Weathering Months

Weathering months.

   I read a blog the other day written by a women who grieves and she talked about learning to weather the month of June. I know about weathering months. I have learned the steps and plodded through them. The months when I am sort of undone and I have to stretch my hands wide open and up. I have March when the sky is gray and the trees are bare and I search for light. I have June, the 1st day of glorious summer, when life is new and the sky is beautiful blue here in Carolina. I have days when I remember and days I dread. August is my double month. I have a birthday: when he flew from my womb and it was all hot and it burned like fire and I ached for days after. He was covered in vernix and was all silver hair and big eyes. I loved him then; more than words. I also have the day his brother died: the day he flew from this life and his leaving burned like fire and I ached for days and weeks. Years later I still ache and I remember that burn. I loved him more than words and time. I have learned to weather, we all have to some extent and some of us do it with grace and some of us like myself are still walking clumsily and off kilter. It is beautiful this weathering process.
  The other Saturday morning I heard sirens far away. Often when I hear them I say “God bless them” because I know that someone is beginning a journey that I know well. I went on with my day and later I got a message saying there was a fire. I got a phone call in the afternoon that there was bad fire and it was in a mobile home and some children had died. I read once that if there is a fire in a mobile home you have 3 minutes to get out. This time 3 minutes was not enough time at all. A mother who is 8 months pregnant was sleeping and her little boys were playing. That morning she woke to something too terrible for words. Her 2 little boys are gone and she is left here. I know that feeling too. This month of July will be a month she has to weather and wade through for the rest of her life. I know that her burning ache began that morning and our whole area feels it with her. When we drove to church on Sunday we passed the house. We were silent in the van. In the middle of the fire and the burned things is a little bunk bed. The bed is metal and the mattresses are gone and the frame is bent. I can’t look at it without the breathe catching in my throat. It is worthy of a picture; those kind that speak 1000 words. I think about her often. I breathe her in prayer. At church on Sunday I thought about her and my eyelids burned with tears because she is feeling that aching burning missing her boys that I know so well. Her pregnant body is holding life. She is broken and she will push a baby from her womb and it will burn like fire and she will love that precious baby more than words and the ache of motherhood will begin again.
   I weather months. In a cupboard up high I have a bag. In the bag are a small pair of Levi’s, they have holes in the knees and they are cut apart. They used to fit my son. The paramedics cut them off his small body the day he died. I have never taken them out of the bag but every once in a while I look at them when I am feeling brave and I remember the day I began to burn like fire and this ache became mine. That young mom down the road will now weather months. Birth dates and death dates that she will dread and wait for and plod through. Someday she will laugh again. Someday when the weathering is easier her eyes will have light again. She will learn to have Hope and know how important it is to hold on too. She might hold a small shoe in her hands and feel her boys for a little while. She might touch a blanket  and hold it to her chest because she knows how great the cost is. I know her boys are whole today, safe in the Father’s house. I know she is broken and her grief road will not be the same as mine. I also know that she will take shakey steps forward and she will weather July. I pray she can one day do it with grace. God bless all people who grieve and deal with great loss. We weather these months with you. My August is not burning like fire or aching like it used to be but I do weather it; every single year and I miss my boys. I love them more than words and time.

Blueberry Days and Songs of Life

    Last week I piled the van with children and we drove through Carolina country. We drove to Pittsboro to the old man's farm. His sign hangs by the road, the words are fading from bright summer sun. There is a hand written sign by the gate saying "close gate behind you" so we do, one of mine hops out and opens it while I drive through then they close it behind the van. I love coming here, year after year and it always feels the same. The air smells earthy and like fruit. The place is loud with birds; turkeys and peacocks wearing bright blue feathers and shouting into the day. Chickens talk amongst themselves in loud clucks. I can hear children laughing through the bushes. We pick buckets full and have races and help the littler children who aren't as fast pickers. We sweat in the humid sunshine and we talk about big things and funny things and small things too. We drink water and splash it on our faces and our fingers turn purple from berry juice. I wish I could capture these moments. I wish I could keep us there in that timeless, staying the same place where the world is lost behind that crooked gate and I savor all of it. This place of safety and where life is easy and nothing pushes or pulls us to move on. Somebody sings and the Birch comes up to me determined to pick his own bucket full this year, he has his Ariat boots on and his cheeks are red and his hair is bright white from days in the pool. White on brown skin and blue eyes squinching up at me. He lets me help after the older bunch move on and we pick together his small hands full and dropping berries into the mulch. I am filled then with love for this precious boy who in August will march himself to school and leave me in a new chapter of parenting. I never dreamed it would come so fast or hurt like this. My house has been full this year and empty too, of my older ones moving and traveling and getting married and coming home and leaving again. I am not sure what to think of it all, this life going faster than I and leaving me struggling to catch my breath. I walk in the mornings and I think it has become my therapy and keeps me grounded. I think about all of this while I pick the fruit that is warm in my hands. I think that God knows this place too, where my heart is torn and things seem too big for me and I remember how in Psalms it says He numbers the stars and how He knows them by name and I am glad for that. Glad that He knows them and numbers them because then I am certain He knows me and He is there in the berry patch and He thinks much of me and my children and the neighbor children too who bring us life and fullness of days. We pick berries for us and for some of our neighbors. We are learning this year what Loving our neighbors really means so we pick with the intention of giving. When we get home we put them in bags and I do a neighborhood delivery of berries. I love doing that, stopping in and giving small gifts because I am the one who always leaves being given wonderful gifts.
   Kalani came along when we brought them to our elderly friends Paul and Miss Dot. She was being my fancy girl and cartwheeled out of the van. We brought a card because it was Miss Dots birthday and we all signed it so the words were all over the card with notes and names of my children. They live at the end of a gravel road where the rocks make a lane and the flowers bloom and the old trees creak in the wind. They are old and the house is getting forgotten, the porch is faded and falling apart and we walked up the stairs carefully. They come to the door and are so glad to see us. They invite us in and we visit for awhile. Miss Dot is forgetful and she is the sweetest southern women I have met. She thinks my children are beautiful and my boys are strong. She used to love to read. She smiles and watches us. Paul is a very gracious man and he carries the conversation. I know he was in the war. I know he has son who lives far away in WA and he prays for him. He loves my boys and he gets teary when he asks about my big Troy who is also far away. The house is full of stuff. There are piles and stacks and things shuffled around so we can sit at the table. Kalani loves it, she takes a tour and exclaims over things and looks at all the wonderful treasure. I love that about my younger children, they are free like that. She thinks it is like a museum and in away it is. A lifetime of living on display. I am humbled then because she doesn't see it like I do at all. She sees the life and love and years and treasures. I start to see it like that when she brings me a golden bell and shows me a beautiful old doll. I quit seeing the dust lining the shelves and the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling fan and papers piled high. I see it through the eyes of my 7 year old and I think Paul and Miss Dot are the lucky ones for sure. Paul asks me if I sing and I tell him that I love to, he hands me a red hymnal and he says it is his favorite book. I skim through and I see where he has written dates and notes about many songs, "1975" says one "praise the Lord for this song" in a mans handwriting. So may years of songs to love and sing and remember. I hum a little of Marching to Zion and he says "do you hear it Miss Dot? She sings beautifully!" and they both listen. I am reminded that this is life for them, these 2 little old people who were once here where I am now many years ago. Who wished to stop time and were worried about what was next and who sang songs that kept them grounded and feeling the spirit and finding freedom. I should mark music in the book like that with dates like a journal of life; only in song. They blessed me more than words while we sweat in their hot kitchen with papers and cans piled high and Kalani twirling through the hidden treasure, seeing it beautiful. We sang Happy Birthday to Miss Dot before we left and she laughed while we clapped. We left with them promising to pray and me promising brownies for Miss Dot since she never got a cake. I think this loving our neighbors as ourselves is working. It is opening my eyes and giving me music.

Of Girls and Horses....

Demaris is our prayer warrior. She at a very young age discovered the power of prayer & uses it faithfully. I am so blessed by her & this gift has taught me much, if we pray believing what answers we find! When she was about 5 years old she decided she wanted a horse so being a believer she prayed daily for a horse in the simple way children do,"please Lord help me to get a horse" everyday, week after week, year after year. I remember hoping she wouldn't be disappointed. One day while I was perusing books at our very small, very old library something wonderful happened. I was looking at the children's books & I looked up to see an old women with white hair watching us; my children & I. Soon we were introduced to Miss Kitty & an unconventional friendship started to grow, she was much older than I, she was from New York, she had only sons, she had horses & my list could go on. I still am amazed that God in Heaven orchestrates things so that "all things work together for good" so smoothly without our being aware. Out of this friendship Demaris began a journey of learning about horses in a very real way. Miss Kitty soon had Demaris coming over to her house to help with her horses & then she approached me privately about allowing Demaris to keep Smoke one of her ponies for the summer. I don't think Miss Kitty had any idea what she did for Demaris that summer! They wrote a contract saying Smoke would live at our house from Memorial Day - Labor Day, I still can see both of those white heads bending forward almost touching as they signed the contract that Demaris thought should be written. For a whole wonderful summer we learned about horses & had weekly Miss Kitty visits. I was pregnant then & as my belly grew so did Demaris grow from being a child to a girl. I saw her falling in love with an old pony & I watched her heart get captured in away it never had before. Soon summer gave way to fall & somehow Miss Kitty became part of our life, Labor Day came & Smoke still lived at our house. One day Miss Kitty asked Demaris what she would think about keeping Smoke, what if he lived with us until she outgrew this pony who for now filled her days? So another contract was written & again I saw the white heads touching as they signed that most important paper that truly answered years of prayer. The paper is put away in a green folder slowly aging. When winter came our Miss Kitty left us, out of this life her very wonderful spirit flew leaving us quite empty. As if she somehow knew to finish what she needed to do & to answer the prayers of a little girl were enough, she taught us all we know about horses & more than that about the gift of giving & simple friendship.




So seasons change & we grow. Demaris has also grown. This summer I saw her slowly changing from a young girl to somebody she is going to grow into very quickly in the next few years~ the women called Demaris. She is a beautiful girl who loves & feels things deeply. She still prays. I also see her holding onto the little girl she used to be & I ache for her. Change is hard for all of us. She has grown physically taller & looks older. She has begun middleschool & that brings a whole slew of new things. I saw her this past summer clinging to the old Demaris, the world of playing, tea parties, ponies & things in her control. Her relationships are changing, friendships are becoming ones that will last a lifetime. The muscular legs are becoming shapely & the white hair is still long & beautiful. Recently she was out with Smoke carefully brushing his mane that in winter is as white as her hair. He is growing older too. The girl & her horse. I wondered what her mind was thinking as she slowly pulled the brush over his winter coat. Later she came in & asked to talk with me alone. As my children do sometimes. We locked the bedroom door as my heart raced & my mind ran crazy with thoughts I looked over at her & she was crying. She then shared with me her fear. How she loved Smoke but she was too big to ride him anymore, How no one loves Smoke like she does. How bad she feels that she is not so into him anymore. I knew then that this was so much bigger than Smoke. This was top of the mountain she has been climbing all summer~the girl becoming a young women. I held her then as she wept & I got teary too because I know so well this road of growing & how suddenly we are out of our element & how everything seems different. Having 6 other children go through this stage of life I realized again how God is a God of wonders. He sent Miss Kitty to us for the season she was here, He gave Demaris Smoke because she prayed & she needed a pony so badly so that her faith could keep growing. I told her that Smoke knows how much she loves him & how Miss Kitty knew that someday she would get to where she is today & then she could pass the baton on to one of her siblings if she wanted to. Today Demaris says," no", she is still holding on to the pieces of her that are young & how she use to be. I told her that as long as Smoke is living he will be part of our family. I know God is working. I thank Him for that. I know Demaris can't go back because life is like that it keeps us in forward motion. I am excited to see who Demaris will be & where her paths will lead. Somehow a small horse named Smoke is part of who Demaris is. She is still young enough to hang posters on her wall saying " I Love Smoke" & that makes me smile. Again I am humbled by the children & people the Lord has blessed me with.