen just as we were getting the babies in the playpen or maybe just when the Chicago style pizza was being delivered. I can't remember. Either way, I never left the kitchen. We needed to bustle her two layers of train, the way they taught me in the store, 18 buttons and thread hoops to find! Thank God, Kaitlyn stayed to help after she changed the babies with me.
Somewhere along the way, I decided to run out and get a bottle of Mexican Coke at the head of the pizza and salad buffet and take it back to the kitchen, where I rolled up a slice of hot pizza (not without dripping grease down my dress). It seems like it took forever to eat it, maybe because I knew there were people I should be talking to. I was away so long that apparently there were people I completely missed before they left, never even saw to begin with. I didn't know until afterwards that Franklin Graham's wife did indeed come. Neither did my friend, Heather, who just found out it was she whom she "laughed and talked for quite a while" with. (It says something for Mrs. Graham that she never revealed who she was.)
Mike came to me while I was in the kitchen and told me of the talk he and Dad had just had. They hadn't spoken in over a year and a half. Dad extended an olive branch. Although onlookers were afraid it was not so, it was. And the anxiety that had haunted Mike every day had melted away. He and I stepped outside into the cold to "breathe." It was surely a reprieve from the sweat that had been running down my back.
When we stepped back in, I heard music, the "wrong" music, as in it wasn't on the "playlist" I had carefully and painstakingly put together in hopes of honoring the Lord in our celebration. I was told it was because Jeremiah and Megan were lingering too long in conversations. Truth be told, I knew they weren't really wanting to dance to begin with; just not their thing. However, somebody finally turned on the father/daughter, mother/son song. My peace was momentarily removed when I instead saw Jeremiah and Megan dancing to it! Melody quickly notified Mike, so he stepped into his rightful position, asking for the dance. His boldness found a good place there, since they were soon in tears with each other. I looked beside me and so was our great friend, Heather, who had come through for us again and made the bouquets and boutonnieres. She was weeping for the healing that was happening right there in front of everyone's eyes. I looked to my other side to another of our great friends, Shannon (who had been flown in from disaster deployment just to be there), as she was recalling how things looked for the two of them only a year ago. And there I was with lasting, true friends in the Lord, who had flanked themselves on either side of me.
The intended song for Jeremiah and Megan came on, but they weren't out there. I was suddenly alerted to a situation occurring. Madalynn had gone to Miranda in an outburst of tears with fear that Mike would not live so that she might dance with him at her wedding, so she wanted to dance with him right then. I scanned over, and there she was, a river of tears as he cradled her head in his arm, dancing.
I had planned, and even sent a little line dance to several people to learn, hoping the songs and dance would be well pleasing to God, to set a new standard of fun. But I think emotions were so deep, both good and for others bad, resisting any rightness in the occurring circumstances, that it all just fizzled out, even when I made a call for folks to come up. Too, the ambiance was just really good: what seemed like hundreds of candles glowing, stomachs full, and conversations boisterous.
I let it go. I had predetermined not to take it personally. To be honest, just the preparation, the singing and dancing I did on my own has welled up a joy and vitality in my spirit that I intend to continue.
So instead of dancing, I pulled up a chair to my brother's table. I hadn't seen him in a long time. He's had a stroke and another during major surgery. Even so, he and his family stayed afterward to rinse plates, babysit, and to do anything else they could.
At whatever point, Megan was just plain ready to leave. We passed out tubes of bubbles to send them off, but not before I got to talk with a beautiful pregnant woman of Pakistani heritage, who is a friend of the groom's mother and had flown in from Dallas that morning, about how much she loved the reminders in the preaching and beauty of the room. There were people from all over, a young man from Washington state, who was a volunteer in Key West where Jeremiah and Megan met: some of Jeremiah's family from California and his childhood friend and groomsman from Alaska and another friend from Maryland, and plenty of others from up and down the East coast.
There, just like that, it was done!
Everyone automatically went into cleanup mode. A certain person we didn't even know named Daniel from Tennessee, his sister's escort, helped as much or more than the rest of us, as well as having done the organizing of the pizza in the kitchen.
Timothy, our six foot six son-in-law, and Michael, six foot five, were taking down the four trees from where the vows were made. It was intended to look like the outdoors with heights from 12 feet to 5. Dr. Miller kindly provided them from his tree farm (along with all the boughs I used for the tables), the same farm Michael was the foreman of a few summers back and the same farm that Miranda made wreaths for a few Christmases ago. Dr. Miller had ridden up with Jeremiah and Megan the week before to hand pick it all. Dad had made and brought up from Georgia old fashioned stands for them.
The music came in handy for the setup AND the cleanup. Everyone gathered their valuables, the sentimental things that'd been passed down or made: all the wooden things not only Pop made but Dad also, Mamaw's punch bowl, Cleo's silver platter, McKala's things from her own wedding, everyone's crystal, nativities, and vases, the pine cones Megan gathered on deployment in Panama City where she only got back from December 3rd and the Redwood ones a Samaritan's Purse volunteer mailed her from California and the ones her Grandmother collected from our hometown in Georgia, Megan's childhood Flexible Flyer sled that'd I'd gone through thousands of pictures to find snow ones to display on, together with the winter ones Jeremiah's mother sent of him. A special one I had enlarged was of him as a boy, loading Operation Christmas Child shoe boxes onto a small plane. I was able to come up with one of Megan and Melody processing shoe boxes in Boone, NC, the original site. I know there are others but there are still thousands more pictures on USB that I couldn't find time to go through. Besides, there aren't pictures of the first year we packed shoe boxes from home in Georgia. Megan called me recently when a question was asked at work, "Where did the first shoe boxes go?" She knew, the only one in the room that knew. She remembered what she put in it even. When we moved to North Carolina, she volunteered as soon as she was old enough, 14, in the shoe box facility, the only one at the time. Her brothers and sisters followed suit. Macklynn will be old enough next year, and he will be old enough to go on disaster deployment, with an adult.
His parents, Mark and Michele (gotta love that it's so close to ours, Mike and Michelle), staying at his apartment (and cozied and stocked it before flying home) left with the gifts, the top of the cake, their girls, a lot of the tuxedos, and I don't know what else. Pop and Memaw needed to get back to their hotel room and soon back to Georgia. Memaw is not well but was more concerned that she couldn't stay longer since Mike's not doing well. Her eyes misted over not only for this but for the way others chose to go about the occasion. I hated to see her leave in that condition. Just before she did, as Heather approached to ask what else she and two of her devoted daughters could do, Memaw said to her, "I don't have a best friend, but if I did, I'd want her to be just like you." Wow, did she get it right!
When we found ourselves gathered in groups chatting, someone realized we were through. And we had a big round of applause! We all went home with the leftover pizzas and drinks, a nice reward: that no one would have to cook the next day.
Mike, Michael, Macklynn, Madalynn, and I came home with five 16 inch pizzas, cookies, dressings and (family caught) salmon - dip Jeremiah's mother made, tea Megan made herself to her own specs, and the second layer of the four layer alternating key lime and vanilla cake an SP coworker's wife made, no less beautiful or tasty than a professional's. I felt compelled not to throw any of it away and, in so doing, did my part in consuming these things over the past five days. Thank goodness it's gone, or my dress (I have already washed the oil and mud out of and put away) will not fit for the next wedding. Mike and I barely got it on for this one - up 15 pounds from the last one!
It didn't help that most of us, including Megan, caught a cold at the wedding, and that it's my PMS week. How easy it is to fall off the wagon, if for nothing but food! I should say that if only the cold, some parking deviations, the smell of a banned substance, and a lost, likely stolen, valuable are all that went wrong, it went well!
By Wednesday, I could finally see the countertops again. Jeremiah's family were back home in Alaska safe and sound by then also. We only had them over once for dinner during their 8 day stay, but I don't think I could've added in one more thing. It was certainly nice to finally meet the woman who has been reading and cherishing several of the very same books that I have here in North Carolina over these years. When Megan was there on one of her three visits, she sent me a picture of a particular stack of books one night that gave me chills, and I knew we were on to something, that Jeremiah had been raised up under teachings of the best kind, by Mike and Debi Pearl, that Dr. Ed Wheat had been an influence in their home, and that the Ezzos, as controversial as they were, found a place in their house too, with practical, sensible ways of training babies.
Today, Friday, the 21st, I think everyone is settled back in from their labor of love and waiting for Christmas, which Miranda and I were saying yesterday seems like a downhill slide/easy street after the last week. Mike is back to hunting deer and coyote from his rocking chair by the heater in his blind. Michael is working for Dr. Miller at the veterinary office and on farm calls during break, while we puppysit his three month old beagle, Lucy, in the basement and outside when it isn't raining. Melody is waitressing and finishing up class at the community college. Miranda and Timothy are each doing their work. Macklynn and Madalynn are closing out their online semester today. And McKala is bringing up those babies. But Jeremiah and Megan are on their way back after a night of gale force winds and waves trying to port after having been to Cozumel.
And here's the thing: Megan, the eldest sibling, has always had everyone's back, but now someone has hers. And I don't know where they'll be going together (both being SP employees now), but I know she won't be going it alone anymore.
And, THAT really makes me happy.
He got up this morning to have us all clean the inside and outside of the car perfectly. He also hauled the greenery that thankfully I was able to craft together all day Thursday for table garland the way I made wreaths years ago for his tree lot. I consider it a gift that when I finally went out to play in the two feet of snow from last weekend, I came up on the ten foot top of a holly tree (still covered in berries) that had broken, so I drug it to the house to use.
All the sisters met us Friday morning to set the arrangements out on the table runners Mike's mom made, with centerpieces of bowls and large wooden candle pedestals his dad made and vases full of cranberries and cut white poinsettias that I had seen online and put together, placed atop cedar cuttings my dad had prepared, walnuts and tea candles dispersed over the eleven barn wood tables. Once the glass and silverware were placed with the red cloth napkins, it looked nothing less than exquisite. Then, there were the eleven display tables to fill.
But first, before it all began, we came together in the center of the "barn," held hands in a circle and took turns praying. It was spontaneous and real. Miranda, who called the prayer, went up to the loft and turned on the playlist I'd prepared, and we went to work, all day, leaving just in time to change and come back for the rehearsal and bbq dinner.
His three sisters and Megan's four all went to the little rented house to spend the night, went on a midnight run to Walmart, and were up doing hair and makeup at 7 am. Melody had their makeup photo shoot quality, and McKala made their hair into luxurious braided crowns and curls. Unfortunately, they were not ready themselves when the photographer arrived. Nor had Madalynn, 10, gotten to have false eyelashes like the big girls and was moping. Since Megan had already treated her to a pedicure and long manicured nails with them Thursday afternoon, I gave in and called Dad because I knew he was stopping at the store. Next thing I know, he's calls me back, standing in front of the eyelash display of all lengths and colors, making sure he was getting the right ones. The thought of it was pretty charming.
When it was time to put things in vehicles, I decided to change into my boots because snow melt was everywhere. What girls were left got up in Dad's giant, white, covered, dually truck that they'd been transporting things in, and I climbed into Mike's little Toyota hunting truck, floor length dress and all. But soon, they turned off into a parking lot. Megan had left her veil! So, I drove back to get all 10 feet of it with it's Latin flair (that she had bought with her dress, not far from the Texas border on deployment) and arrived at the venue 10 minutes before the 2 pm scheduled ceremony! Needless to say, the cowboy boots stayed on, even though I'd told everyone else theirs couldn't.
In no time, Michael, our now 20 year old, nearly 300 pound O lineman was escorting me to my seat. Very soon, after Macklynn escorted one and Madalynn the other, I had a lap full of 18 month old twin. Mom had the other. The girls all dressed in white toile barely made it to the front, much less to stay there. I had pacifiers and snacks in my pockets, along with Kleenex and my glasses and a comb and lipstick.
And then the violins cued Megan in. She looked majestic.
I think the particulars of the wedding were so important to her, because normally she's found working on or driving something. She wanted to be a "girl" for a day, and, boy, she pulled it off.
The ceremony itself is a bit of a blur to me, except that they both were visibly moved during the vows and during Pastor Kevin's thorough explanations of marriage and how the wife ought to prayer over her husband when he can't.
We were shuffled outside into the mist to start pictures. Inside, the guests had access to a bar of hot chocolate, coffee, and apple cider alongside a display of milk and cookies both grandmothers had made and manned, Lauren Daigle's Christmas album playing all the while.
I was struck in the picture taking when all seven of our children were lined up with Megan in their gray tuxes and red satin dresses, and no one looked small anymore, not even Madalynn.
We took the babies in for casual clothes, so I didn't see but am told Megan and Jeremiah used the snow covered hill and fog as their backdrop. She wanted snow. Man, did she get it.
Megan came into the kitchen just as we were getting the babies in the playpen or maybe just when the Chicago style pizza was being delivered. I can't remember. Either way, I never left the kitchen. We needed to bustle her two layers of train, the way they taught me in the store, 18 buttons and thread hoops to find! Thank God, Kaitlyn stayed to help after she changed the babies with me.
Somewhere along the way, I decided to run out and get a bottle of Mexican Coke at the head of the pizza and salad buffet and take it back to the kitchen, where I rolled up a slice of hot pizza (not without dripping grease down my dress). It seems like it took forever to eat it, maybe because I knew there were people I should be talking to. I was away so long that apparently there were people I completely missed before they left, never even saw to begin with. I didn't know until afterwards that Franklin Graham's wife did indeed come. Neither did my friend, Heather, who just found out it was she whom she "laughed and talked for quite a while" with. (It says something for Mrs. Graham that she never revealed who she was.)
Mike came to me while I was in the kitchen and told me of the talk he and Dad had just had. They hadn't spoken in over a year and a half. Dad extended an olive branch. Although onlookers were afraid it was not so, it was. And the anxiety that had haunted Mike every day had melted away. He and I stepped outside into the cold to "breathe." It was surely a reprieve from the sweat that had been running down my back.
When we stepped back in, I heard music, the "wrong" music, as in it wasn't on the "playlist" I had carefully and painstakingly put together in hopes of honoring the Lord in our celebration. I was told it was because Jeremiah and Megan were lingering too long in conversations. Truth be told, I knew they weren't really wanting to dance to begin with; just not their thing. However, somebody finally turned on the father/daughter, mother/son song. My peace was momentarily removed when I instead saw Jeremiah and Megan dancing to it! Melody quickly notified Mike, so he stepped into his rightful position, asking for the dance. His boldness found a good place there, since they were soon in tears with each other. I looked beside me and so was our great friend, Heather, who had come through for us again and made the bouquets and boutonnieres. She was weeping for the healing that was happening right there in front of everyone's eyes. I looked to my other side to another of our great friends, Shannon (who had been flown in from disaster deployment just to be there), as she was recalling how things looked for the two of them only a year ago. And there I was with lasting, true friends in the Lord, who had flanked themselves on either side of me.
The intended song for Jeremiah and Megan came on, but they weren't out there. I was suddenly alerted to a situation occurring. Madalynn had gone to Miranda in an outburst of tears with fear that Mike would not live so that she might dance with him at her wedding, so she wanted to dance with him right then. I scanned over, and there she was, a river of tears as he cradled her head in his arm, dancing.
I had planned, and even sent a little line dance to several people to learn, hoping the songs and dance would be well pleasing to God, to set a new standard of fun. But I think emotions were so deep, both good and for others bad, resisting any rightness in the occurring circumstances, that it all just fizzled out, even when I made a call for folks to come up. Too, the ambiance was just really good: what seemed like hundreds of candles glowing, stomachs full, and conversations boisterous.
I let it go. I had predetermined not to take it personally. To be honest, just the preparation, the singing and dancing I did on my own has welled up a joy and vitality in my spirit that I intend to continue.
So instead of dancing, I pulled up a chair to my brother's table. I hadn't seen him in a long time. He's had a stroke and another during major surgery. Even so, he and his family stayed afterward to rinse plates, babysit, and to do anything else they could.
At whatever point, Megan was just plain ready to leave. We passed out tubes of bubbles to send them off, but not before I got to talk with a beautiful pregnant woman of Pakistani heritage, who is a friend of the groom's mother and had flown in from Dallas that morning, about how much she loved the reminders in the preaching and beauty of the room. There were people from all over, a young man from Washington state, who was a volunteer in Key West where Jeremiah and Megan met: some of Jeremiah's family from California and his childhood friend and groomsman from Alaska and another friend from Maryland, and plenty of others from up and down the East coast.
There, just like that, it was done!
Everyone automatically went into cleanup mode. A certain person we didn't even know named Daniel from Tennessee, his sister's escort, helped as much or more than the rest of us, as well as having done the organizing of the pizza in the kitchen.
Timothy, our six foot six son-in-law, and Michael, six foot five, were taking down the four trees from where the vows were made. It was intended to look like the outdoors with heights from 12 feet to 5. Dr. Miller kindly provided them from his tree farm (along with all the boughs I used for the tables), the same farm Michael was the foreman of a few summers back and the same farm that Miranda made wreaths for a few Christmases ago. Dr. Miller had ridden up with Jeremiah and Megan the week before to hand pick it all. Dad had made and brought up from Georgia old fashioned stands for them.
The music came in handy for the setup AND the cleanup. Everyone gathered their valuables, the sentimental things that'd been passed down or made: all the wooden things not only Pop made but Dad also, Mamaw's punch bowl, Cleo's silver platter, McKala's things from her own wedding, everyone's crystal, nativities, and vases, the pine cones Megan gathered on deployment in Panama City where she only got back from December 3rd and the Redwood ones a Samaritan's Purse volunteer mailed her from California and the ones her Grandmother collected from our hometown in Georgia, Megan's childhood Flexible Flyer sled that'd I'd gone through thousands of pictures to find snow ones to display on, together with the winter ones Jeremiah's mother sent of him. A special one I had enlarged was of him as a boy, loading Operation Christmas Child shoe boxes onto a small plane. I was able to come up with one of Megan and Melody processing shoe boxes in Boone, NC, the original site. I know there are others but there are still thousands more pictures on USB that I couldn't find time to go through. Besides, there aren't pictures of the first year we packed shoe boxes from home in Georgia. Megan called me recently when a question was asked at work, "Where did the first shoe boxes go?" She knew, the only one in the room that knew. She remembered what she put in it even. When we moved to North Carolina, she volunteered as soon as she was old enough, 14, in the shoe box facility, the only one at the time. Her brothers and sisters followed suit. Macklynn will be old enough next year, and he will be old enough to go on disaster deployment, with an adult.
His parents, Mark and Michele (gotta love that it's so close to ours, Mike and Michelle), staying at his apartment (and cozied and stocked it before flying home) left with the gifts, the top of the cake, their girls, a lot of the tuxedos, and I don't know what else. Pop and Memaw needed to get back to their hotel room and soon back to Georgia. Memaw is not well but was more concerned that she couldn't stay longer since Mike's not doing well. Her eyes misted over not only for this but for the way others chose to go about the occasion. I hated to see her leave in that condition. Just before she did, as Heather approached to ask what else she and two of her devoted daughters could do, Memaw said to her, "I don't have a best friend, but if I did, I'd want her to be just like you." Wow, did she get it right!
When we found ourselves gathered in groups chatting, someone realized we were through. And we had a big round of applause! We all went home with the leftover pizzas and drinks, a nice reward: that no one would have to cook the next day.
Mike, Michael, Macklynn, Madalynn, and I came home with five 16 inch pizzas, cookies, dressings and (family caught) salmon - dip Jeremiah's mother made, tea Megan made herself to her own specs, and the second layer of the four layer alternating key lime and vanilla cake an SP coworker's wife made, no less beautiful or tasty than a professional's. I felt compelled not to throw any of it away and, in so doing, did my part in consuming these things over the past five days. Thank goodness it's gone, or my dress (I have already washed the oil and mud out of and put away) will not fit for the next wedding. Mike and I barely got it on for this one - up 15 pounds from the last one!
It didn't help that most of us, including Megan, caught a cold at the wedding, and that it's my PMS week. How easy it is to fall off the wagon, if for nothing but food! I should say that if only the cold, some parking deviations, the smell of a banned substance, and a lost, likely stolen, valuable are all that went wrong, it went well!
By Wednesday, I could finally see the countertops again. Jeremiah's family were back home in Alaska safe and sound by then also. We only had them over once for dinner during their 8 day stay, but I don't think I could've added in one more thing. It was certainly nice to finally meet the woman who has been reading and cherishing several of the very same books that I have here in North Carolina over these years. When Megan was there on one of her three visits, she sent me a picture of a particular stack of books one night that gave me chills, and I knew we were on to something, that Jeremiah had been raised up under teachings of the best kind, by Mike and Debi Pearl, that Dr. Ed Wheat had been an influence in their home, and that the Ezzos, as controversial as they were, found a place in their house too, with practical, sensible ways of training babies.
Today, Friday, the 21st, I think everyone is settled back in from their labor of love and waiting for Christmas, which Miranda and I were saying yesterday seems like a downhill slide/easy street after the last week. Mike is back to hunting deer and coyote from his rocking chair by the heater in his blind. Michael is working for Dr. Miller at the veterinary office and on farm calls during break, while we puppysit his three month old beagle, Lucy, in the basement and outside when it isn't raining. Melody is waitressing and finishing up class at the community college. Miranda and Timothy are each doing their work. Macklynn and Madalynn are closing out their online semester today. And McKala is bringing up those babies. But Jeremiah and Megan are on their way back after a night of gale force winds and waves trying to port after having been to Cozumel.
And here's the thing: Megan, the eldest sibling, has always had everyone's back, but now someone has hers. And I don't know where they'll be going together (both being SP employees now), but I know she won't be going it alone anymore.
And, THAT really makes me happy.
(2018)
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