A home of remembrance...

     I will always cherish the gift of our  California mountain home.The seasons of quiet and beautiful chaos we had there are imprinted deep inside us. I learned to garden. And I learned to pick and pit sour red cherries better than most. And those pies, they were seriously the best ever. 

     It was in this place that we slowed down, breathed deep, praised God, and really began to see. And In the slowing and the quiet I also began to listen and hear. Not just God's voice, but the gentle sound of the creek, the frogs, and the breeze.

     It's where my husband got his first 2 brother labs and where they met their sister and their cousin. Oh the love. Oh the messes. 

      And oh...the memories...

      My daughter became a mother in this season, and then a mother again, and a mother again. Three boys, two years apart. More of their babies went to heaven than were born on earth, and that season was long and hard on them, but the time she and I got to spend together in that home with those babies. So precious. The most most precious of things. 

     It's where my son brought me baby turkey's for a house warming gift and where he'd jump and hang from the rafters in the den. It's where he made a new creek with his father. They turned it into a babbling brook. It's where he swam with dogs on his back in the pool, and where he climbed to the top of the windmill to fix it. 

     It's where a fiery redhead read books on the back porch, let baby lizards trek up her arms and took black and white photos on a walk. Its where she pulled wagons full of apples from the orchard to the porch. It's where she became an aunt, and cut all her nephews hair. 

     My first Christmas in that house I went crazy. I love Christmas and decorating for Christmas, and I now had a home that begged me. So... I had a tree in almost every room. Candles in every window. 

     It's where, for our anniversary one year, our children bought us a gift of a grafted peach tree with three different kinds of peaches. I smile when I think about it because it's just like our children. Each one different. And I got so excited the first year it peached. We had to leave that tree in the yard when we left California for Georgia, but when I picture it, and I do, it's full. 

     I see our strong-willed first born sassy Mama teacher peaches growing plump and beautiful on one branch. Next to that one, is our son's. Ever so charming and coordinated, his peaches are probably hanging upside down and tempting the picker with everything smart and Disney.

     And on the third branch, our fiery haird baby's peaches. They are one with the tree. In total communion with the roots and the trunk. Standing tall. Shining in the sun. Her fruit refracts the light differently.

     And then I picture the pickers. They cone to harvest, but pause at the first branch. Pulled by the strength and sureness of the beautiful peach. They touch it, knowing what it is. Then the charm of the second branch pulls them with a force they can't deny. 

 

The grafted peach tree Anniversary gift from our 3 children. 3 different kinds of peaches. Just like them.

           Decorating for Christmas with trees in almost every room.

           Spring bringing new life and promise with blooms on the fruit trees and berry bushes. 

           Sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews, very special friends, our memories.

           The family cherry pickers, and the pies that came after. 

          Mother daughter Christmas parties. Baby showers, Easter feasts, Super bowl parties and                          Weddings. Oh...the weddings.

          The baby boys, the rocking, the lullabies, the cuddles, the kisses, the cries the laughter. 

          The races around the house to tire them out, and the three brother baths that had me                                   laughing until I cried.

         

          The Papa who would take the three clean pajamaed boys and settle them in for snuggles and a                 movie while I took a break.

          

          The playing and jumping in piles of golden leaves.

           The new Puppy brothers, their Puppy cousin, and our girl Onyx who let them know whose                       house they were at.        

          

          Dirt box and sandbox garden time.

My first grandson. My best buddy for 2 years before his brother arrived. He is the one who named me, and he moved right into my heart. The amount of photographs I have of him is a bit embarrassing.

       

          The boy who ran and got all the ripe strawberries from the garden before he even came                            into the house. This is also the one who I followed to the pond every time he went that direction              because I knew he would fall in, He did, He was the only one. This one also climbed so high up              a tree that it scared me, and Papa wasn't home. And he always picked flowers for his mother.

  

The third baby boy. He's what made Paul see how God was redeeming his life. And I was so in love with this ones chubby hands and feet that I thought I might die from it. 

          Dinosaur books, and Mater and Elmo and Lightning McQueen. 

           Swords and shields and warriors. 

          Long walks and Rhino rides. My forever favorite Rhino rides with a picnic and my Man. our                  favorite dates.

Little hands dripping with creek water held up in front of eyes of wonder, as they show me the shiny treasures inside.

          Three seasons of singing and swinging with baby boys on a porch in the back by the pond.

Tummies that ache from too too many pears.

          Chins stained and dripping with juice from blackberries.

My miracle Sweet peas.

          My baby cows.

           Sunsets and sunrises and nights with more stars than I knew existed.

           Bike rides on country roads. 

          Summer picnics on a blue blanket in grass with goldfish crackers on white plates.

A daughter who laughs and cries and prays and waits

          The trips to feed the ducks in Bishop and the time Reed found a Duck egg.

           The amazing find of three dinosaur eggs in our yard and then an evening around then table                     excavating the baby dinos.

          The stunning winter snows. 

           The sleepovers, the books, and the bedtime stories.

          And a husband...who never stops...just makes it all beautiful for us.   

Mountains and sunsets. Morning light and promise.

Goodness, and God, and Glory

I plant memorial stones in this messy place. Deep deep in my heart.

I know. I will never forget. I will always remember.

Life and death and truth and love. And the greatest of these...

 

 

 

Boxes of treasure...

 

     One year when our Grandsons were little, instead of giving them Easter baskets, we made them treasure boxes. I found three raw wood boxes while I was thrift store treasure hunting one day and knew they would come in handy for something. Three boys, three boxes, right?

     Then, when Easter was on the horizon, I came up with a plan. I painted each box with a resurrection scene and found Scriptures that spoke about treasure and painted one on the front of each boys box. And then, the hunt for treasure box content begun.     

     Boys love stuff. Rocks, sticks, feathers, coins, too big watches, old tie clips, bolos, belt buckles, old coins, you name it. Anything their Papa found in the closet and gave the boys was a treasure. These boxes became so much more than I can even find words for. And for me, that's saying a lot. The boys loved them so much. We barely got a hug or a hello when they arrived for playdates after that. It was always, "Can we have our treasure boxes?" 

     Over the years, Paul and I would find things on trips that would fit inside them, and each time we presented them with something new, it was like we had given them gold. Little glass vials filled with colored ocean sand, little wooden turtles, cheesy painted surfboards on a string. Wooden mountain coins from our local Jazz Jubilee. 

     And so, when the boys came over the treasure boxes came out. They'd sit on the living room floor and dump out the contents. They would talk about their stuff, sometimes trying to trade, and then rearrange everything before putting it all back in. Over time though, as the boys got older, squabbles began as all the stuff on the floor got mixed together. "That's mine!", one would say. "No it isn't. It's mine!"  "Give it back!" "Mamo! He took my..."  whatever it was that he had been accused of taking. So I would have to intervene and the treasure boxes would be put away and there would be tears. 

     But over the years as I have thought about those boxes and the love the boys had for all the contents, which was mostly junk, my hearts swells with joy from the memories.

     And last week, when I was editing this story for the book, I thought again about the boxes, trying to picture the things inside. I was pretty sure we had given them back to the boys before our move across the country, but I asked Paul if he remembered. 

     "I'm pretty sure there upstairs in one of the guestroom closets." He told me. 

     A few days later, I opened the boxes and spread the contents across my bed. Flooded with memories I picked things up as sweet tears filled my eyes. One of the boys still had the baby dinosaur that came from the eggs I buried in our yard. One evening, after digging them up, we excavated three baby dinosaurs around our kitchen table. The next time the boys came over, we made nests for them from twigs and feathers we found on a walk. One of the boys boxes still had the nest inside. And there was money. Eight dollars in cash, and 100 dollars of Mamo money. But the sweetest thing, were the glass beads. I had no idea the boys had saved so many of them. 

     We had a creek that ran through our yard, so one day I decided to spread shiny glass beads in the creek for the boys to hunt. They went crazy filling their pockets with the shiny things. And if the sun hit them just right in the water they sparkled. 

     And so, it became a thing. Anytime we had a party or a celebration at our house, and we had quite a few, I'd fill the creek with shiny treasure and pass out little drawstring pouches for the kids to collect it in. I hadn't thought about this for years, but to see so many of these little beads inside the boys boxes almost made me cry. 

     We get to see these three grown up little boys soon, and I can't wait to see their faces when the boxes of treasure get back into their hands. I hope it brings them as much joy and happy memories as it did me.  

      Life and Love, Papa's old junk, three little boys, and three boxes of Treasure. Doesn't get much better than that. 

A whole new kind of love...

     There is nothing that compares to the love parents have for their children, but when my grandsons were born, I experienced a whole new kind of love. And I had a lot more time on my hands. I described it to friends as an explosion inside my heart that pumped a love through me I'd never felt before.

     Paul and I were blessed to spend more time with our grandsons than most grandparents get to do. Our daughter and son-in-law lived close, and we had recently purchased a beautiful home in the country. It was a perfect place to rock babies on my porch, sing songs about swinging, dig up dinosaur eggs, have living room diving Olympics, and let little boys fill their tummy's with fruit from the garden and trees. 

     One year, Paul made shields for the boys and I painted the spirit animal of their choice on the front. They became little warriors. And we had lots of sleepovers. And lots of baths. Little boys get dirty. Boy did we have those! 

     One year, I made, "Mamo money," and began placing it in cards for them. Mothers day, birthdays, Easter, Christmas. The recipient could cash in these $100 bills when they wanted some time with us. Ice cream dates, play dates, sleepovers, etc. Sometimes one of the boys would need a break from their brothers, and the oldest one asked me one day how much Mamo money it would cost for a 2 night sleep over by himself. I still smile at that memory. It became fun when the boys Mom and Dad wondered how much more Mamo money they might need for an Anniversary get-a way. I made sure they always had enough. And I have about 1,000 of this valuable currency left, so each of the boys will get some to remember. And if I'm lucky enough to experience another generation of little ones, I'll make some more.

     Each of these 3 darling boys wore the same cowboy chaps and stood by the same window in different seasons. And each of them got wrapped in the same lion towel at about the same age. They walked with me dressed as Ninja's, and hiked in a line behind their Papa. And oh...the Rhino rides.

     These three little boys who live in my heart are all young men now. They are strong mountain bike riders and Nordic skiers. Amazing, smart, charming and handsome. One does the craziest coolest yoyo tricks you've ever seen, another one has the most intelligent conversations of anyone I know, and one of them is full of charm and has started playing the guitar. And their smiles...

Man, their smiles.

    Their parents are the most self-less, generous, and best kind of amazing people, and I will forever be thankful that we got to share in their precious lives from the moment they were born and watch them grow. I love you boys so much!

     And lastly, I can't help but add one picture of Paul's and my own little group of three because they were the most adorable. And they are who taught me what love was all about. We didn't have smart phones back then. Our pictures were developed from rolls of film, and you never really knew what you were going to get. I wish I could lay my Mama moments alongside these Mamo ones, but I can't. So you'll just have to trust me when I say that these three...Man oh man! They stole my heart.

 

A forever remembered, "Homemade Christmas."

     

     It's the last thing I do before going to bed and the first thing I check on when my feet hit the floor. My projects. My Christmas. It came out of a need to save money, so I've been treasure hunting. I decided to make all my Christmas gifts this so I've been collecting things that have a past. I am going to make them new and they will become the next chapter of stories for my family.

      Today, as I began to sand through wood trying to erase scars and scratches I suddenly picture the hands and feet of Jesus. His scars changed everything, so I stop sanding. The nicks and notches in the old wood have suddenly become beautiful.

     I can't explain exactly how I feel doing this. but it's a joy I've never felt before. I  have come out of a really hard season, but I feel God's presence beside me. In this quiet time alone in my greenhouse God takes me back to places where I planted Memorial stones. He's been reminding me of the Praise on the hilltops, and also staying close beside me as go back together and skirt the darker valleys. He reminds me that my story was written by Him and he wants me to leave behind a part of Him in it, and so...

     I sand and stain and arrange and glaze and paint and wait and check on...

     Weeks go by and I sit here still, in this place of remembering. A place where God's truth, power, and promise rush around and through me so fast that I spin. Mostly with joy and love...and yet...most of my Christmas still sits in piles unfinished. 

     This room...a mess. But beautiful chaos I think. In the corners lay lovely things that wait. On a table, ruined by glue and paint, sits three cut out's of little boys hands and a box. The box is for Stella Grace.

     And then Fall came...

     And with God's very breath over our country mountain home, fresh inspiration came over me in the season I love the most. So I started to collect the pieces of our home that I can give away to remember. Our leaves. 

      I preserve, and paint and make remember...and I nowchave faith for my pile of unfinished...because there will be birthdays and weddings and babies and graduations and God stories. May our lives be full of these.

     And on Christmas I will give away forever remembered moments of a season in my life. A season written by God where a greatly loved daughter had a heart full of praise.

A moment in the life of a girl

    As I walked toward the fence behind the batters box, bright lights suddenly popped on, and there he was. Dad was on the pitchers mound warming up. He looked so different than he did throwing pitches at home in the backyard, and I couldn't take my eyes off him. As he wound his arm around and then let loose of the softball, it flew into the catchers mitt with a loud pop.  

     My fingers looped themselves into the chain link fence behind the catcher as I stared at my Dad mesmerized.

     I knew that he was going to pitch that night, we'd all been talking about it for days, but now, seeing him in uniform lit up by the lights with crowds of people watching and cheering, he was so much more than just my Dad. He was, suddenly, some other incredible thing. He was intense, powerful, strong, confident...and oh, so handsome. 

     And as the sky grew dark, Dad looked at me and winked as he ran to the dugout to join his team. I saw him stop and say something to the umpire before the other teams pitcher made his way to the mound.     

    The umpire took his place behind the catcher and looked at me. "Your Dad asked me to tell you to take your fingers out of the fence, honey," he told me, "And to step back away from the backstop. Fly balls sometimes go over the fence." 

     "Okay", I replied pulling my hands away. "I've never seen my Dad pitch in a real game before?" I told him. "Oh yeah?" The Umpire replied. "Well you're in for a real treat tonight then, because your Dad's a real good pitcher."

     And as I walked away from that moment in time, I knew that Dad would always be more to me than he had before that moment. Because in the minutes that I watched him through the fence he had turned into something I had never seen before, and I would never forget it. 

     And later that night, when I stood in the concession line, Dad was on the pitchers mound again, and this time the game was in full swing. When our team cheered, I turned to watch Dad running back to the dugout as his teammates slapped him on the back. 

     "That Pitcher is my Dad!" I shouted to everyone who could hear.  "He's my Dad!"

Red lips and Ribbons

  

     You're right inside the in-between. Almost there but not quite there. You find yourself tettering the line between being an adolescent girl and wanting to become a woman. I know this because I was you.

     I watch as you feel your way along wearing red lips and ribbons. I see you breath deep and slow,  and I watch as you look back, perhaps in hesitation,  toward the place you came from. I see you stop and touch the silky ribbon in your hair. You might be thinking that you should have left it tucked in the back of your little girl drawer. But I can tell that you're not ready for that yet, and I'm glad. Please don’t be ready for that yet.

     Some run ahead of you on this line, laughing self assured, never missing a step, and you stand here covered in the wake of their dust. But then the boy runs by. The Stallion with the smile and the eyes. And when he stops, he turns his charm around and gives it all to you. All of it, and for a second you can't breath. But when you can, you take a deep breath, pop those red lips, and pull the ribbon from your hair. 

     I see you grip it in your hand, rub it with your thumb, and pause unsure. I get close enough to see you wobble on the line and I remember…

     In that moment what I really want to do is run to the line and hold you back. I want to take you back to the playground where little boys and little girls live. 

     But it’s a naïve thought and I know this because you would not stay there even if I did. I know you can't stay there, no one can stay there...and yet…I still wish you could and I'll hope it all the same. Just stay back with me for a little while longer, Please? Just a little while longer.

     But even as I think this, I see your desire to run ahead lured by the magnetic pull of that beautiful boy. You want another of his smiles. I know you do because I remember those smiles and that feeling.

   The desire to find your place in this herd of, "Children no more," is tangible. I can feel it, so  I place my hand on your arm. 

     "Can we stop for a second?" I ask?  You pause and turn to me. "I'm not sure you're ready for that?" 

     "For what?" you ask as you toss back your hair. "For the Stallion," I tell her, and tug the silky ribbon from her hand. Her breath catches, and I watch her face as it leaves her fingers.

     "Let me tie this back into your hair, okay?"

     She pauses, looks toward the direction of the boy, then at her ribbon in my hand. I watch her surrender as she lets out a long slow breath. "Okay, she says." 

     "And there will be many charming smiles ahead for you," I tell her, as I tie the bow into her hair and frame her pretty face.

     "So promise me you won't rush ahead too fast." 

     She blinks her eyes and sighs,  "Okay," she says, "I promise." 

     "And keep wearing this ribbon for a while too, all right? I can tell you're not ready to let it go." Another sigh as she nods her acceptance.

     "Will you walk with me for a little while?" I ask her. Then I nod to everything ahead of her on the line.  "That will all still be there and waiting when you're ready."

     She looks me in the eye and takes my hand in hers. "Thank you," she says.

     And so we walk.  And as I squeeze her hand, I smile.           

    

Before you were born...

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations Jeremiah 1:5

Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother’s womb. My praise is continually of you. Psalm 71:6 ESV

Even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him.  Ephesians 1:4 ESV

  

   So now...as you ponder these Scriptures and consider what they mean, I want you to think about what it might have been like before God breathed life into your earthy spirit, and let me tell you a story.

     Imagine this...

     You, a preciously loved and perfectly made child is placed at the beginning of a road by your Heavenly Father.  You stand there holding his hand and look down the road, but you don't  understand the things you see. This road is not familiar to you at all. It's full of loud voices, and chaos, and dirty things. It's nothing at all like the roads in Heaven. You look up at your Father, confused. "What is this Daddy?" You ask him. He kneels down beside you and places his hands on your face. "It's the road that leads to your life on earth, little one,"  and He draws you in for a hug, "and it ends back here in Eternity where you’ll be back with Me forever."   

     "No Daddy. I don't want to go!"

     It's going to be okay," He tells you, "because I have sent someone down this road ahead of you. It's how I know that you'll be back with Me one day. Now watch."

      So you sit in your Father's lap and see a man you recognize arrive on the road. "Is that Jesus?" You ask Him. 

     "Yes. That's right."

     You watch as Jesus clears a path of light along the road . "He will light your way," your Father tells you." And you Jesus gather up everything dark and ugly and carry it upon his back. You can tell that the pain of this hurts him and so you hold your breath and grab your Fathers hand. "It's going to be okay." He tells you.  And pulls you close. "I promise."

     Further down the road, you watch Jesus break bread at a table with twelve men that he loves. And a bit further you hear his cries to the your Father from a garden." 

     "Oh Daddy!" you say. 

     Then you see Jesus fall as he carries a large wooden cross on his back. "Please help him," you cry as you squeeze your Father's hand, and He has tears in His eyes when he answers you. "I can't." He says shaking his head. "Jesus had to do this. His sacrifice and death on the cross is what changed everything."

     And so you watch as Jesus' hands are nailed to the wood. "His scars!" you cry, rubbing a finger over your palm. "That's how he got them?" 

     "Yes, sweet girl. That's how he got them."

    Then tears fall from your Father's eyes as Jesus says from the cross, "It is finished," and you see Jesus take his last breath.    

     "But... Jesus," you say. "He's here."

     "Yes. His life on earth was over, so He came home. And you will too one day." 

     Your Father holds you for a long time. He knows how hard leaving them will be for you.        "Your time is almost up, sweet girl. You have to start your life on earth. Your family is waiting."  

      So you stand and sniffle. Take a few deep breaths. "Can I give Jesus a hug before I go, Daddy?"

     "Of course you can." Then your Father tells one of the Angels that he'd like to see Jesus, so you stand and look at the road until Jesus arrives. When he does, you run into his arms. "I love you, Jesus!" you say, arms wrapped around his neck. "I love you too, precious girl!"

     When he finally puts you down, you look up at him and take both of his hands in yours. Then you kiss each scar inside his palms. 

     "Go on now," your Fathers tells you. Your family is waiting, remember? Your life on earth is about to begin."

       Still holding God's hand you take an unsteady step and place your foot onto the terribly stained and rutted road before you. "I don’t like this road, Daddy,”  you tell him. “I'm scared."

     “Jesus will light the way, remember? But you must go down it.” He tells you this with love. “It is simply the way it must be. And know this too," He pauses. "You will leave your own ugly stain behind my sweet girl, because you will become a daughter of Eve and you will have a sin nature. A time will come that you will turn away from me.”          

     “No Daddy! Please?  Don’t make me go. I want to stay here with you?”

     “You cannot."   He says firmly.  "You must go. Walk in faith and trust me.  And remember this... My Glory will be everywhere. So if you look for me, you will see me. And when Jesus died, he left an earthy Helper behind. It's called the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit will teach you and help you remember the things you already know. Study the Bible and learn about Eternity, and then all the truth inside you will return. Do those things, and they will lead you back to me.”

     So with crocodile tears you take another small step and you watch as your Father engraves your name into the palm of His hand.  "I know every hair on your head,” he tells you, “and I see every sparrow that falls. So go on now.”

     You turn around for one last look and plead.  “What if I'm not ready?” 

     “You are ready, sweet child.  I promise you. I know everything that is coming and I'll never let you out on my sight. You’ll see me at the other end of this road.”  He points to something very far away that you can't yet see. "And it is glorious. Remember Heaven, because this is your home for Eternity. Its what you'll be living for."

     And then, as you start to walk away, God knits you together inside your mother’s womb for your time on earth, where you will form and grow.  

    And then, with Jesus at His side, your Father in Heaven picks up the Book of Life and places it on a table shining with gold and rubies and emeralds.  He opens it to your special chapter and looks at the topography of the road of your life.  He records every twist and turn, your every word, and every praise.  And in the place where He finds you on a mountaintop in communion with Him, he draws a heart, and Jesus smiles. Your every thought and word has been recorded, so with his palms open and laid upon the pages of your life, He sits, and closes his eyes as a tear rolls down his face. "I'm going to miss her so much while she is gone."

    "I know Father, but she will find her way back." Jesus places a hand on His Father's shoulder. 

     The Father nods. “I know she will, and he pats Jesus' hand. "But she gets lost for quite some time and the enemy’s strongholds against this little one are great. Her life gets very dark.”  The Father pauses and another tear falls from his eye.  

     "It is because your love is so great, Father.”  The Son says as he sits beside him. The Father kisses the top of his head. "And she finds her way back because of your sacrifice from the cross.” he tells him. "It hurt me so much to watch you go through that." 

     "I know Father," Jesus responds, "But I only do what I see you do.”  Jesus adds.  

     They stay like that for a minute, then the Father says, "Let's walk." So together they exit a doorway filled with Glorious light.

   The Father smiles.  “Now my Son, what are the Angels going to sing to me today?”