Delaware Grammy

 

Guess what, Dear Friends!

I can

SHOVEL MY GARDEN

and

IT DOESN’T HURT!!!

(at least it didn’t at the time . . . last night, trying to sleep it was a little different story, but anyhow–)

Do you know how long it has been since I could put a shovel to the ground, lean on it with either foot and not have pain?  or even have the strength to follow through?  I am so pleased this morning for this gift.

It’s a gorgeous day in Delaware.  The sun is shining, the birds are ecstatic, the grass needs mowing,

And the poultry alarm is going bonkers!!!

Certain Man had to make a flying trip home to save the situation.  One of our houses goes out tonight — at less than 7 weeks old.  That is really unusual.  The other one tomorrow night.  Certain Man isn’t a happy camper about the split nights.  He is alone at Kent County’s Plumbing Inspector Department, (colleague is out on an education week, and part timer is pretty much on his own schedule), and with the slight upturn in the building trade, inspections are up.  He has lots to do today.  Since he came home and took care of the alarm, there will be no lunch hour for him.  (He can eat on the run, and he will be okay.) 

I wanted to post a picture from my lunch out with my girlies:

This is Charis’ reaction to crab soup.

She wasn’t quite so against it by the time she had a few more bites.

The other thing that I wanted to share with you were some pictures from Youngest Son’s graduation.

He graduated from Bryn Mawr on May 16th with his Masters in Social Work.  He had gotten a job before he graduated that involves going into the ghetto and evaluating the status of people who are receiving assistance.  It is a heartbreaking job, and “No, Mom, it isn’t very safe . . .” but he is applying for some other jobs, and we are hopeful that there might be another position that will use the training that he has received in counseling.  Anyhow, just a pictorial update to keep you all entertained.

 

There are no males in the undergraduate program at Bryn Mawr, and out of the 124 graduate students, there were only 22 males.  So Lem was one of twenty two graduating that day with around 500 females (One graduation for the whole kit, kat and Kaboodle).  It was pretty exciting! This is Lem on the steps of the building where he has spent a lot of hours in the last year.  I think he is proclaiming his freedom!  Not only from the educational demands, but also, all that estrogen.

 

There is some female influence that he doesn’t get tired of, and that is his lovely wife, Jessica-

This day was an incredible milestone for them, and for their life together.

They have a friend that lives with them who shares rent and living expenses.  She is like a sister to them, and is an integral part of their lives (and consequently, ours).  Rachel Yoder graduated with Lem from Cedarville University last May, and moved to Philadelphia with them and also was in graduate school.  She graduated the day after Lem from UPenn.  Here are the three of them.

Celebrating!

Some random pictures:

Aren’t we a sorry looking crew!  (well, especially that poor soul in the front middle . . .) We had to park across campus and a shuttle bus picked us up and took us over to the graduation area.

 

Charis loves driving anywhere that she doesn’t need to be in a car seat.  And she didn’t have to be restrained in the shuttle, so she was showing off and enjoying the ride.

 

Once at the graduation area, there was a tent set up, and there was both inside and outside seating.  It was HOT in the sun, Cold in the shade, and hard to find a good place.  But it was beautiful.  What an incredible campus!

Jessica’s Mom and Dad are the couple that is sitting, properly and quietly.  The rest of our crew kinda took a long time to decide where to sit.  It really was a mess.  And the chairs weren’t the most comfortable for me.  Somehow the height was wrong for my knees, and it wasn’t exactly easy to sit.  But SIT, we did.  Eventually.

Here is a better picture of Jessica, Lem, Lynn and Larry.  It meant alot to us that Jessica’s Dad and Mom came to Lem’s grad.  It was the most gorgeous day, and I said to Certain Man, “Larry is the one who has sacrificed the most to be at grad today.  On this perfect weather day, I’m certain he would have much rather been out on his boat, but he gave it up to come.”  He has a lovely boat, and he works so hard all the time.  Saturdays and Sundays are his days to get away from it all.  Going to a graduation really wasn’t “getting away” at all.

And we got him all graduated, to our great delight!

 

 

Lem is totally in love with his little niece.  He takes every opportunity he has to develop relationship with her that is something of value to her . . .

. . . but he wasn’t going to let her go off with his diploma.  She tried hard, but he held tight.

 

Here’s our family — minus Raph and Gina, on the lawn after grad.  What a great day!

(But Raph and Gina — How very much we missed you!)

 

 

I wanted to do a big blog about last week.  There really was something almost every day!  Monday we helped pack out the kitchen at Raph and Gina’s trailer — so much fun being together, so sad to think about what we were doing.  We had a good time, things went smoothly and the pizza was good for lunch.  The day was hard for all of us, though. 

Tuesday, I had a huge wash because I had let it go an extra day, and then I baked bread and baby sat for my grandbaby.  That’s fun stuff!

Ah, my sweet Charis Darlin’! 
I never knew I would love a grandbaby so much!

Wednesday, I had a doctor appointment for Cecilia which takes more effort than I care to admit, and then had prescriptions to fill.  I spent some of the day calling people to make sure they knew that we were cleaning the church in the evening in preparation for Josh and Lawina’s reception, and then went up to help clean.  Thanks to all of you who helped — a small but mighty crew and we got it done.  Stanley Steemer had come and cleaned the floors and they were absolutely gorgeous!  The trustees and the deacon finally solved and fixed the problem of the leak and the floor has been dry for over a week now, so that is wonderful, too.  The clean basement looked as good as new!  Hard job done, and this old lady was mighty tired.  Certain Man was, too.  We came home and crashed

Thursday morning, Raph and Gina pulled in around ten o’clock.  Their vehicles were packed to the brim, and they were ready to begin the trip to Ohio.  I looked at my tall son and his sweet wife, and thought that this “good-bye” was something I just could not do.  I had written Gina a letter and tucked it into a little red Bible, and had a letter for Raph, too.  We stood in the middle of the kitchen and Certain Man drew us all into a hug and he prayed for us and them and their future and their trip.  His voice was husky with unshed tears.  (There was nothing “unshed” about mine.)  Certain Man checked some things in his pickup that Raph was going to drive to Ohio, and then Gina got into her Jeep and Raph got into his Dad’s pickup and they were off.  I spent the day either in tears or on the verge.  I finally went and did some necessary shopping for the Wedding reception that was coming up on Saturday night, and so the long day passed.

Friday was our annual potato salad day at the house of my Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys. 

250 pounds of potatoes!  We make them all into potato salad for the annual festival at Central Christian School.  Potato salad is served with their famous barbecued chicken dinners, and Aunt Gladys’ recipe is famous for being THE BEST!!!  Over the years, we’ve worked at getting the proportions written down until we are able to be a fine running “potato salad making machine”.  And this is the truth!  When about a dozen people can come into a kitchen and take potatoes piled just like this and turn them into 55 gallons of potato salad less than four hours later– Well, I’d call that pretty good.  Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys cooked and peeled all the hardboiled eggs in the days just before, and cooked all the potatoes to perfection, and that is a good bit of the job right there.  If the potatoes aren’t cooked right it makes everything a mess!  This year they were as perfect as an old brown cooked potato can be.  We had wonderful help, and things got done.  What a wonderful day.  I didn’t take pictures of the process this time like usual because I left my camera behind and Deborah brought it when things were almost over.  I’m so sorry, because I like to show the pictures of everyone who helped.  Our crew this year was almost the very same as last year with one or two substitutions.  And so, we got by.

One of the highlights of Potato Salad day for me is seeing the quilt that my Aunt Gladys makes for the auction that is sold at the festival.  For years, she has made a quilt that usually brings the highest price and is so beautifully done.

Here it is!  The next day, her grandson, Jared, put the winning bid in and got it for some over $700.00, I believe.  The highest paid for a quilt that day, but still a steal.  I heard that most of the quilts brought under $300.00 that day.  The economy has hit the quilt business hard.   One of these years, I’m going to save up and I’m going to buy one of those quilts.  Of course, she has lots of grandsons (16, I believe and 6 granddaughters) and they are all hard working and determined.  They just might edge me out.  Some of them have already purchased their “grandma quilt” but there is quite a passel left that are still hopeful.  I hope Aunt Gladys can be around to make lots more quilts.  She did every single quilting stitch herself in this one.  Quite a lady, indeed.

After we finished the potato salad, Certain Man (who grated every single one of those potatoes himself with the help of the grater on my KitchenAid Mixer) and I took a gallon of the potato salad in to his office where he promptly “sold” the whole thing for a $20.00 donation.  Then we came home, and I put my feet up for a while.  Then later that evening, my good friend, Emma and I went up to church to decorate for Josh and Lawina’s wedding reception.  Things went well.  I love working with Emma.  She is such a faithful friend and a good, good help for things like this.  We finished up around 8:30 and called it a day.  A sweet, sweet day it was!

Saturday finally dawned, and I had Certain Man bring my big roaster up from the basement.  I had told my sister, Sarah, that I would make burger bean bake for Josh and Lawina’s reception, and had purchased the ingredients earlier in the week.  Certain Man looked at the bacon and hamburger frying and looked like he was debating whether he should say something or not.  He finally did.  “Hon, how much burger bean bake are you going to make?  I hope you aren’t planning to make too much.  So often we have so much left over after things like this and we hardly know what to do with it.”  I knew that what he was saying was true, but lately there have been some situations where gatherings have run out of food, and I really didn’t want that to happen.  I looked at all my cans of different beans and decided to use half of what I had purchased “for starters” and to see how things looked from there.  By the time I had the bacon and hamburger and the extras in using about half of what I had bought was about exactly right.  I stirred and tasted and used my good friend, Ethel Campbell’s recipe in our community’s red cookbook for most of what I put in until I was satisfied. 

 . . .  And I will be back — You can read this far for now.  Eldest Daughter wants to take me to lunch for a belated Mother’s Day treat, and I am going to go!  I have some more pictures, and a few more things to tell you, and then this past week will be documented, and it will be time to go on to other things.

Until then —

Mary Ann signing off

What an incredible week!

It all started last Sunday night with a birthday party for one of our favorite people, Gary Burlingame.

Gary turned Seventy! We planned a party! We invited his sister, Elaine, and she came! We surprised him but good. Gary showed up an hour early for what he thought was a church cookout. The decorating committee hadn’t even been there yet! He meandered around outside, then came in and conveniently sat in the living room where he couldn’t really see the rest of the house.

Karen and James came in and set everything up — balloons, money train and all, and he never caught wind of anything. Kent and April brought the cake into the kitchen in a big white box and he never noticed. Of course, everyone was bringing food and such, so he wasn’t paying too much attention. Elaine came late so as not to spoil the surprise, and stayed out of sight until Daniel had led in prayer. Then Dave Hertzler started Happy Birthday, Ilva carried in the cake with Elaine following, and WOW! Did we ever surprise our Gary!!! I really wish someone would have had a camera ready, but even in this series of pictures, he hadn’t quite recovered.

This is the sweet little train that Karen set up and the church family helped to “decorate” for Gary.  She drew the tracks on newsprint, and filled in the landscape. The money that was given was rolled up in little tiny rolls and attached all over the train.

Gary couldn’t believe his eyes. It didn’t take him long to relieve the train of its cargo. He said he didn’t want it to be overloaded to the point of damage.  This might have been a legitimate concern.  I understand there was over $200.00 on there.

Gary, Karen and Elaine discussing the dynamics of surprising Gary. This was such great fun!

And there was other food as well — wonderful New Orleans sausage bisque there in the foreground made by Ruby really hit the spot on the cold, cold night, and there were so many other things, too. Ah, Church Family! What a great group you are! Thanks for making it such a memorable evening for Gary. For bringing such good food, for staying to help clean up, for your generous, open hearts. And Gary, just in case you didn’t know — We think you are wonderful!!!

. . . and that was just Sunday night —

Then there was Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and another Sunday.  I will try to post more.  I just haven’t been able to keep up.

The peonies are blooming.  This morning, I heard the driveway monitor go off three times and realized that Daniel was out picking peonies.  Sometimes he picks them to take to his office to put some color and scent there, but this morning, he was picking them for me.  He brought them in, a gathering of the three colors that grow at Shady Acres, and I found a vase to put them in, and set them in the middle of the dining room table.  As I was arranging them, I suddenly remembered another spring, eighteen years ago, and an incident that happened that I put into my journal.  I thought I would share it with you this morning.

Springtime Musings
May, 1992 

Her Daddy loves growing things.  Along our walk and hither and yon, he has planted peonies.  They grow on his mother’s grave and he loves their lavish colors and extavagant fragrance.

She is our youngest; twenty months of energy, smiles and personality.  Like her daddy, she loves growing things.  She has just discovered that peonies have flowers and flowers have smell.  I am working in the flower bed beside the house tonight, and she is fighting a losing battle with wanting to pick the posies.

The buds are nearly ready to burst.  The plants are loaded.  “One flower more or less won’t matter,” I tell myself as her little fingers begin to dismantle a bud.  She works industriously to free some petals and beaming, toddles over to me.  Proudly, she shows me her handful of crumpled flower petals, smells them with long, effusive breaths, and then holds them up for me to smell.

At first, I smell but sweaty baby hand, but then the haunting, lingering smell of spring peonies comes bravely through.

I watch her glowing face, think of our delight in this child, and think of my Heavenly Father.  Far better than I is He at seeing the beauty and smelling the fragrance in the broken petals I bring to him.  Some of it has been done in innocence, as my toddler’s joyous exploration of life reminds me.

But some of it has not been so innocent or carefree.  Yet this Father of Love can take what has been lost beyond repair and accept what brokenness I have to offer him, and love me and give me hope.  He smells the fragrance when others cannot.  His love for me transforms something worthless into a thing of great treasure.

 

 

It’s been a stellar day at Shady Acres.  It all began with footsteps on the stairs at 6:45.  I was in the kitchen, making Certain Man his breakfast, and looked up to see the long tanned legs of Youngest Daughter come around the corner (the rest of her was attached — I just didn’t see it because of the overhead bar cabinet in our kitchen).

To say I was shocked is an understatement.  Certain Man, in cahoots with Eldest Daughter and Beloved Son in Law, had managed to get her into the house at 1:30 AM after I was asleep.  Sneaky Hobitses!!!  I lifted up my voice and wept!!!  Honestly!  I have been so homesick for her, and wished so much that we could be together as a family this weekend, but it didn’t look possible!  The story is a very long story as to how she got here, and how my husband arranged for this surprise, and I don’t think I will tell it at this point.  It has enough drama to be a CM/CMW story, so it just might happen someday.

Some of you are aware of the direction that our life as a family has taken over the last few weeks.  But some of you don’t, so I guess now is as good a time as any to clue you in.  Our Oldest Son, Raph, and his Ohio Heart Throb, Regina, are moving to Ohio next week.  The path that brought them to this decision has been covered in prayer at almost every turn, and Daniel and I are at peace with the decision.  We believe that this is what God has for them at this point, and we are in support of them and this decision that they have wrestled with pretty much ever since their marriage almost two years ago.

In these last few tumultuous weeks, I have been reminded so often of the time when Daniel and I moved to Delaware from Ohio.  I didn’t want to move to Delaware, and it was the most difficult thing I ever did.  Looking back, I know that it was part of God’s plans for us as a family, and I’m glad that I believed that God wouldn’t make a mistake in my life if my attitude was right towards my husband, but I thought that Daniel was making a terrible mistake. 

I remember talking to our pastor, Walter Beachy, one evening and trying to sort things out.  “I just don’t understand,” I said, rather forcefully, as I recall, “How something can be God’s will, and I HATE IT SO MUCH!” 

He didn’t cut me any slack.  “Oh,” he said, matter of factly. “That happens all the time!”  I suppose I suspected or even knew that, but I didn’t like it any better.  And it is a little the way I feel in this situation, too, except that I’m a little wiser and a lot older now, and I know that how I feel about doing something really has very little to do with whether I should do it or not.  (Except that sometimes the harder it is for me to do it, the “righter” it is.)

I am so proud of my tall son and his wife.  I believe that they will be used by God where ever He leads them.  I don’t know what is ahead, but I know them well enough to know that God will bring ministry opportunities to them that they will welcome and be involved in.  I know that it isn’t easy for them to pull up and leave, and it isn’t easy for Daniel and I either.  I’ve shed lots and lots of tears, and there have been times when it has been easy for me to ask hard questions of The Father.

“Would it have been so hard,” I asked Him the other morning, “to answer some of their most desperate prayers?  You, who made the world and everything in it, couldn’t you have sent a soul friend for Gina to ease the loneliness?  Couldn’t you have sent a job for Raph that was fulfilling and something he could have had a sense of future in?  Couldn’t you have given them both creative ideas for investing in the things that answers to prayer are made of?”  And I sobbed myself amost sick as I sat in my chair with my prayer journal and my faithful pen, scribbling page after page through hot, copious tears. 

I do not ever hear an audible voice in those times when I wrestle with God and the prayers I want Him to answer (in my time and in my way, no less!).  But He speaks peace to me through His Word, and in a persistent inner voice that speaks truth to me over and over again, and that was one morning when I felt to the depths of my being that God had some things for me to do in this situation and sitting on my chair and weeping wasn’t one of them.  Just as I felt those long ago days, that the best thing for me to do was to get on with the business at hand, so I have felt strongly that the things for me to do NOW are to be as optimistic and upbeat as possible, to help where ever I can, and whenever I can.  To bless and encourage and be happy and to believe in my heart that God has a plan in their lives for good that He is, even now, working out.  Step by step.  Moment by moment.  As the days have passed, I’ve become more and more convinced that this plan for them, though I do not like it especially, also is part of His Plan for Daniel and I as parents, too.

And I don’t want to miss the best part.  What is the best part?  The best part is finding what God wants me to do in a given situation and then doing it with all my might.  Even when I don’t like it.  I’ve found that when I do what I’m supposed to do, even when the only thing that may be motivating me at that particular moment is the fact that I know it is the right thing to do, makes for true joy.

And do you know what else?  I don’t want to miss the lesson.  Over the years. another thing I’ve learned is that when things come into my life that I truly think I cannot bear, there is an extra special lesson there somewhere, just waiting for me to discover it.  And the discovery is something that makes it not only bearable, but exciting.

So I look at this family that God has given to Daniel and I, and these next few weeks are fraught with change and uncertainty.  Youngest Son, Lem, graduates with his Masters on May 16th.  He has already started his new job in Philadelphia.  His wife, Jessica is beginning her graduate school while continuing her job at the Veterans Administration.  Raph and Gina leave for Ohio on May 13th.  Rachel finishes Rosedale May 22nd, and about ten days later, she and Deborah are taking a short trip to Guatemala to visit Lupé, her husband, Ervin, and their little girl, Kimberly Nichole.  And there are weddings and receptions and reunions and church events and newly bereaved neighbors and neighbors who are seriously ill, and the list goes on.  But even as the list goes on with its overwhelming properties, the Heavenly Father says that His Strength and His Grace are not only available, but have been scarcely tapped.

Jeremiah 29:11 (New International Version)

¹¹ For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

And these words are not just for Raph and Gina.

They are for Daniel.

And Jesse and Christina and Charis.

They are for Deborah.

And (yes!) for Raph and Gina.

They are for Lem and Jessica

And for Rachel.

They are for Me.

. . . and I give grateful praise.

 

Certain Man’s Wife has a home visit every month with her case manager from the State Department of Disabilities.  Darlene picks up spending records, medication reports, documentation of doctor visits, and social reports from each of the ladies in the home at Shady Acres.  Once every quarter, CMW needs to do a fire drill and document that for someone somewhere in the hierarchy of the state.  So often, CMW thinks that whoever is reading these things must find it the most boring thing in the world.  And it is great fun to write a report that has surprises or details in it that will cause someone to take a little notice.

Mandatory fire drills are things that make little sense to CMW.  Both of the ladies who reside with CM and CMW will never get themselves out in the event of a fire.  Someone will need to physically get Cecilia on her feet and guide her out.  Someone needs to explain to Our Girl Nettie why she needs to get out — and supervision is very much needed.  This may explain why Certain Man’s house has six smoke detectors and they are careful to keep them in order.  The family at Shady Acres knows it will take time to get people out in the event of a fire.  However, the state still wants each foster care home to run a fire drill every three months, and to fill out their detailed form.

When CMW went to awaken Cecilia this morning, she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t done the fire drill for the first three months of 2010.  With the two knee replacements, it was one of many things that went right over her head.  And this was the morning for the monthly visit from the case manager.  So in a sudden burst of inspiration, CMW decided that this would be a good morning to do a drill, and decided that maybe it would be good to have it start while both ladies were still in bed.  “After all,” reasoned CMW, “how often do we plan a convenient time for our house to catch on fire and we will need to evacuate?”

CMW hit the button on the smoke detector in their bedroom several times and neither lady budged an inch.  So she made note of the time on her wrist watch and went over and gave Nettie a nudge on her ample rear that was sticking up under the mound of covers.

“Nettie!  Hey Nettie!  Wake up!”

“Ummmpfff!”  She said in a complainy sort of way.

“Hey, Nettie, wake up!  We are having a fire drill.  You need to get up and get out to the garage!”

“Huh??? “  She said sleepily, “Wha’d’ya say???”

“I said,” repeated CMW clearly, “We are having a fire drill.  You need to get up and get out to the garage.”

“Oh.  Um.  Okay.”  She grunted, and began to swing her legs over the side ponderously.

CMW went over to Cecilia’s bed.  Cecilia was awake.  “C’mon, Cecilia-girl.  We need to have this fire drill.  Come on, let’s go.”  Cecilia wasn’t impressed, but she got up out of bed and shuffled along with CMW  towards the door.  As CMW looked back over her shoulder, she saw that Our Girl Nettie wasn’t really moving much.

“Nettie, come on.  We are pretending the fire is in the kitchen.  Come on.  You don’t have time to get dressed.  Just come!”  CMW guided Cecilia through the bathroom where she had to forcibly take her past the toilet where she usually sits down immediately after getting out of bed.

“Sorry, Cecilia-girl.  I’ll bring you back in just a little bit.”  Cecilia was not at all happy with this development.  She was in her jammies, barefoot and it was cold.  CMW thought about the cold cement at the bottom of the ramp and decided to have some mercy on her.  They moved through the laundry room, through the entry way and to the top of the ramp.  Right about now, Cecilia had just about had enough.  STAMP!!!  STAMP!!!  Went her stubborn little foot at the top of the ramp.  “Huff!!! Puff!!! Snort!!!”  CMW looked over her shoulder.  There was no sign of Nettie.

“Here, Cee-Cee,” she said, using a pet name, “You stand right here with your hand on the railing until I come back.”  She curled the fingers around the railing and made sure that Cecilia was safely holding on and then flew back to the bedroom to check on Nettie.

Nettie was busy making her bed.

“Nettie, Come!” she said more than a little forcefully.  “We are having a fire drill.  You need to get out.”

“Wha’?” asked Our Girl Nettie in her usual slow way.  “Wha’d’ya sayin’?”

“I said,” said CMW with just a bit of exasperation, “that we are having a fire drill.  Your case manager comes this morning and I have to have a fire drill to report.  Come on.  You just need to go to the top of the ramp.”

Our Girl Nettie looked down over her nightgown and back with distaste at CMW.  At this point, CMW got a firm grip on her hand and assisted her across the room and through the bathroom, through the utility room, through the entry way and to the landing at the top of the ramp.  It was more than a little crowded there with Cecilia, CMW, and Nettie.  CMW looked at the motley crew, all three barefooted in the morning chill, She and Nettie were in their nighties and Cecilia was in her P.J.’s. Cecilia was mad at the interruption in her morning routine, Nettie blinking owlishly and  looking like she couldn’t believe the indignities heaped upon her, and CMW couldn’t help but cover a grin as she checked the time on her wrist watch.  She had managed a fire drill!!!  One minute and forty five seconds.  Not too bad.  Hopefully,  whoever read it wouldn’t have to be bored at the details, and even though she felt sorry for her two ladies, sometimes their irritation at CMW is a cause for mirth.  CMW doesn’t blame them a bit for being provoked.  But when she accomplishes something that she really needs to do, and they are both looking so out of sorts – Well, to CMW’s biased eye, they are just plain cute.  And somehow, more normal in their aggravation than they are at almost any other time.

And that is the news from Shady Acres where the fire drill got reported, all the reports got filed, and CMW’s day was off to a grand start!

Last night, before heading up the “Mountain” to my bed, I sat on my chair (are you all getting tired of hearing about me sitting on my chair???  I SURELY AM!!!) and thought about the morning.  The pain was rather insistent, and I toyed with the idea of asking Middle Daughter if she would get up and do my ladies for me so that I could sleep in.  She hasn’t been feeling the best, either, and I knew she would do it without complaint, but I felt sorry for her, too, and finally decided that I would just take care of things.  Besides, I love being up and getting breakfast for my husband — which needs to be done before anybody else gets up.  So I resigned myself to just getting up as usual.

I got off my chair long enought to put the last load of laundry in the dryer, and noticed that Certain Man hadn’t locked up.  So I went to find him and asked, “Sweetheart, are you done outside?”

“Yep.  All done!  Why?”

“I just noticed that you hadn’t locked up.  Did you have something you were going to do?”

“Well, I was thinking about starting a fire in the pellet stove.  What do you think?  You probably don’t think it’s necessary, do you?”

“Oh, Daniel.  I would love a fire.  What is the weather supposed to do tomorrow?  I’ve been so cold all day.”  (I had done the weekly laundry, made a casserole for my friend’s funeral meal with good help from my family, been to physical therapy, and gone to the funeral, and the cold had seemed to penetrate my bones and made these old knees ache like nobody’s biz.)

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to do, but I can sure find out.”  He checked the weather report and went to fetch a bag of pellets.  I headed on upstairs at this point and figured he would be a while getting there.  He came up in a very short time, to my surprise, and when I asked him if it was burning he said, “I hope it will start.  I guess we’ll see.  It might not take off.”  He must have left Middle Daughter down there to watch over things, because some time after we were in bed, she hollered, “Dad, the fire is burning!” as she made the corner at the top of the steps to her room on the other side of the landing.

I had some trouble getting to sleep, but then slept pretty well.  I was awake at 1:30 and had difficulty navigating the few feet to the necessary room, so I was really surprised when I got awake at about 5:30 to discover that the pain was actually minimal.  I thought maybe it was a short-lived thing, but when I got up soon after six, it was absolutely amazing!!!  I could not believe it!  I looked out the window at the drippy morning, and marveled at how little pain and stiffness I had in these new knees.  It has been my best day pain-wise in months.  And all I can figure out is that the nice little fire in my pellet stove took enough dampness and chill out of the air to affect the knees in a positive way.  I am so grateful to God and to my good husband.

It makes me want to sit by the fire and just enjoy it, but I have a case manager coming later this week, and I haven’t done any serious paperwork for Ceclia and Nettie since before my surgery — So I really have my work cut out for me today and tomorrow.  And I’m so glad that in it all, I don’t have to battle the grinch of pain on a major scale.  Thank God for this Golden Day of reprieve!!!  It give me hope and courage.  There are surely more to come.

Last night there was a party at Shady Acres!

There were presents . . .

 

Auntie Jess did some decorating . . .

 

Sue Swann made some cakes

All because . . .

Our little Love Bug turned one.

 I am reminded of the text message that her Mama sent to all of us when she first laid eyes on this precious baby:

“She might be the most amazing baby ever!”
(She was/is!)

And so, we celebrated last night with a few family members and friends who have been especially involved with her and her family:

Auntie Abi helped to put up ballons and arrange the food table.
She made a beautiful vegetable tray to share with the guests.

Some friends came from near and some from far.
Some dropped in for a few minutes, some stayed for the evening.

The food was pretty simple — but no one went hungry.  It was a really chilly evening, but the rain that had been expected all day held off.  So we wrapped ourselves in extra jackets and even blankets to keep warm and enjoyed supper with good company on the pavillion.

Halfway through supper, Charis got very tired.
George, Chuck and Nick from Dolce’s had given her this very soft Pooh bear for her birthday.
She made it into a perfect pillow, and put her tired little head down.

. . . and was out like a light.
She slept for a major part of supper.

Uncle Caleb and Uncle Joel

Aunties Sabrina and Jess with Mommy.  Auntie Sabrina will have her very own little girl in just a few short weeks, Lord Willing.  She and her husband Ryan have been honorary “Aunt and Uncle” to Charis.  Certain Man and I would gladly claim their new baby as a grandchild, but I’m afraid we would have to fight some very determined biological grandparents.  Maybe we can still be honorary Grandpa and Grammy.

Grandpa says “Go away!!!” to Grammy and her camera.

Great Aunt Freda came along with Great Great Grandma Yoder.  We are always glad to have her.

Great Grandma Yoder never misses a chance to engage in conversation with or hold Charis.
We were delighted that she braved the cold to come and celebrate with us.

Pappy and Achi Bontrager

“What shall we do with this???”

“Is this allowed???”

 

There was quite a gift opening melee!”

 

There was plenty of help.
 

Let’s see what is in this interesting package.

Oh, Goodie!!!  A water bottle!
Whoops!  Grammy is mistaken!
BUBBLES!

One of the privileges of being one!  The car seat can face the front.
Our little Love Bug is growing up so fast.

 

 

Nearly seven weeks ago, I was reading in my morning devotional reading and I came across the following verse:

Numbers 13:30  Then Caleb told the people near Moses to be quiet, and he said, “We should certainly go up and take the land for ourselves.  We can certainly do it.”

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  In the margin of my Bible, I wrote:  “How often to I look at something (a problem, a habit, an upcoming event) and say, ‘I can’t!’?  Today, March 6, 2010, I want to say, ‘I certainly can!’ to a specific thing — stopping my pet habit of 50+ years . . . Nail biting.  Not alone, but by God’s grace.  Lord, help me!”

And in the days that followed, I came back to the verse over and over again, and literally, dear friends, I did not bite my nails again.  They grew long and had to be trimmed, and I told my Sunday School girlies about it and challenged them to take God’s grace seriously.  That He wanted to help them do things they thought they couldn’t.  I honestly did not feel any pride in this.  I had been over fifty years coming to this place.  My Sweet Mama had tried everything she knew.  My Grandpa Yoder would scold me.  My Daddy one time gave me a serious whipping with the razor strop.  My Uncle Paul promised me a whole dollar, as did other people.  NOTHING HELPED.  Sometimes I stopped for a while, but I always went back to it.

This time has been so different.  I have a dear cousin who is fighting a battle of her own, and when I am tempted to nibble, I remember how much harder it is for her to break her habit than it is for me to break mine.  She is doing so well, and I am so proud of her, and her courage has helped me with my battle. 

However.  (Did you know that was coming?)  Monday night, our renter came over with a paper he wanted me to fill out and sign that would give the man who lives with them (I suspect  the arrangement may be rather temporary) Medicaid assistance for the young son who also lives there.  Mr. Ruiz does not speak enough English for me to communicate with him.  I called my cousin James and put him on the speaker phone so he could translate for me and the three of us could discuss this.  It was a difficult situation.  I have told my hispanic friends that I will help them all I can but I will never lie for them.  And in this situation, it was difficult to delineate between the truth and the “stretching of the truth” and the whole thing was very uncomfortable for me.  What Mr. Ruiz wanted me to say was that Mr. Rengle was paying the entire amount of rent.  All my family forsook me and fled.  James kindly advised me of what it was that Mr. Ruiz was asking, and said that I would need to decide how to handle it.  He was sympathetic to my situation, but it wasn’t his decision to make.  The truth is — I don’t actually know what their arrangement is.  I don’t who is paying what.

So I prayed for wisdom, and began to fill out the form with what I could honestly answer.  And when it came to the question about what the rent was for the trailer I decided to add a note beside it.  (It said that I could explain anything that I wanted to!) and I made this notation. 
“Mr. Ruiz and Mr. Rengle share the rent.  I honestly do not know what their arrangement is.” 
I handed it back to Mr. Ruiz, and he went off with it.  I don’t know what will happen from here, but at least I felt like I had made my postition clear.

And that is when I noticed that in the midst of all the quandary, I had bitten my left hand little fingernail right down to the quick.  It hurt!  It was a major hangnail, and I was surprised and then mad and then sad and then very, very determined.  It had a rough edge on the hangnail that kept getting caught, and I wanted to revert to my old habit of nibbling it off, and making it straight (which never really works, but it was how I did it for 50+ years).  I looked at that poor bitten off nail and decided that I would not put it back in my mouth for any reason at all.  It was just going to have to catch up with the rest of them.  I had this quiet assurance that if I left it alone, it would be okay eventually, and it would be way better for the rest of them.  So all week, I’ve looked at that poor short nail and reminded myself. “I can certainly do this!” and that has held me pretty steady. 

Here!  Have a look at that poor left hand!

I know — the cuticles need some work, but the nails are certainly not bitten off — except that poor little finger.  But it will grow out!  And I intend to give it a chance.

 

 

What a difference just one week can make!

I will grant you that by evening, this old knee lets me know that it still means business!  But —

This morning, I baked bread for the first time in two months.  (I did very little else today besides bake bread and sit on my chair, but–) I still got the bread baked and sliced and packaged ALL BY MYSELF and that was a great encourager in my progress!

And tonight, I took my van out for a little test drive around our circle, then out the chicken house lane and back in the house lane and it did not hurt.  Not one little smidgen. 

Today I got the very saddest news, though.  Another neighbor, Joan Niblett, is dying.  She has lived right across the road from me for over 20 years.  She is a devoted follower of Jesus Christ.  She was the best neighbor and friend a gal could want.  Our kids swam in their pool in the summertime, and she and I exchanged recipes and neighborhood stories and she gave the most unique and appreciated gifts at Christmas.  Some of my most treasured items on my walls are from my good friend Joan.  She has been battling breast cancer for over a year, and it metastasized to her brain and spine.  Just before I went for my second knee replacement, I had talked to her mother and then to her.  She had a new grandbaby, and she was doing a little better.  Apparently, things went downhill suddenly, because she was admitted to hospice this past Wednesday, and has been largely unresponsive since then. 

When I realized that I could drive, I asked Certain Man if I could go in there to see her one more time, and he gave me permission.  Milford’s beautiful Hospice Center is just plain wonderful.  It is peaceful and quiet and it feels like you are stepping into a little Island of Calm when you walk in.  I found Joan’s room, and she was alone, a little mound in the middle of a bed.  I pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, and reached under the covers to find her hand.  It was very warm.  She was breathing that hard, raspy breathing of the dying, and I talked to her about what a great neighbor she has been, and how I should have told her more often what she meant to me.  I sang her some of the old, old songs of Heaven, and I stroked what is left of her hair because she always loved it when someone stroked her hair.  Her breathing slowed down very far, and became less labored, and then evened out to a pretty easy rhythm.  I know that her family has been keeping a pretty steady vigil, and I was glad that God allowed me to be there when she was alone.  It felt better to me somehow to be there alone with her, and I felt free to sing to her, to say things to her about her coming journey that I wouldn’t have been able to if there had been others there.  I didn’t stay very long – Just shy a half hour, but it felt like long enough. 

And then I came out and got into my trusty mini-van and came on home.  I didn’t feel like celebrating the fact that I could drive. 

I just felt very, very thankful to the Father.  He gave me this gift just in time to tell my friend “Good-night, Darlin’.  I’ll see you in The Morning . . .”