Delaware Grammy

When her big sister got her hair done, Muffie was almost unable to stand it.
I “bought” a stay of tantrum by promising to braid her hair the next time she came to our house.
Her mama said that she couldn’t have braids and beads because it cut her hair off the last time she had that.
I told Muffie that I would French braid it for her. She couldn’t wait to get started.

It really was a mop of hair.  I sorted and combed and divided and

.

.

.

eventually, Conquered!

She was so tickled with it — though she actually didn’t know what a “French Braid” was.
I had hoped to do it in a crown, but she has too many short hairs around her neck to make that feasible. 
So I settled for two French braids with the ends tucked up. 

Mya is still happy with hers.

Here the four of them are this evening. 

What a day!

This old lady is ready for bed!

Our girlie spent eight hours in the chair today,
but maintains that it was worth it!

This morning, she got a ride with Mr. Daniel, on his way to work.

Tonight, I picked her up–
and forgot to take a picture with my camera
But I did get one with my phone . . .

To say that she was pleased would be an understatement.
She is one happy girl!
(As is her Mama — )

. . . and I think she is as pretty as a princess.
Thank you, every one who has been a part of this:
Hairdresser, Denita Miller.
Then: Middle Daughter, Deborah, for the bulk of the financial investment.
Jimmy and Emma Patterson, who told us about Denita.
People who gave advice, prayed for this endeavor, and cheered us on.

. . . and a Father God, who engineered the whole thing.

Tonight, upstairs in our spare room, there is a little girlie who almost can’t stop smiling.  I wonder if she’ll sleep tonight.  I hope so.  Tomorrow is a BIG day!.

Tomorrow, a beautiful black gal, a sister in Christ, and one with a compassionate heart, is going to do Mya’s damaged hair into something our African friends call “kinky Twists.”  No harsh chemicals, no trying to make black hair look like something it isn’t — just a loving woman, with decades of experience, plying her trade with expertise and love.

When I think of the miracles that have led up to this, my heart is so incredibly awestruck, I can scarcely know how to respond.  How I pray for an outcome that is beyond “acceptable” in the eyes of this girlie (and her Mama).  What I want is “knock your socks off” results — “WOW!”  and “Awesome!” and “It’s so beautiful, I can’t believe my eyes!” kinds of results.

And I find it easy to believe those kinds of miracles tonight.

There is another story.

Several weeks ago, one evening, our grandbaby was tramping over the farm with her Daddy, and came upon a little scrap of a Siamese Kitten, crying piteously in the barn.  This precious two year old promptly sat herself down beside it, and began crooning to it, “Don’t worry.  We will take care of you.  It will be alright.”

I’ve had lots of exposure to abandoned farm kittens.  It almost never turns out right.  Even with bottles and attention and even instructions from vets.  It just isn’t a good situation.  Even when a kitten is doing well, it can suddenly up and die for no reason at all.  So when Charis appealed to her daddy for help and he promised to do what he could to help the kitty, my heart sank.  I couldn’t see how this would ever work out okay.  But I had this rush of admiration and love for our Beloved Son in Law.  It was like he knew how important this was in the greater scheme of things, and he jumped into the responsibility with both of his hands and all of his heart.

Deborah had attempted to save a kitten several months ago, and had  purchased a nurser and kitten formula, and I remembered exactly where they were, and gave them to Jesse to help in any way that was possible, and they hauled the little cat home and proceeded to attempt to get it to drink, poop and pee.  These three things are not automatic for small kittens.  The one thing in their favor was that the kitten was old enough to have its eyes open, and it started out very healthy.  It had just been abandoned the day that Charis found it.  But it took quite a while before the kitten would drink.  It took even longer to produce any kind of a bowel movement, and many, many prayers went up for this little scrap of life.  Gradually, it began to do very well, and even began to use the litter box in the last week or so.

Yesterday, Jesse and Chris had company.  The kitten, originally thought to be a female, and named Elanor, (changed to SIR Elanor) was busy and happy and entertaining.  He has become more and more beautiful as the weeks have passed, but is still quite a baby.  They still have to bottle feed him, and he certainly bears watching.  But he seemed his normal self last night when they put him down for the night. 

So it produced a great deal of dismay when Christina came out this morning and found him lying in his litter box, almost unresponsive, breathing heavily, and just very, very sick.  Mid morning, she called me and said, “Mom, Charis has something she wants to tell you.”

She put Charis on the phone, and I heard this little voice say, “My Kitty is sick.”  There was much crackling on the line, then, but then she said, “I prayed for him.”  Christina told me how she had prayed a touching prayer on behalf of her precious kitten and then Christina said, “Mom, I’m pretty sure he is on his way out.  I don’t see any way that he is going to make it.  He won’t drink his bottle, he just lays there, breathing really, really heavy.”

My heart sank.  I was in the middle of things that didn’t take much thought, so I began to pray fervently for that little kitten.  “Lord,” I kept saying, “Please honor the faith of Charis, and touch that little kitten.  You said that you care about the sparrow that falls, and so I know that you care about Sir Elanor.  Please undertake for this situation, and if it is your will, could you please heal the kitten?  For the sake of a little child?”

I called a couple of hours later to check on things.  “How’s the kitten?” I asked, with a great deal of apprehension.

“To tell you the truth, Mom,” Christina answered, “I am pretty sure it is probably gone.  I just haven’t gone out there to look because I don’t see how it is possible for it to survive.”

Grammy redoubled her prayers.

Imagine my joy when a few hours later I got a text message that said, “Elanor drank her bottle and seems to be be back to her hyper self.  Praise the Lord!”  (Yes, Christina thinks of him as a “her”)

Wow!  What wonderful news!  This Grammy’s heart could hardly contain her joy!  Tonight, Lem and Jess were here for supper, and Jess and Chris and Charis came, too.  Charis walked in, beaming.   The news continues to be — well– miraculous!  The kitten is back to his normal self.

I know that God has lots of stuff to do — there are wars and famine and trafficking and disasters and SIN!  But I am glad tonight that I have a Heavenly Father that cares about the sparrows that fall.  And believing that, I know He cares, too, about a little girl’s hair, and sick kittens, and a little girl’s prayers.

Yes!  Praise the Lord!

Eastern Redbud Tree

It’s been the warmest winter on record for our area.  I am sure that we will pay dearly for this shift in weather, and we are already in serious trouble when it comes to moisture and spring crops.  But I don’t think I’ve seen a nicer spring when it comes to flowers and trees and lawns and birds singing.  Looking out across the lawn from my family room windows, I saw this tree, caught by the afternoon sun, literally glowing in all its splendor.

 “He hath made every thing beautiful in His time . . .”
Ecclesiastes 3:11

“Oh, Earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. . . “
Thornton Wilder, “Our Town”

Sitting in my darkened cell,
          Imprisoned by fear and sin and shame.
Darkness around me there–

         
 Cowering there,
Just waiting for what I am sure
         Will be The Guillotine–
(it is, after all, what I deserve)
          When suddenly,
The LIGHT of HIS HOLY LIFE
           And the Glorious Gospel
Fall straight upon me.

          The shadows that are
Monsters, alive with terror,
          And the darkness that is
Blacker than a vault
          Is suddenly gone
Leaving only one shadow there.

          I trace it in the dust,
My gratitude finds life
          In tears
As I see patterned there,
          THE CROSS.

And another prisoner goes free!

On this day, in 1979, a precious little girl, with bouncing curls and shining eyes became our very own for ever and ever. She had been a part of our lives for two weeks near two years, but on this day we made it legal! Happy Adoption Day, Christina Yutzy Bontrager! This really is a “Glad we gotcha’ Day!” Daddy and I will always be grateful for THE GIFT.

We have missed a few “Grandma nights” this last while.  My Sweet Mama has had some work done on her bay window and when the house is all “up in a heaval” it just doesn’t work so well for her to have company.  But last week, her grandson, Chip and his fine wife, Susan and their two delightful little ones, Hannah and Clint III were able to come for the weekend and that caused great stirrings about to finish some of the work and have a “Grandma Night” with as many of us as could make it.  It was a great turnout, but I didn’t get very many pictures.  Trust me when I say that the food was wonderful!  A pot of cream of crab soup, hot, crusty rolls, fruits, little smokies, pizza dips and pizza-ish stuff in a pan, chips and salsa, Chips and a wonderful guacamole kind of dip, Cherry delight, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a delectable Butterfinger dessert and sweet tea and lemonade and kettle corn and I’m sure I missed some stuff!  (Did I make anybody hungry yet???)  It was so nice to be together, but we missed the ones that couldn’t be there . . . We were missing Nel and Rose, Alma and Jerrel, Clint and Frieda and Bert in our generation, and quite a few from the others.  But the families were well represented, and we had a great time.

Two Fine Nephews, Josh and Joe, during grace before we ate:

(Yepper, I sneaked a shot during prayer!)

And then there were the children:

James:

Hannah:

Then Charis and Clinty

And our three musketeers!

Three little girlies.
The three of them were watching a bedtime story just before we went our separate ways.
Almost the same size, and within a year of age.
Charis, on the left is our beloved only grandbaby.  She will be three this month.
Dorie, in the middle, is Mark and Polly’s granddaughter,
one among ten very beloved grandchildren.  She turned three in August. 
And the one on the right is Hannah, Clinton and Frieda’s granddaughter,
also very beloved among four equally precious grandchildren.  She will be three in June.

I kid you not. 
When these three get together, there is
Entertainment!

What fun!

What a blessing to be together at Mama’s house last night. 

It’s been a long, hard day.

Probably tangling with a case manager last night set things off.  I still think I was/am right.  But that is neither here nor there.  She has power.  And what is best for Cecilia and Nettie is that I get along with my team.  (Even when a case manager forgets that she is to be their advocate no matter what.  Even when a case manager is being ridiculous.  Honestly!  Aren’t the “rules” in place so that our individuals get the best care possible?)  Anyhow.  It wasn’t pretty.

In the middle of things when I found myself near tears, I decided to try to settle things down a little and give her a chance to (maybe) back off a bit.

“I think I am especially irritable today,” I said.  “Cecilia and Nettie have both been sick, and then I was so sick over the weekend.  Things look extra big to me right now.  But I feel that this is so unreasonable.”

(Some of you out there are wondering what could get me so wrought up — and it’s a very long story –but when Cecilia, who is autistic, blind and non-verbal gets a bill in the mail that the state won’t pay, the case manager wanted me to agree that I would go and get the cash from Ceclia’s bank account and take that specific cash to the place of business or go out and get a money order and mail the money order instead of paying it with my personal check, and documenting that I had taken the funds out of the personal spending money.  “We would never expect you to make a special trip,” she said, so condescendingly,  “Just do it sometime when you are already out.”  If I refused to do that, then she wanted me to agree that I would fill out a special form and explain to Cecilia what I was doing (!) and then have Cecilia sign (!) that she agreed for it to be done my way.  “Document the steps you took to do it that way,”  she insisted.  “That way when someone is auditing it, they will understand what you have done.”  I could not believe her audacity. I sent a copy of the bill and the check and a receipt along with the itemization. That really sounds like documentation to me!   I felt like I was part of some weird spoof on government policies.  The thing is, SHE is usually the only one who audits the record.

This discussion was going nowhere fast when. all of the sudden, in her sweet saccharin voice, she came towards me with her arms all wide outstretched. “Oh, Mary Ann.  Give me a hug.  I can see.  You are a WORRIER.  You are just so worried that something is going to go wrong and–” the rest of her sentence was lost on me.

I acknowledge that I CAN worry.  I know how to do it.  I come from a long line of accomplished worriers.  But worry isn’t my besetting sin as a rule, I don’t think.  It especially wasn’t at that moment.  I was angry.  I was livid, in fact.  And, cotton pickin’ it, now I was crying.  This combination only results in blubbering.  So I tried to stop crying, tried to think straight, tried to organize my head, tried to be the one who was rational.  And I decided that I would not back down.  I gave her the perfunctory hug, went back to the fray, and felt like I was finally heard.  I picked my words, decided what I could live with, and we parted with a fairly decent understanding.

But I was prickly inside all day.  Although there were some special blessings today that truly helped me through, I still found myself on the verge of tears all afternoon.  Daniel took me this afternoon to pick up our van that had been in the shop, and on the way home, on impulse, I decided to stop in at the local coffee shop to see if there was any JamaicanMeCrazy coffee beans that they are famous for.  I came into the homey atmosphere and waited while Chuck took care of the customer ahead of me.  The smells and the warmth swirled around me and suddenly I felt tireder than I had in a long time.  Chuck finished up and then greeted me with his usual friendliness.

“Hi, Mary Ann.  How ARE you today?”  I could feel his kind eyes trying to look into mine.  I studied the menu over the counter intently.

“Oh.  I’m – – Fine, I guess.” What was going on here?  Why was I feeling prickles behind my eyelids?

“That doesn’t sound convincing,” he said quietly.  “The kids okay?  Rachel doing alright?  Everyone doing fine?

That distracted me a bit, and I told him that everyone was fine, I had just talked to Rachel, Deborah was in Israel, and the kids were coming home for Easter.  Did he have any JMC Coffee?

He said they didn’t– they would get it in next week, and trying mightily to be cheerful, I ordered a bag for next week and got a caramel steamer to go, paid my bill, dropped in a tip and stepped back to the back counter to fix it just the way I like it.  Chuck went on to the next customer, and I stood at the tall counter, stirring my steamer and wondering what in the world was wrong with me.  That’s when the tears started in earnest.  I kept my back to Chuck and the rest of the shop, gathered up my steamer and quietly exited.  Tears were dropping fast, on the front of my shirt, and I was having trouble seeing.  I found my car and started home.

“Oh, Lord, you’re beautiful,” I began in the quiet car.  “Your face is all I see.  For when your eyes are on this child, your grace abounds to me.”  I sang while the tears streamed down, and gradually the peace began to settle in.  A sacrifice of praise helps me every time.  If only I wouldn’t forget so soon.

I got home, and it wasn’t long until Nettie came in from center and then Cecilia  I got Cecilia settled into her chair and then my sweet Mama called.  She asked about my day and I told her how I had been irritable and weepy all day.  When I told her that I suspected that it had something to do with the exchange I had with my case manager the night before, I realized that she hadn’t heard the story.  So I proceeded to tell her.

That was a bad idea, probably.  Not because she couldn’t know it, but I love to tell a story, and the truth is, I get really caught up in what happened, who said what, she said, I said, etc. and it doesn’t take too much for the emotions to come right back with rather alarming intensity.  So, yes, I was kinda’ mad all over again.

When Cecilia comes home from center, she likes a certain routine.  You take off her coat, she sits in her chair, you take off her shoes, you put her feet up and tilt the recliner back and put some music on her Bose system.  I had done all this except the music part.  Somehow I forgot to do that.  And another thing we know is that Cecilia hates conflict. And she has acute hearing.  So I was going on and on to Mama about my conversation with the case manager, and Cecilia began to be a little agitated.  Soon there were some irritating noises from her corner, but my attention was on cleaning up my kitchen while I talked to Mama.

Suddenly, there was this huge noise from Cecilia’s corner, loud, harsh and drawn out.  The noise she makes when she is really, really upset about something and is trying to throw up.  Something inside of me snapped.  Without missing a beat in my conversation with Mama, I turned towards her corner and said, “CECILIA!!!  YOU STOP THAT!!! RIGHT NOW!!!”

I said it loud and I said it mean.  Cecilia was immediately quiet.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was sorry.  I honestly can say that I don’t think I have ever spoken quite that way to her before. I was so ashamed of myself (and I should have been).  I knew I was going to have to apologize to her.  She really didn’t deserve to be spoken to in such a manner.

I finished the call, talked a little bit to Nettie, then decided to get it over with.  I walked over to her chair and got my face down on level with her face.  “Cecilia –“

She immediately held up her hand.  She has a bad habit of doing that and then wrenching the hand given to her, sometimes gouging it with her fingernails, and has been known to draw blood.  I wondered what I was in for, but I gave her my hand.

My heart gave a lurch.  She caressed my hand, gently, held it in her own as quietly as I would a baby’s and lifted her sightless face towards me.

“Cecilia– I’m so sorry for yelling at you so unkindly.  That was very wrong of me.  I’m so sorry.  Can you forgive me?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair then but allowed me to put my arm around her shoulders for a little hug before she shrugged me off.

But that quiet hand!  I am still in a state of disbelief.  And when I put her to bed tonight with her customary song and bedtime rituals, I whispered once again in her ear how sorry I was, and she pushed her face up against my words and opened those sightless eyes without a trace of frown or displeasure.

I’ve been forgiven, and His Grace abounds to me.

Certain Man and His Wife have been blessed with lots of little kids to love . . .

But this one is still our favorite!

Two girlies, pleased as punch.
Loving hands sewed them each a dress.
No reason.  Just promises made and kept.
Thank you, gokum.

I pray that the blessing you were to them
(and to me)
Will come right back
In the most unexpected ways
But at the “most rightest” time.
to bless you even more!