Dixie Lullaby
I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately. In general, there are very few days that he doesn't cross my mind, even though he's been gone for nearly four years. Most days, something reminds me of him, or one of the kids asks a question about him, which causes me to take a trip down memory lane. I've heard no matter what, the holidays are always particularly difficult for those who have lost a loved one. I don't know exactly why that's the case for me. I didn't necessarily spend many holidays with my dad that I remember. In fact, after 22 years of overlapping life between the two of us, I only have distinct memories of two different holiday seasons. The time that I did spend with my dad happened mostly during the summer, so it would make more logical sense for me to reminisce then. But really, when are my emotions and my cognitive self synchronized? Rarely, if ever. So during the holiday season, I make cherry popovers, to remember him. I reflect on the previous year, and wonder what he would have been proud of, and what he would have wished I did differently. I wonder what life lessons he would have liked to share with me, and which of my personality traits came straight from him.
As the day of his death approaches, I consider his last days, his restful hours, and even his last moments. I wonder what it felt like for him to leave this world, and enter the next. I consider his views on the world and our mortality, and then I put them aside. I remember seeing his cold grey body, hardened, in clothes that he would have hated, lying in the funeral home. I remember sobbing with my sister, gripping her hand so tightly. I think about how guilty I felt over enjoying the company of my family in a time of such grief, and taps playing, and placing a flower in a deep hole in the ground.
But for every one of the thoughts I have about his death, I have five about his life. I think about how he must have felt as a child, the oldest of five, with my grandmother as his mother. I wonder if he knew as a child how amazingly blessed he was to be raised by her, or if he learned that later in life. I remember his work ethic, and wonder where it came from. I remember his really big hands, and imagine all of the places, surfaces, and workspaces they've been. I consider his military career, how he ended it, just to take it back up. But the best thing about remembering my dad is that I always end back up at love.
When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to have divorced parents. But as a teenager, anything that makes you slightly different than your best friend is embarrassing, right? I never really got why my mom and dad couldn't love "right." As I've gotten older, I more understand that they both loved, and just the right way. They both loved more than most, and feared less than others. My dad was married several times. I seriously don't even have a count. That would embarrass any teenager right. As a very young adult, I considered this to be one of his major faults. I saw that he never stuck with a marriage when it got hard. It's funny how time changes everything, isn't it? Now I don't see his multiple marriages as failures so much, but more as his inability to contain his love. My dad loved relentlessly. He may not have known how to make a marriage work, and his past may have precluded him from maintaining all the structural work that a marriage requires, but he loved without ceasing. It was the one thing he always did, and always did well. I think he believed in the eternal redemptive power of love too. He never gave up hope that one day he would get it right. So while some may see my dad as the ultimate ladies' man, that would be a gross understatement. He was the ultimate man, period.
I've been attempting to put together his past in patches and other little keepsakes. I often feel so inferior for not knowing where all of these little pieces of his life fit. But tonight I heard Pat Green's song, "Dixie Lullaby," which I haven't heard in a long time. It reminded me of how unimportant all of those little things are, but how much more it means to pass down that love, and that love of family that my father gave to me. So tonight, I sang my kids their very own dixie lullaby, and danced with them in the living room.
And on the day that God took away one of the most important men in my life four years ago, this year, He is delivering my husband from a certain Hell of its own. I believe that's just one more example of how God can make anything good. I am humbled to serve such an amazing, thoughtful God. I love how, while He's taking care of the entire world, He is an individual God for me, and I am thankful for the time he gave me to learn from my father.
If you can't use the sound for whatever reason, here are the lyrics.
The Division
I know I've been on hiatus, but I'm back. I'm not going to hold myself to any sort of frequency because I think it's obvious how bad I am about that... This is what's been going on in my life lately:
I learned recently (through a great Bible study and awesome facilitator) that the best way to tell a story is to leave out the details and focus on the meat of the story, then to make sure that I do not play any significant role in the heroic characterization that is applied. I'm going to try my best to sort of follow that model now.
I've been sick. Mentally, physically, spiritually. You name it, and I've been unhappy with my status regarding that portion of my life. Recently, I've been having some medical issues, and having tests done. It's causing me to miss fellowship opportunities (which is oddly a big part of my concern, because it's something I look forward to every week to keep me grounded spiritually).
So along with these medical tests, has come my mental and spiritual discontentedness. Without my weekly/biweekly meetings, I feel like I'm floating, and I have an anchor, but the rope is slowly coming untied as I drift further and further away. I find my words short, and my temper flaring at every opportunity, even though I've given God the opportunity to heal that in me in the past, and I feel like He came through for me. Mentally, I've been struggling the worst. I question God so much. "Why would you let me be sick? You know I have 3 children. How is this going to affect them? How is this going to affect my marriage? I don't understand what You want me to learn. It's absolutely cruel to let me face something like this, and suffer when You have the power to heal me." I know, I can be a completely defiant, angry child, can't I?
So in my weakest moment (and it was very ugly, take my word for it), I feel like the answer came to me, and this may be completely confusing, but I'm going to attempt to explain this the best that I can. God reminded me that "I" am not sick, but my "body" is sick. What is ailing me has nothing to do with "me" as in, who I am, in the world and in God's kingdom, but is completely restricted to my physical being, and to be perfectly honest, no illness can infiltrate me, or hurt me, because "I" am God's, not my body, no matter how much we are convinced to worship our bodies in this world.
It's a lesson I think I've been struggling with forever, even if I didn't realize it. My weight loss has gone way too slow (15 pounds in 3 months is not what I'm looking for, so I get upset, etc.). I also felt like God was telling me that I don't need to rely on fellowship to be close to him. I've sort of fallen back into this rut of intellectualizing my spirituality, and I think others who have been studying much longer than me must have more valid opinions. But God reminded me that my conversation with him, on an individual level will always be way more helpful, accurate and moving than any opinion I hear, or message that I internalize. I'm not belittling the purpose of fellowship or saying that God doesn't speak to us through others, because I certainly believe He does. My stance is more that individual relationships with God have to be more important than fellowship with others, or we won't grow, and we'll have to be drawn to our knees (again? again...) in order to find Him again.
My Son, My Teacher
When I get impatient, I fuss... a lot. Our mornings can be pretty crazy and chaotic around here. Usually we start off okay, but if anything puts us behind schedule, I get so stressed out. I hate to be late anywhere. So generally if we are running late, you'll hear me fussing at the kids:
"Grace! Get your brush and get over here so I can fix your hair! Riley, eat faster and get some socks on! Asher, sit down and quit messing with stuff until I get your clothes on! Stop! Don't! Hush! Come On!"
It's not pretty. It's very fussy.
Riley is also very interested in planting seeds right now (Bear with me, this will all make sense very soon). He loves planting seeds, watering them, and waiting for them to grow so that he can see them pop up out of the soil. I'm very glad he's interested in seeds because I have a feeling the next one in line will be asking to take care of hamsters or other small animals. Riley asked me to plant some seeds left over from his fruit the other day (orange, apple, and plum). He saved them in a ziplock and everything. I was sort of sad to tell him that we aren't allowed to plant fruit trees, or gardens in general without permits.
Anyway, the other morning I was going about my general fuss. "Why don't you have socks on?? Are you kidding me right now? You've only had like 2 bites of your breakfast Grace!" Riley stops me mid-sentence, and says, "Mom, I planted my plum seed. I know we're not supposed to, but I just wanted to see if it would grow real quick. I put it in the ground, and gave it some water, but it wasn't growing yet, and I really wanted it to grow. Then I got really close to the ground, and I yelled at my plum seed, but it still wouldn't grow. Yelling at a seed doesn't make it grow."
When did my six year old become smarter than me? Point well taken, Riley. Yelling doesn't make my seeds grow either.
I'm not happy, and that makes me happy
So I just had a major epiphany... I know. Keep your sarcasm to yourself, because this is probably pretty standard issue to many.
This Saturday (the day after tomorrow) my brother is getting married. My brother, the one person in my life who has truly been an example of unconditional love throughout my life, is getting married. I can't go. The reasons are hefty and that's not what this is about, but I'm devastated that I can't go.
So as I sit here, surfing my endless sites of wonder: postsecret, craigslist, ebay, facebook, I wallow in my self-pity. My internal monologue goes a little something like this:
It's not fair that I can't go to his wedding. This is the biggest day of his life this far, and I know that I've made the choice to live this far away, but it really just doesn't feel fair. Sometimes I put myself in a situation that makes me suffer too much, sacrifice too much. I'm tired of sacrificing. My whole life, starting before I was born has been a sacrifice, and I'm tired of it.....
You get the picture right? It just gets heavier and uglier from there. Then finally after about five minutes of this negative conversation with myself, I say, I AM JUST NOT HAPPY.
Okay, so rewind a few hours, and I'm working out at the gym. I'm that crazy lady on the elliptical reading her bible while working out. Don't judge me. God is preparing my heart for an epiphany, through my elliptical. I can draw parallels to the elliptical and circular motion, etc, but I'll spare you.
Anyway, I'm reading the book of John, from the beginning. I generally avoid John. Without being sacrilegious, I kind of think John is trite, over quoted and overdone. I like to come to my own conclusions. But today, I was compelled to spend some time in John. In John, Jesus talks a lot about eternal life, and having our life in the afterlife, through his body and flesh (and probably sounded a lot like a cannibal to those who didn't get what he was saying).
Okay, so fast forward back to me, and my internal monologue. I began to question God (I'm not proud of it, and know better, but sometimes I do it anyway. Today I'm glad I did):
I have prayed and prayed about this situation. I don't feel any better, and you haven't created a way for me to go. I don't understand why you won't let me find comfort, yet I can't go either. And that's when it became clear to me.
My entire life I have been searching for happiness. Life is about being happy isn't it? NO. Life is NOT about being happy, or finding happiness. Life is about glorifying God. My life isn't even about me. It's about how many times I point to him. Period. Happiness is a fleeting feeling that sometimes we will have and sometimes we won't. But it's not what life is about, and shouldn't be my life's pursuit.
And in that revelation, God provided comfort. When will I learn to be patient and wait for it? That's another blog.
A little overdue!
So I know it's been forever.. I constantly think, "oooh, I should blog this!" but then totally fail on the follow through. And today, o crazy child antics will be shared, but rather just a "me" update.
On October 1, our whole family switched to a gluten-free diet to benefit Riley. He doesn't have Celiac's or anything like that, but there is some theory behind gluten-intolerance affecting behavior. At first, I secretly wished it would fail. Being the baker that I am, flour and other gluten products are my life! Not to mention, I'm from Texas and we learn to fry right around the time we learn to walk... I was hard-pressed to think of a meal for my family that didn't include some sort of gluten product- in just about every portion! Now I sit lazily on my couch before you, posting that WE ARE SUCCEEDING (and even better) It's not that bad. We eat so much more fresh fruit and veggies, and I pack Riley's lunch everyday, plus send him some special snacks for kids birthday parties, etc. Our next step is to cut out any red dye number 40 starting November 1. That shouldn't be hard, because other than Jello, which comes in so many other colors that red won't be missed, I can't think of a single thing we eat that's colored anymore. So, huge success there.
On the weight loss front, I have been losing, very slowly- 15 pounds in 3 months is in no way motivational. It's just downright frustrating. In a moment of weakness at the end of September (maybe on my birthday when I realized that 27 years of my life are gone-- and THIS, this life, this body, THIS-- is all I have to show for it) I went to the doctor for some help: a miracle drug- straight crack, whatever. Luckily my doctor wasn't feeling my frustration. He insisted that I see a nutritionist and physiologist before I can even think about a drug.
On Thursday I kept my appointments, thinking, "I'm eating the right ways, exercising regularly... My body is just destined to look like this." But the nutritionist totally changed my mind. He took my numbers based on this magic scale, and I'm carrying around 75 pounds of non-muscle weight! HOLY CRAP RIGHT?!! He says 35 of that needs to go. I also had my workouts tweaked. Weight lifting was removed completely, and now I'm only doing cardio for 1 hour a day. Yesterday I did 45 minutes of cardio, but today I surprised even myself and was able to work out for an hour and a half.
But better than any of that, I've realized my problem. I've always seen the workout as something I have to do. Now I know that it's not what I should do, but rather who I should be. I should be the woman who is as dedicated and faithful to herself and her body as she is her marriage. So, with that, a paradigm shift, and a whole new outlook :o). I weigh in again on the Thursday after next. We'll see how it goes!
Hey Pumpkin!
We took a trip to the pumpkin patch with or church group this weekend. A few people were nice enough to snap some pictures of us since I didn't take my camera :o).
