Poor Bob

No, this is not the Bob I wrote about Monday, although if anyone deserves our compassion it would be that Bob.

The Bob I'm talking about today is a man who is attempting the seemingly impossible and doing it with seemingly endless patience.

He's my pottery instructor.

For three weeks Bob has spent his Tuesday evenings dealing with a full grown child who can't remember a thing he taught her last week, let alone 5 minutes ago. He deserves something. A medal? An award? It's a good thing this class is only 6 weeks long-otherwise poor Bob would end up with a vacation in a Swiss sanitarium. (Oh, but hey! That might not be a bad thing....Switzerland. I've always wanted to see Switzerland. The fantastic mountains, the world famous cows, their reliable watches. A pocket watch would be a really fun souvenir for Bob to bring back with him, provided they could restore his mental health after what I've put him through. Put him through....put him through...Oh yeah. I was talking about pottery.)

Moving along. Have you ever wanted to do something so badly you could taste it, but you just can't get it? That's how this pottery class is going. I love, love, love it, but it is really stretching me. I'm having to learn how to focus and put all of my attention into detail, and I am not a detail person.

When I was young my mom attempted to teach me things too. She could cook like Rachael Ray,

clean like a Merry Maid and get this: she invented a way to crochet a blanket, making it double thick as she went along. Every time she tried to teach me that pattern, or how to clean something, or cook Sunday dinner, we'd fight. I couldn't get it and I always blamed her. She's not patient. She just doesn't know how to teach. I honestly never thought it was me and now that crochet pattern is gone, lost forever. (I have figured out how to cook and clean, much to my family's relief.)

The problem is, I'm random. A big picture person. A very. big. picture. person. A person who sees a great movie and gets so caught up in the feelings the movie evoked that she can't remember the plot, who the protagonist was, or how it ended. But boy howdy, it was a great movie!

My pottery class is progressing along the same lines. There's poor Bob, patiently trying for the umpteenth time to show me how to cone the clay. I stand there, watching him, my ears listening, trying to absorb his words. My brain, however, is another story. It sits between my ears going wow, Bob has such big hands. I love how he can get the clay to do whatever he wants. It would be so fun to have a pottery wheel at home so I could do this whenever the mood strikes. I wonder how much a pottery wheel costs? And a kiln. I'll need a kiln...would the electric bill kill us? What color glaze should I use on this bowl I'm, no, bob is making. Bob is making. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be listening to Bob....

I used to be able to laugh at myself for being this way. I didn't mind being a floaty-in-the-head kind of person. But lately? Not so much. I'm getting extremely frustrated with myself. It's impossible for me to study the bible and figure things out with this kind of brain. It's impossible for me to learn how to make a simple pot out of clay with this kind of brain. And don't get me started on cell phones. I can't even figure out how to turn one on. Every single time someone attempts to teach me how to use one it's pottery class all over again. Wow. This tiny black box is sending signals through space. It can connect me to someone in Switzerland if I knew anyone there to talk to. That's incredible. I wonder how they figured these things out?....

Lately I've been feeling "just a tish" insecure about myself. It's an embarrassing way to be. However, I need to remind me that God made me this way. On purpose. (see my post from here.) I'm not here for comic relief and there's nothing "wrong" with me. However, I'm also thinking it's not a bad thing to be stretched...to learn how to focus and put at least some of my attention into detail. It's exhausting, but if nothing else I need to do it for poor Bob.

life is a pain in the neck (or leg, or stomach, or heart, or....)

I think this has got to be, hands down, the most difficult post I've ever written. There is just too much to say, and too many people have done a way better job saying it than I ever could.

Pain. A friend wants to know how to live with chronic pain....I suddenly feel like a school girl facing a final test. "So Judy, what have you learned this semester??" My question is, have you learned it if you don't always do it? If you don't always live it, is it still a part of you? Because I don't, you know. I don't always do the things I'm going to tell her to do. I believe the things I've attempted to live out are truth-that's why I'm sharing them.

When my friend first put the question to me, I must admit, I bristled. My pain isn't chronic. This is temporary! It will go away. But it has been 15 months.....

Living with pain can be a lonely walk. All around you you see your family, friends, and strangers bouncing around, doing everything you wish you could do. And of course, you remember how it felt to do those things, before your body turned traitor.

However, I've had to remind myself I am not alone. To be alive is to experience pain. It can be physical or emotional, but even the bible promises it will be a part of our experience here on earth. Jesus tell us in the book of John, "I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

So, maybe the first thing I would say is, remember you are not alone; pay attention to the people in your life. What are they going through?

Everyone deals with pain. I have 2 friends who have lost husbands. Another family is losing their teenage son to brain cancer and a young mom, with 2 small children, is also dying of cancer. Another friend is having a not-so-fun marriage.

My brother has lived with terrible back pain for years, and for a very long time I watched my mom shrivel up with rheumatoid arthritis.

A few weeks ago I met a little girl who had been sexually molested for years before the government finally opened it's eyes and rescued her; she will have pain and scars in her being until the day she leaves the planet.

Last summer and fall I spent a lot of time in bed, laying on my right side because that was the only place I could be where I didn't hurt. It was sooooo easy to lay there and feel sorry for myself. But then I would hear about others in pain, and, because I hurt, I could empathize. So I started to pray for the people I heard about. For a very long time praying was all I could do. When I did that, when I prayed for others, I would experience joy. Yes, some of that was because I knew there were other people out there who hurt. (misery does love company) But the real joy came in knowing I was saying, "Lord, they hurt. Please be with them. Heal them. Comfort them...." It took the focus off me and centered it on others and their need.

Another thing that helps, maybe even more than praying for others? is looking for God in my circumstance. If you are a believer in Christ, He promises to never leave us or forsake us and He is not a liar. Count the ways you see His involvement in your life, every day. Search for things. You wouldn't have to look far, I know. You could make an actual, written list, or you could just list things in your heart. But don't stop there. Thank Him for each one. Praise Him for walking this road with you and the ways you see Him hugging you through it. Each moment is a gift from Him, even the ones filled with pain.

Here are a few examples for you. Last summer I had a herniated disc that smashed the daylights out of my left sciatic nerve. The pain...I still cry if I think about it. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on a mass murderer. I had no idea a body could feel that kind of pain and live. It broke something inside me but it's also given me so much more compassion for other hurting people than I had before. There's #1.

#2. As I was going through that time, the only thing I could do was walk. Day and night for over 2 weeks I paced our house, back and forth, forth and back. As I walked, I cried. I shook, my body vibrating with pain. Yes, I know-this sounds terribly melodramatic. I'm trying to set the stage for showing you what may be one of the sweetest gifts the Lord has ever given me: amazing time with my husband and sons. Going through a deep, deep valley with them and seeing the incredible depth of their love for me. My husband's love and compassion during that time was bottomless. He lost so much sleep walking through the nights with me, praying for me. My second oldest son did the same thing. For two different nights, (as a newlywed!) stayed here and walked the house with me. We even managed to laugh and tease each other while I was walking and weeping. I saw what an incredible, compassionate, patient, tender heart he has and was blown away by it.

My oldest son came and spent a day with me during that time. He walked with me, letting me squeeze his arm so tightly the circulation probably stopped. He cooked and baked and played with his little brother. He cleaned our kitchen and after I had surgery he brought a meal over that he had made himself. He still calls me several times a week to say hello and see how I'm progressing.

Our third son has had a more difficult road with this than his brothers have. He lives with me. He's had to be here, listening to me wonder, whine, cry, and rejoice. He's gone on countless walks with me, shared his heart with me and cheerfully helped me lift, move, cook, and clean. He's made me laugh so hard I couldn't catch my breath.

Finally, my little guy. He is constantly available, with a sweet, willing heart. He's helped me get dressed, cook, clean and do laundry-all the time without one word of complaint. During times when I've had anxiety attacks, felt fearful, or just deeply lonely he's been here, ready to hug or comfort me as only a little boy can.

Then of course, there are the little things to be thankful for. Last spring, every evening, I was able to lay in bed and watch crows by the dozens cawing and soaring right outside my bedroom window. They made me feel free and wild and whole. I sensed God loving and hugging me when I watched those crows, and I praised Him every day for sending them to our back yard.

I'm still thrilled that I can now tie my own shoes, and lift my bible...so you get the point. He is aware of our every waking moment and blessing us as we live them. Again, I want to say, count the ways you see Him.

Having a sense of humor also helps. Learn to laugh at yourself, or watch a funny movie. Listen to a comedian on Netflix. Laughter is good medicine.

We went to a cookout/bonfire at our oldest son's house last weekend. The weather was cool, the food good, and the bugs were at a minimum. We had a lot of fun laughing and pigging out with family and friends.

As the evening progressed it got a little more difficult for me to enjoy myself. I kept sitting, standing, kneeling, leaning. Finally my husband asked me if I was OK.

I said very quietly, "Oh, I just hurt a bit." We'd been talking together very quietly and I didn't think anyone was paying attention to us. I didn't want to put a damper on his evening so I added, "Do you remember what my mom said a few days before she died? 'Jude, there's always someone worse off than you are.' "

Without missing a beat my second oldest son said, "Can you imagine being the guy on the end of that?? The guy with so many things wrong with him no one can find another thing to add? 'Here lies Bob. He died of blah blah, doo doh, tee dee, froo frah......' " We laughed so hard we couldn't breath. Poor old Bob. Sorry-our family has a warped sense of humor, but you get the point. Laughing helps ease the stress.

I know this is really, really long, but I do have one more thing to share. Spend time in the word. Read the Psalms, read the old testament. Read Hebrews 11 and 12. Those are two of the most amazing chapters in the bible to me and have comforted me over and over and over again as I've gone through this time. He is near, He loves you, He is with you. Eternity is coming. We won't always hurt. Cling to that. Eternity is coming. This is just a passing through place and we will soon be gone...

never in a hurry

About a year ago I was able to let it go. I pushed in the little knobs that lock the sides in place, folded the sides in, picked up the helpful little contraption and carried it to the garage. My husband was out there so I handed the walker to him and said, "Here. I don't want this in the house anymore and I hope I die before I need to use one again."

Now, a year later, I almost regret that moment. Almost. I almost regret becoming whole again.

For a very tiny bit of time I stopped running and it was sweet. My whole life was narrowed down to living one minute at a time and each one of those minutes ticked by slowly. I needed help with every single thing I did; getting out of bed, drying off after a shower, getting dressed, tying my shoes...even my bible was too heavy to lift. Every movement had to be analyzed and prioritized. Is it necessary to do this? Does it really have to be done now or can it wait a month or two?

I did struggle with the whole "life boat" thing. I'm no longer a productive member of society, nor even of this family-just throw me overboard. Why am I here if I can't function? But then I remembered we're not hear to function. We're not here to rush around performing and doing. Like Ann Voskamp says in her book, 1000 Gifts, life is not an emergency to be sped wildly through. I listened to the trailer from her book and here are a few quotes:

moments are all we have

time is blurring by and everyone is slipping past

the voice we need to hear is the Voice that is saying each moment is for you

although time moves on, it's moments are holy

this is how you spend your one life well-receiving each moment for what it really is: holy, ordinary, amazing grace...a gift

My doctor told me walking was the best thing I could do to heal so that's what I did. Barrett and I walked for hours each day, but it was a slow, toddily walk, highlighted by my son's incredibly sweet observations. It wasn't the walk of a mom in a hurry to exercise and get home so she can check things off her to-do list. It was just a walk.

I learned so much from my little guy. He was never in a hurry. He noticed the way an ant carried a crumb across the sidewalk and the iridescent colors on a dragonfly's wing. He pointed out minuscule flowers hidden in the grass and the way the wind blew the smell of early autumn across a field. Every single second with him was a gift and he taught me that every single second of our lives is a gift as well if we would only slow down and pay attention to them.

My son was in awe of God-His creativity, His wisdom, His ability to make no two things alike. Barrett felt that each thing he saw was a hug from God....God's way of saying, I love you. I'm here. I care. I am here, and here, and here, and here.....

be it ever so humble....

From the photos I've posted here, you'd never know I wanted to be a photographer when I was in high school. Either that or you'd think, hmmmm, no wonder she's not a photographer.

Well, I must warn you, the quality of the photos I'm posting today are of the same caliber. Lousy. They were taken by a person (who shall remain nameless) that has never used a digital camera before using a camera she borrowed from her nine year old son.

I've poured out my heart on this blog and let you see the good, the bad and some of my uglies. Now you can see where those pieces of me dwell. Just remember what I said in my poem from a few days ago:

I'm from a house filled with inexpensive objects; things found at garage sales, Goodwill, handmade, or handed down. Almost everything here touches my heart, tells a story, or simply brings joy.

This is the desk my husband built for me. Sitting is still an issue so he built it 39" high-that way I can stand and plan school, stand and scrapbook, stand and do bible study...I like to stand and work on projects regardless of what my body's doing so even if I'm "normal" again someday this will still be the perfect desk for me.

Winters here in the middle of America are long and grey. The sky is grey, the trees are grey, the grass is grey, the roads are grey. I had to do something to bring a little joy into those lonely grey days: twinkle lights seem to help. You saw them around my desk, and here are some in the livingroom. We're still tweaking that contraption. There's still too much wood showing. But, the twinkle lights are there, reminding me of the stars on a crisp winter evening and funky little restaurants hidden in cozy little nooks of the world.

Don't ask me why I'm showing you a bookshelf. I guess I wanted to post it because it's made from an old ladder that had been leaning against the side of the house for years. Rather than throw the ladder away, we re-purposed it. It's a bookshelf here, a piece of it is in the boys' bathroom as a towel rack, and another bit is hanging on the wall with a few nick-nacky things thrown onto it. Oh, and the monkey? Sock monkeys hold a very, very special place in my heart and that's all I'm going to say about that today.

OK. I know. A boot? Really? For a plant?? This boot was probably once worn by a cowboy out in Idaho. It then became a vase full of flowers at my nephew's wedding reception. I brought it home as a reminder of that special day. Rather than throw it in the closet to collect dust, I threw a plant in it and hung it from the ceiling. Now I can picture the mountains, blue skies, a beautiful wedding and a vacation out west every time I look at it.

This is a picture of some of my babies. These are the babies that will never grow up and leave home. I have 37 of them scattered around the house.

I couldn't leave this little bookshelf out of this post. My dad built it about a year before he died. We made a deal: he would make a bookshelf for me and I crocheted a pair of slippers for him. I think I got the better end of the deal. Oh, the rooster. Normally I am not a chickeny type person but that too is from my dad. He bought it for someone else who didn't want it and dad wanted it to have a good home. Guess who got it?

And of course a piece of the kitchen. This is where I spend a LOT of time. See? Twinkle lights in here too. :-)

And finally this. It's an old window my daughter-in-law gave me. We put pictures of the boys in it, hooks along the bottom of it and voila! A one-of-a-kind, sweet reminder-of-days-gone-by coat rack. It didn't looked finished even when it was finished so I just stuck some dead branches around it to frame it in. That helped, but like the livingroom thingy, I may do some tweaking here.

So, that's it. A few of my favorite places in this place I call home.

a reality check

If you stopped by here yesterday, and read the poem I wrote, you are probably thinking, well, aren't they the perfect family with the perfect little life?

I'm sorry if I lead you to think that. I'd like to be completely real about life when I write, but if I were, I'd either lose your friendship because you'd see what a nasty little person I can be, or I'd embarrass certain other people in the family, which I don't want to do.

So, here's what I can tell you. We've been married 27 years. The first 17 were hard. I'm not going to list everything now, but trust me, we've had our share of struggles. Through it all our friendship was good. We knew how to stick together and nothing really came between us. Things came at us, but not between us.

On the other hand, the last 10 years have been more difficult than I care to think about. It seems like nearly everything we've gone through, (and it's been more than the first 17 years combined) has come between us, and we've had to work at being friends, work at loving each other, work at forgiving, work at trust.

Two years ago we went through a fun year. Something so big came between us we barely spoke to each other unless it was necessary. For a year. We weren't even out of that tunnel when we hit Last Year. The Year to Beat All Years. I hope. Mike turned 50, #3 graduated, not one, but two sons got married within 6 weeks of each other and my back and left leg turned traitors and abandoned me. But, God is faithful. He promises in Romans 8:28

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good,for those who are called according to his purpose.

He used those outside circumstances and my weak, wobbly body to show us how much we actually need each other. We are close and friends again, which is always nice when you have to sleep in the same bed with someone.

As for parenting? Hmm.....what can/should I say? Like all parents, we've had our share of sibling rivalry, messes, giving emotionally or spiritually when it felt like there was nothing inside to draw from, and bad attitudes. In many ways it's been on the job training for both of us and we've had to take it one day at a time.

There have been times when we've wondered what we did wrong. How did we lose his respect? His friendship? Will his heart ever come home again?

There have been times when all we could do was go to God and dump a boy in His lap. "God, he's your problem. You deal with him. You teach him. Please do whatever it takes to make this boy what You want him to be. We can't do it, Lord. You have to. Please?"

We've had to surrender and let go and God has proven Himself capable and faithful.

So, now you know. We are not the perfect family with the perfect little life. We are a weak, stumbling along, bumbling along little family with a perfect God holding our hands and I'm sorry if I gave you any other impression.

Sometimes life reminds me of a roller coaster. You strap yourself in and off you go. Up, over, down, around, each phase a surprise. The "up" side of the ride is your chance to catch your breath, rest, get ready for the next curve, the next surprise. Yesterday's poem was written during an "up" phase in our lives. The last ten years have been rough and I think right now God is giving us a chance to rest and catch our breath, to rejuvenate before the wild ride begins again....

Where I'm From (a new version)

I am from a tiny house in the middle of America-woods, corn fields, county roads, a feeling of safety and quiet nights

from 4 sons: Benjamin, James, Alec and Barrett. They love Jesus, a good challenge, laughter, hard work; they are compassionate, funny, 2 are great husbands, one a good daddy; they love each other and they love their dad and mom

I'm from a house filled with inexpensive objects; things found at garage sales, Goodwill, handmade, or handed down. Almost everything here touches my heart, tells a story, or simply brings joy

I'm from hiking on holidays, playing games as a family, merciless teasing, long talks late into the night, lots of laughter and frequently confounding the 5 men in my life

I'm from "wash your hands", "business before pleasure", "here's a chore if you're bored", "go outside if you're going to do that!"

I'm from the bible is absolute truth, God is real and very present in our lives, He will complete what He's started in you

from a tender-hearted husband-he's patient, self-sacrificing, and spoils me rotten

I'm from biscochitos, my mom's takes-all-day-to-make spaghetti sauce, homemade apple butter and a to-die-for apple pie

I'm from long grey lonely winters, renewing spring, hot humid summers, and soul filling fall

from playing with houseplants, blue jeans, wandering the woods, writing, good books, laughter and caring for my family

I'm from being a wife, a momma, a teacher and a friend to our sons; becoming a mother-in-law, a grandma and an emptying nester

from a house full of noise to wondering what's next

I am from a tiny house in the middle of America

Lending An Ear

Sometimes I wish I could tell you everything. I wish we could go sit on the porch of a mountain

cabin, put our feet up on the rail and just be real. Pour our hearts out...wouldn't that feel good?

To know I was there for the sole purpose of listening to you and you to me? It would be even better if we were able to actually focus on what the other was saying without getting distracted.

The other day my son and I were discussing what we'd be like if we were able to use 100% of our

brains. He said, "Well Mom, we'd be a whole lot smarter than we are now."

I'm wondering what we'd be like, what life would be like, if we could take that power, all 100% of

it, and put it toward just listening to another person. Imagine the insight you'd have...

the compassion...you'd be able to hear their soul crying out for oh so much...

I had a glimpse of what that would feel like a few years ago. We were at a friend's house for lunch;

(actually it was my sister-in-law's brother's house, but that's splitting hairs) there were a lot of

people in the room and a lot of noise. Everyone was talking and laughing, cooking and munching.

I was relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the moment, when suddenly my sister-in-law's other brother

stopped talking, munching and laughing. He looked me right in the eye and said, "Judy, how are

you?"

Normally when you're asked that question you say, "I'm fine. How are you?" But when I looked up

to answer him I was taken completely off guard. He meant it. The room grew quiet as

every person there looked first at him, then me. They all knew he meant it. He really and truly

wanted to know how I was and he wasn't going to look away, take a bite, start talking, or scratch

his head until he'd heard my answer, no matter how long it took or how much I said.

I was taken so off guard I couldn't at first reply. I didn't know what to say. My heart was so full

of the need to have someone actually listen I didn't know where to begin. How vulnerable

do I want to be? Do you have days and days to sit here because I really think I could talk that long.

Good grief, where do I begin? No one has EVER put me on the spot like this. Are you for real?

To top off the moment, I knew this man had just given his daughter away in marriage less than

24 hours ago. I also knew he was a very busy man with a stressful job, and was leaving in a

day or two on a business trip and he's wondering how I am??

I sighed and finally settled on one topic. Our sons. I poured out just a bit of what was going on

in my heart as the mother of an emptying nest. The sadness, the concerns, the confusion I felt with

some of their choices, the joy I felt at how they were turning out...I gave him just a bit of me but it

was enough. He listened with both ears and gave me complete and total eye contact. Not for a

second did I sense he was bored or thinking about anything except what I was saying. It was a gift I will never, ever forget.

To make the moment even sweeter, it turned out I wasn't the only one with those mixed emotions.

Every person there was feeling the same way. We all laughed, vented, sighed, and teared up.

Because one man took the time to listen, many were encouraged and when the afternoon was ending, we all left, feeling less like islands and more like life boats.