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The air is warm and damp with the recent rain. All the birds are busy at the feeders around the farmhouse at Shady Acres. The hummingbirds have been fighting all day. I hung one of the four feeders closer to the one that has the feistiest male and hoped for some peace in the hummerhood, but it has been to no avail. The dominant male now dominates both.

I know, I know. Never hang hummingbird feeders within sight of each other. I have four and they have never been within sight of each other, but the fighting going on at the busiest one was getting next to my peace loving heart, so I thought “Maybe!” . . .

Our Girl Nettie has been fighting with herself this week. Pneumonia, new meds and general living has combined to knock her shaky props askew. She came in last night, clumping up the ramp in a way that I thought there was something wrong.

“Well, Nettie!” I greeted her brightly, hoping for the best. “Did you have a happy day?”

That was the wrong question.

“Tell ya’ troof, NO!” and she pushed by me without so much as a glance. “I di’n’ do cups today.”

She usually washes up the cups from the morning coffee break at center. She seesaws between being proud of her accomplishment and being cross at them because they won’t pay her. Sometimes she complains of backache so much that they tell her not to do it, but that doesn’t really please her either. I wasn’t sure whether this was her choice or their call.

“Why didn’t you do the cups?”

“‘Cause I was too depwess!” She said with great aggravation.

“What???” I wasn’t sure I heard right.

“I was too depwess!” There was a hint of defiance in her voice.

“What were you depressed about?”

“I ‘on’t know. Sumpin’. I ‘on’ know. I tole Areefa (her health aid at the center) to take me a jail.”

Of course we redirected this conversation immediately. But today she has had her moments and between her and the hummingbirds I’ve done some ponderings on what it is that makes conflict in our souls and our world. What makes hummingbirds (and humans) fight their own kind when there is more than enough to go around? And what causes us to tell ourselves lies until we are fighting with ourselves over things that are forgiven or are merely a figment of our imagination?

Some of our conflicts come from our sense of entitlement that looks as ridiculous to the ONE who is watching over the universe as the behavior of the dominant male hummingbird outside my kitchen window appears to me.

And some of our inner conflicts come from reasoning that condemns us to a jail of our own making that is every bit as restrictive as the bars and locks of the jail that OGN is convinced she deserves.

The thing that comforts me on this warm Saturday evening is that God has a plan and He wants to help. There’s not much I can do to bring peace in the Hummerhood, or even to change OGN’s mind about the state of her guilt. But God has a plan in place for peace in my heart as I choose HIM and HIS WAY of living. He is strong and wise and good and ABLE.

But the choice is my own.

She was a cute smart medical assistant, taking my medical history at my latest yearly exam.

“Do you exercise?” She asked brightly.

I HATE that question.  But I’ve learned not to justify.  Too much, anyhow.

“No, I don’t,” I admitted flatly.  “I work hard, but I do not have an exercise routine that I follow.”

And she wrote down that I don’t exercise.

Like I said, I HATE it.  I feel guilty and cross and it makes me want to eat french fries.  I don’t even really LIKE french fries.

This morning at Shady Acres, involved in my Saturday morning routine, I watched out of the window as four young adults headed out for a walk.  All four of them are big into exercise, and they completed a 2+ mile hike before brunch and came back in various states of energy and excitement and flushed accomplishment.  Youngest Son and his father and I were standing in the laundry room afterwards, discussing the state of the world and the need to exercise.

“You guys just walked over two miles,” I said, “but as of now, I’ve stripped three beds, made two of them back up, done two loads of laundry, done the meds, did my ladies morning routines, made sausage gravy and baked oatmeal.  But I haven’t exercised.  I honestly haven’t had time!”

“That’s right.  You haven’t,” said Youngest Son,

“But this week when I was having my check up, they asked if I exercised and I had to say I didn’t.  I tried to say that I worked hard, but it didn’t count.”

“That’s because it doesn’t raise your heart rate,” said Youngest Son agreeably.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said, ruefully.  And that was that.

However, the fact that all my hard work doesn’t count as exercise does raise my dander.  Do you think that might count for something?

Certain Man has planted two long rows of onions down his garden for the last several years and we have had a difficult time with storage and methodology of such. We had spread them out on a large wooden wagon, let them dry and then used them up straight from the wagon (until the wagon was needed, then we had to put them some place else.)

Certain Man’s favorite method has been to take old nylon stockings and drop an onion into the bottom, tie a knot, drop in another, tie a knot and continue on until everything is safely tied into these long, hideous looking strings — which he then hung from nails in the “dungeon” (our canning cellar that is a small, cramped space that holds an air handler for our air conditioner and our canning shelves). These things would hang there in the very limited space and watch for me to come down the steps and they would wrap themselves around my unsuspecting neck or brush against my cheek, causing me to fling my hands around in great frantic motions to dislodge the tarantula that I was sure had suddenly descended from somewhere upon my personage. It was disconcerting to say the least and it would make me feel rather peevish when I discovered that it was, after all, just those onions in the nylon stockings, dangling from the ceiling.

Last year, we thought we would learn to braid them, and try to store them that way. However, the days went by, the onions got dug late, and we eventually let them dry on the wagon and used what we could salvage. This year, Middle Daughter, our cohort in gardening affairs, decided that we would make it happen. So last week, Sister in law, Lena, dug the onions and spread them out to dry on the same old wagon. Certain Man did some mutterings and grumblings about what we were going to do with them, and Middle Daughter announced with a great deal of firmness that she was going to learn how to braid them. Certain Man said that he thought we should just get some nylon stockings and just do it the way we always have.

Middle Daughter was not deterred. But she didn’t know what she was doing, so she went online and found a visual that would help her and she proceeded to try to learn to braid the monumental pile of onions. It was hard work, and the onions were not at all co-operative. She got about six or eight in a nice rope before she had to stop to go to work. But last night, the four of us, Certain Man, Middle Daughter, CMW and SIL, Lena, all went out to the shed and we persevered and struggled and —

(Drum Roll, here!)

WE DID IT!!!!!!!!!!

Some are neater than others, but we have ten or so ropes hanging in the shop, ready for our winter.

I’m so proud of us,  It was hard work, but once we knew what we were doing, it went really quickly.

And that’s the news from Shady Acres, where there is a cookout tonight in honor of Sister in Law Lena, whose visit with us comes to a screeching halt in the morning as she heads out for some more adventures of her own.  It has been such a pleasant time together.  We are going to miss her so much. But My Sweet Mama always said it was important to share, so I guess there are a whole lot more people who want a chance to visit with her, too.

Happy Trails, Lena-girl.  It’s been so good!

WE DID IT!!!

The house is quiet again. I came home from the funeral to find the table down, the house almost orderly again. Sister in law, Lena, had been very busy. People I love (Eldest Son and His Ohio Heart Throb with their three little munchkins) are on the road, heading home. Youngest Son went home to his Girl with a Beautiful Heart in Alexandria, VA and since there are no cousins to pull her in, Love Bug is home with her parents on Bontrager Road. The toys are still strewn in the sun room, and I have some kitchen work to do.

I’m getting old. I’ve realized this more and more over the last few months, but tonight I feel that deep, deep sadness, heart weariness and an “earth doneness” that reminds me that this isn’t all there is, and though this isn’t the back of the book yet, I’m a lot closer to it than I ever was before, and that there is no promise for tomorrow.

Tonight I am thankful for tight hugs and affirming words from sons and nephews and friends. I’m thankful for words that encourage and bless and though I am so aware of my failures and my shortcomings and sin, I am also grateful for grace — extended so freely to this Delaware Grammy who desperately needs it in her humanity tonight.

My heart WILL give grateful praise.

I love being a foster care provider for handicapped adults.  I love Nettie and Cecilia fiercely, protectively and I am so grateful that our family has had the opportunity to have them as part of our family.  And I will be forever grateful that our family had the chance to know and love and care for Old Gertrude.  (Some days I long to hear her funny sayings, to french braid that thin old hair, and fry up some scrapple for breakfast.)  I believe that the delight that I have enjoyed as a care provider is one of the ways that God has confirmed in my heart that it is what He wants me to do.

But I HATE the paperwork that goes with being a provider.  And over the last couple of years, there has been a gradual increase in the forms we need to file, the records we need to keep, and the deadlines that are imposed.  The thing is, I do like well kept records.  If I must  write a report every month on Cecilia and Nettie, saying what they did, how they participated, and what I did to help them realize their hopes and dreams, I try to make it complete.  And interesting.  Often my social reports are lengthy.

And then there are medication reports that detail the medications refilled, how many refills are left, and were they taken according to prescription.  Nettie takes 20 pills a day divided between five different times.  Cecilia takes 17, divided between three.  This has to all be accounted for.  And any doctor visits must be documented and a form signed by the doctor and turned in.  Anything having to do with the medical aspects of their care has to be carefully documented.  And rightly so.  At least, I guess.

And then there is the financial reports.  Every single penny must be accounted for, must be used for an acceptable expenditure and receipts must be provided.  A monthly bank statement must be filed for each individual.  Nothing belonging to one person can be on another receipt.  Nothing purchased along with family groceries is to be counted.  This is the report I labor over most of all because Nettie is always out of money at the end of the month.  Cecilia always has too much.  Sometimes I feel like my head is spinning round and round and round.

And then there is a compliance report that I need to file each month, too.  What is the water temperature?  When did I take it?  Is it between 110 and 115 degrees? Did I do the fire drill?  Are the fire extinguishers working?  Do I have disaster supplies?  Are exits clear of clutter?  Many other questions, including whether I got my paper work all in in a timely fashion and then a daily log as to whether my individuals spend part of every day in our home.  This one just became more compulsory because Medicaid has decided that they are not going to pay us unless we fill this particular sheet out and have it to their office by the 5th of the month for the previous month.

December was a really big month for me.  I labored long and hard over the reports because there were so many things going on.  I put all the reports except the compliance report (which gets faxed) in the same brown manila envelope, put the proper label on it and sent them to my case manager.  Whew!  That was done.  I was so pleased with the social reports because of the happy things that had gone on, but the financial records were a bit more challenging.  I was very relieved when everything was finally done.

A few months later I got a phone call from my case manager, asking me to please file my December paperwork.  I couldn’t believe my ears.

“We don’t have none of it,” said my case manager.

“But I did it,” I protested.  “I KNOW I did it!!!”

“Well, Ms. Yutzy, if you say you did it, I believe you,” she said.  “They’ll just have to figure it out.”

“Well, I KNOW I did it,” I said, more than a little perturbed.  (How could anyone lose my precious paperwork???)

My case manager knew that I was upset.  “Just don’t worry about it, Mrs. Yutzy.” she said matter of factly.  “I know it’s all gonna’ be alright.”

But about a month ago, she called me again.

“Ms. Yutzy, your paperwork hasn’t turned up.  Are you sure you sent it?”

“I’m SURE I sent it.  I have Stamps.com for my postage, and I remember printing that postage and getting the envelopes into the mail.”

“Well, we don’t have them, so what you’re gonna’ have to do is, you’re going to have get copies of the spending records and of the bank statement and send them in.”

“I don’t keep copies of that,” I said.  “I have so much paperwork that I just cannot make copies of everything.  I figured once I’ve sent it, then it is in your hands.”

“You don’t have copies?”  She asked, like she couldn’t believe it.  “Well, then you’re going to have to write a whole new one and just make up the receipts and I will sign off on them.  Just do it to the best of your ability.”

“I just can’t do that,” I said.  “I have no idea of what I spent that money on.  I did it once.  I shouldn’t have to do it again.”

“No, you shouldn’t.  But we must have something in the record.  Just do the best you can.”

I don’t know when anything has irritated me so completely nor frustrated me into such inertia.  I just didn’t want to do this.  I began thinking about things and trying to piece the month together somewhat.  I took both of my ladies into the bank so that we could get copies of the December bank statements.  When I saw the statements and pulled out a calendar, I began to have some hope.  But I still didn’t want to do it.  I was just so irritated with the whole mess.

Even more irritating to me was the fact that when I talked to my nurse, I discovered that someone had passed on to her ALL of the medical records for the month.  So someone had to have had my precious paperwork at some point to have turned over all the medical reporting from the month.

“Yes, Ms. Yutzy, it’s probably sitting on someone’s desk right now and someone will come across it.  But for now, we don’t have it and we have to satisfy the higher ups, so you still have to do it.  Just do the best you can.  Please.”

How I chafed!  How I grumbled!  How I procrastinated!  I was sick.  We had a family reunion.  It was difficult getting things in order afterwards.  I decided to make one more appeal.  I have a good friend in administration that I needed to discuss something else with, and so I called her and in the course of the conversation, bewailed my lack appreciation for what I was being made to do.

“Maybe you could do something for me,” I said hopefully.  “I just really don’t think it is at all fair for me to have to do this when I already did it and someone else is the one who messed up.”

“I know,” she said, “but I don’t think there is anything you can do.  I am sure you have to do it.  Sorry!’

Why this pushed me over the edge, I don’t know, but I had had enough.  I needed a word picture so that she would know how utterly unfair this was, how completely irritated I was and how I felt like I wasn’t really being heard.

“I’m telling you,” I said rather heatedly, “this makes me so cross I want to go into “J’s” office (head of financial records), lie down on the floor and KICK!”  That should show them.  A mental picture of unflappable Ms. Yutzy lying on the floor and kicking should for sure impress them with how aggravated I was.

There was silence.  Then:

“‘J’s’ father just passed away.  She won’t be in all week.”

Ouch.  Somewhere in my gut, I felt the old familiar “oh, no!  What have I done?  There goes the wind right out of my sails” feeling. I felt so ashamed of my rant, so sorry for “J” and her family.

There are things a whole lot more stressful, more important, more devastating than having to redo a month of paperwork.  Like losing a Daddy.  I had great cause to repent and wish that I could get my words back.  But they were out there.  I apologized and ended the conversation as quickly as possible.

The next day, in the flush of remorse, I got busy and worked on my paperwork and as of Saturday morning, it was all caught up.  It wasn’t quite as challenging as I thought it was going to be.  I put it out for the mail with an incredibly light heart.

In Sunday School this week, we were asked what one thing we would do differently this past week so that our lives would more accurately reflect the values of living in light of Eternity.  I immediately thought of those hasty words and realized that so often, out of a selfish heart, I say things that don’t really speak Jesus to those around me.  Sometimes the desire to be understood, or the desire to impress, or the desire to change the way something is going that makes things harder for me takes over and it feels like I need to use these words (that I really do love so much!) to make my point, convince my opponents, or somehow elevate my reputation.

And when I was reviewing that paragraph I was struck by how many personal pronouns were used, and how often the word “desire” popped up.  It can’t be all about Jesus when I want it all about me.

I’m not saying that Jesus wanted them to lose my paperwork.  And I believe that He understands that this isn’t much fun.  But —

I’m pretty sure that He stands ready to help me have the right attitude about it and that how I respond is always important to The Kingdom.

Because it really IS all about HIM.

My heart gives humbled praise.

The days at Shady Acres have been flying by.  This weekend, a healthy portion of Certain Man’s extended family will be here for a Ralph and Sue Yutzy Family reunion.  Daniel has three sisters, one of which has never married.  His sister that is next in line has seven children, all married.  One of her sons has no children, one son has one child.  But the remaining five have 28 among them (and at least one more on the way).  His younger sister had four children — three of which are married.  Between the three that are married, there are 16 Grandchildren with another on the way.

Certain Man’s late brother, Joseph’s family, swells the numbers by Seven.

But then there is Certain Man and CMW.  We have four grandchildren.  Four.

This is by God’s divine plan.  If had been by the will of Grammy, there would certainly be a whole lot more.  And to be honest, if children would be born just because a couple desires children, there would be a whole lot more, too.  But these wonderful grandchildren of Certain Man and CMW are exceedingly precious in our sight. Oh!  How we love them.

Anyhow, with those who aren’t able to make it (Raph and Gina from our family, and a number of others in both Rachel and Ivan’s family and all of Ruth and Andrew’s family, we are looking at 50 who will descend upon us for a few days of family fun and fellowship. ( Just in case anyone wants to know the total number of great grandchildren, there are 55.  And most of them are under ten).  Such a golden, lovely resource!  Oh, how we love the children!

CMW has been planting flowers in the nooks and crannies around Shady Acres.  It has been a bit frustrating, as most of the pretty flowers need full sun,  But there is no such environment around the old farm house.  So She has planted suitable things (as well as unsuitable, I fear) and prays for blessing on her pretty-pretties.  She found a wonderful array of flowers at the Greenwood Mennonite School festival last weekend and almost all of them are planted.  A visit to a local greenhouse yielded a few more to gladden her heart.

Last evening, Nettie and CMW were on the patio planting and arranging and trying to make some order out of the individual plants.  Nettie enjoys plants and the outdoors.  She has been a bit on the miffed side ever since CM and CMW went to Missouri, Iowa and Nebraska a few weeks ago, but a few evenings on the patio “helping” has improved her mood considerably.

CMW always feels more than a little disquieted when Nettie is off her eggs.  I never know if she will decide that she needs to go to the police to confess something that she has decided she is responsible for, or if she will think she has an incurable disease, or if she will decide that we don’t want her anymore, or that if she would just find somewhere else to live, all the adult children of Certain Man and Certain Wife would come home with all the grandchildren to LIVE! (Help the poor and the needy!)  Even though these things are so preposterous, Nettie really does believe them to be true and it takes a great deal of emotional energy to help her over the bumps in the road to where she is able to function again with some degree of reality.

Anyhow.  Nettie has been suffering through a psychotic episode for the last few weeks, but helping to plant flowers, even though she is just sitting in the outdoor rocker, watching and giving some suggestions, has been helpful.  Last night we planted flowers until it was too dark to see. Nettie came happily into the house to get ready for bed.  CMW came into the house, too.  Wowser! Was she ever tired!  The kitchen still needed attention, and Cecilia and Nettie needed their bedtime meds.  The Monday laundry was winding down and CMW couldn’t understand why she felt so out of sorts.  It had been a good day.  Along about 10:30, Certain Man picked up the laundry that went up to the Master Bedroom and announced that he was heading for bed.  Again, CMW didn’t know why it affected her the way it did, but she suddenly felt very lonely and put upon.  Then help descended in the form of Middle Daughter and the kitchen got finished up and the evening work was finally finished.

CMW climbed the stairs to the room that is so comfy and a sure refuge in life’s storms.  She discovered CM to be so fast asleep that he never budged a bit when she came into the room.  He has been working so hard, too, trying to get ready for the weekend,  and she looked at his face, so exhausted and yet so peaceful and she prayed that she would not awaken him.  Once again, she thought of how grateful she is for a shower, a comfortable bed, a pillow to help with the knots in the neck, a husband that she trusts with no fear of abuse or intentional hurt.

It was a tough night — CMW woke this morning with a fever and aching all over.  Today has been a day to sit on the chair and sleep.  The thing is, CMW believes that this is a gift to her from her Heavenly Father.  There were so many things on the agenda for this week that she wasn’t sure how she would ever get things done and still get ready for the reunion.  Major things like a yearly home inspection, dentist appointment for Sweet Mama and a neurology appointment for Cecilia–all this week. When she read the thermometer this morning and it was at 101 degrees she decided that she would cancel everything.  And she did!  Without a single qualm.  Suddenly, even with the fever and all over aches, the week looked doable.  And she calls that an incredible gift.

And that is the news from Shady Acres where Certain Man has betaken himself to bed and CMW is about to follow.

My heart gives grateful praise.