God's Plan All Along

Last Friday was my wonderful husband's birthday. While every year I am so thankful to celebrate his birthday with him, this year I learned something that shocked me and at the same time made me all the more thankful.

When I visited my parents shortly before Christmas, my dad gave me a box that was filled with my childhood mementos that my mom had saved. It had my baby book, (with not a whole lot in it which comes from being the fourth baby in six and a half years), old photographs, concert programs, the newspaper clipping with my photo from when I was four years old, to copies of my family's Christmas letters. As part of my birthday present (which is about two weeks after Christmas) I asked for Hubby's time to go through the box with me. One night I started to read several of the Christmas letters starting with the one from the year I was born. That year my parents had taken some time away alone without all four of us kids.  They picked me up before they gathered my three older siblings. I was in a basket on the front seat of the car between my parents (no car seats) and my dad tried to pass someone on the two-lane highway. There was a slight rise in the road and he didn't see the oncoming car. There was a head-on collision. Dad broke an arm, Mom shattered a knee cap, broke an arm and cut her head and spent three months in the hospital. I rolled on the floor and wasn't hurt at all. I was three months old.

I've known about the car accident my whole life, so what about that shocked me so much? The date of the accident was April 7th. The day before my husband was born! I fully believe that God spared my life that day to be that man's wife 23 years later.

Talk about God having a plan! Pretty cool, huh?

Me (the baby) and my family. My first Christmas. Notice my mom's left leg? Ever since the car accident she has only been able to bend that leg to a right angle. 

My sweet hubby as a baby and his mom. 

Lasts

Years ago I read an article about Lasts. The article pointed out how we don't always know or notice when the last something will occur. The purpose of the article was to encourage its readers to savor the moments.

Sometimes lasts are a welcome relief. The last winter we had to live in Minnesota. The last day I had to live in that small town that was so lonely for me. The last day on a job that was so hard to go to everyday. The last day of college classes because you are finally done studying and can get out into the grown-up world.

Some times the lasts are bittersweet. I don't remember the last time my little daughter reached out to hold my hand. I don't remember the last time my little son wanted to watch me put on my makeup. When did my babies last crawl or call for me in the middle of the night? When was the last day they went running to the door when their daddy got home from work? I kept a calendar the first two years of their sweet little lives and wrote down their firsts. Their first tooth, first bottle, first steps, first words, etc. I don't have a calendar of their lasts. Those lasts sneak up on us and go by unnoticed as time marches on.

Maybe that's a good thing because sometimes those lasts can be super painful and if we knew they were coming it would be unbearable.

Like what I've experienced lately.

My parents are in the process of moving to North Carolina. They have lived in Iowa their whole lives except for a few years in the Air Force when they were first married. But now they want to be closer to my sister's family.

I've come to realize that the last time I was in Iowa, two plus weeks ago, was the last time I will see them in the house they have lived in since I was eleven years old. I'm feeling like it's the last time I will ever be in that house and that is very painful for me. I did some serious growing up through my teenage years and college year summers in that house. I lived there longer than any of my siblings. My parents have thrown a lot of parties in that house celebrating graduations, engagements, weddings, birthdays.

The thing with lasts is they sneak up on you and sometimes you don't realize it and you don't get a chance to process and try to comes to terms with it and before you know it, it's done and gone. I thought I would have a chance to do that, but it seems like things are moving along faster than anyone told me, than I thought they would. How did I know that last Christmas was the last one I would ever celebrate in that house? I didn't get a last chance to go through the rooms and see if there are some treasures that time forgot. I won't say I didn't get to at all, because the last time I was there I found a vinyl record of my high school senior year variety show I had forgotten about. How many more of those types of things are there? I'll never know. I didn't get a chance to go room to room and play the memory tapes of the past, of my high school friends hanging out with me in the kitchen, of my date sneaking a kiss in the garage, of my husband and I talking in the basement the day before our wedding, of my son's second birthday party there, of my daughter learning to use a fork or hiding her peas in her glass of milk, of my nieces and nephews sliding down the stairs, of all the kids sledding in the backyard, of my parents at the front door waving good-bye.

Forty-three years of memories. Done. My heart is grieving.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

A Big Deal

I know the above picture doesn't look like a very big thing, but the story behind it is.

When I visit my parents, my dad will often ask me to mend something for him. Since my mom was disabled due to a serious stroke, she is not able to do those things for him any more and even though I give my dad some grief about it, I am happy help him out. When I was at their house a few months ago, Dad asked me to mend a seam in some dress pants of his. Next to my mom's sewing machine was an old fabric tape measure. I looked closely at it and saw a name was written on the back side of it.

Can you see what it says? It has the name Charlotte Swanson written on it. She was my great aunt, my mom's father's sister. Aunt Charlotte made the best Spritz cookies.

I brought the tape measure back upstairs with me and told my dad that the tape measure was something I would like to have. My mom took the tape measure from me and looked at it and made kind of a disapproving sound (the stroke took away her speech). She then set it on a table next to her. I took that as her telling me that she was not willing to let me take it.

A little while later, Hubby and I said our good-byes and made our way to the front door. Dad pushed Mom in her wheel chair to front door to wave to us as we drove away, like they always do. I turned around to give my mom one more kiss and she was holding out her hand to me with the tape measure in her hand and a sweet smile on her face!

I know to the casual reader this may not seem like a big deal, but if you knew how sentimental my mom is, you would understand.

I will always treasure that strip of fabric with measurements printed on it and my great aunt's name written on it because it was a big deal for my mom to give it to me.

A Week at the Beach

Last week was spent at a beach in North Carolina. I was able to stay the whole week and be with my parents and my siblings (and a few other family members like a niece, nephew, a couple of great-nieces some brothers-in-law and a sister-in-law.)

Other than a cruise we all went on two years ago to celebrate my parents' 60th wedding anniversary, none of us could remember the last time the four of us spent that much time together.

One afternoon someone looked out the window and said. "Look at all those dragonflies!" Shortly after we heard my sister and nephew come hollering and yelling their way up the stairs from the pool. For some reason there was a ten minute invasion of thousands of dragonflies. All the black specs in the picture are dragonflies! Then, just as quickly as they swarmed, they were gone!

Another afternoon I was in my room reading and watching soap operas and I heard the little girls (great-nieces ages 2 and 4) squealing with delight and then I heard a familiar roar. I looked out to see my 84 year old dad in the pool! I remembered that roar from when I was a kid and Dad would come swimming under water and then come up out of the water roaring trying to scare us.  I don't think those little girls knew what to think of their great-grandpa in the pool. Grin.

My dad is awesome.

 

 

He Calls Her "Love"

I have read that the greatest gift a father can give his children is to love their mother. My dad loves my mom, he calls her "Love", and he has given me and my sisters and my brother the greatest gift.

I don't know a lot of details about my parents' dating relationship, but I do know they grew up on farms in the same county in Iowa and met at junior college and then both went on to Iowa State University. I know that my mom encouraged my dad to take his relationship with Jesus more seriously. I know my dad told my mom first that he loved her and she didn't believe him. I know they were married in 1953 and I came along seven and a half years later, the youngest of four. 

As I was growing up I always knew my dad loved my mom. He told her that often and he often grabbed her to kiss her and hug her. They had their disagreements, but they fought to find a resolution. He worked hard to provide for her and our family. 

September 6, 2013 my mom had a very severe stroke. Since 6:25pm that day my mom has not been able to speak, walk, or take care of herself. Since that day my dad has stepped into the role of taking care of my mom. While she was in the hospital and nursing home, Dad was with her every single day. He listened to the doctors and nurses, asked questions and advocated for my mom. He had a little notebook where he wrote all sorts of information. He asked such educated questions that a doctor once asked him if he was a doctor. After about five months of recuperating, my mom was able to move back to their home and my dad's love for Mom kicked into a higher gear. 

Dad helps Mom get dressed, helps her with the bathroom needs, (he has home health aides come in a couple of times a day to help him) and he fixes meals for them.  I've been impressed with the food he has been cooking and baking. He looks up recipes on line and tries them. And like every true cook, he modifies the recipes to his own personal tastes.

Dad is very in tune with Mom. While she is napping, he listens for her to indicate she needs his help. When she calls out, he immediately goes to her to see what she needs. Last January he sent out an email to us kids with a concern about Mom having a headache. (She ended up in the hospital and had medications adjusted.) At first glance of the email, I thought, okay, I'll pray for Mom and the doctors. Then I started thinking.... how did he know she had a headache? She couldn't tell him so. I asked him and he said he could tell she wasn't feeling well and asked her questions until he figured it out. She can nod her head yes and shake it to indicate no. He says he should be able to read her facial expressions after 62 years of marriage!

“Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained” C.S. Lewis

My dad is constantly looking out for my mom's good. I have never heard him be cross with her even when she is complaining loudly. He just continues to help her and reassure her and call her "Love". He told me during one visit: "She's already been knocked down more pegs than she deserves. I can't knock her down anymore."

Since my mom's stroke, my dad and I have had many wonderful phone conversations. Before the stroke I would usually call and talk to Mom on the phone or Mom would call me. Maybe it's a strain for him, but I think he knows I miss talking to Mom. It's a gift to me. (I have been so preoccupied with all that our recent move to South Carolina has brought that I haven't talked to Dad as much and I miss it.)

In the ICU back on that 2013 September day, he said to Mom, "For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. This is the "worse" part . We've got a new adventure ahead of us, Love." 

In last year's Christmas letter, Dad wrote:

"It's the last decade," I said to Verlee, "it will not be the declining decade that it is, but a joyful one when we focus on the mercy of God's grace." Which is huge!

My dad is awesome. He is setting such an amazing example of love and dedication to all of us in the family and to the people he interacts with.

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13

I believe Dad's faith in Jesus Christ is why he is able to live out his wedding vows of 62 years so incredibly well. His love and compassion are unsurpassed by any person I know. My mom is blessed to be called "Love" by him.  My siblings and I are blessed to see Dad love Mom.

I love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.

A Wednesday Hodgepodge

1. Besides left over Easter goodies, what's something currently kept in a basket at your house?
We have a random basket on a coffee table that holds all sorts of remotes that are awaiting their assignment. We just have to find the TVs, stereos, blue-ray players they go to and decide where to put those things. Sigh. Moving. Oh, there are also take-out menus and a power cord to something and coasters and instructions for a blue-ray player and a dust rag and printed out HOA rules and recycling guidelines in the same basket. Because that makes total sense. (It's not even a terribly large basket.)

2. 'The greater danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it.' ~Michelangelo Buonarroti )
So which one are you...the one who aims too high, or the one who aims too low? Have you ever seen The Sistine Chapel? Did you know Michelangelo's surname prior to answering this question?
I don't really like to admit it, but I think my "aim" is often too low.
I have never seen The Sistine Chapel and I always thought Michelangelo was a one named dude. Learn something new every day, huh?

3. April 7th is National Beer Day. Hmmm...wonder how that's celebrated? Do you like beer? Have a favorite? If you're not a beer drinker do you have any recipes you enjoy cooking that call for beer?
I think beer tastes (and smells) like gross liquid bread.
My favorite recipe that uses beer is Pioneer Woman's Beef Stew with Beer and Paprika. Oh man, that stuff is so yummy!

4. When did you last travel somewhere new? Tell us where? How'd it go?
We made a quick trip to Charlotte, NC in February.
We haven't done much exploring of our new state, yet. Moving projects will keep one from doing things like that, I guess.
We are planning on going to Charleston, SC in a couple of weeks. I've always wanted to visit there and I'm pretty excited that we live  only three hours from there!
 
5. The value of a professional athlete is greatly overrated.
They get paid an outrageous amount of money for doing something that does not add a lot of value to society.

6. What's a pet peeve of yours when it comes to restaurant dining?
Wait staff that isn't trained and/or isn't attentive. We ate out recently at a fairly nice restaurant where our waiter was a very quiet talker. So quiet, in fact, that when he came to the table to take our orders, he just stood there and did not say a thing! I initially wanted to wait to speak until he said something, but then I just wanted him to go away as quickly as possible. He gave me the heebie jeebies!

7. It's Poetry Month...share a favorite poem, either the title, a few lines you find meaningful, or the whole kit and caboodle.
Can't say I have a favorite poem. Poetry has never interested me much. (Except when Hubby writes me one of his famous "Roses are red, violets are blue" poems. They are very original!)

8. Insert your own random thought here.
My daughter texted me this picture a couple of weeks ago. This is my mom and my granddaughter. They share the same middle name of Mae.

 My daughter called me to tell me the story of this visit. She lives about 40 minutes west of where my parents live. One Tuesday about two weeks ago, my daughter woke up from a nap and had a voice mail from my dad. My parents had left the house that morning to go to a doctor's appointment for my mom, but it was canceled at the last minute. Mom indicated (she has no speech due to a stroke about 18 months ago) that she didn't want to go back home. My dad has an amazing ability to ask Mom enough questions to figure out what she is wanting. He says that after 62 years of marriage he ought to be able to read her facial expressions and just plain understand her. Dad asked Mom if she wanted to go out for lunch. She nodded her head yes, then no. Meaning, Dad discerned, that she was fine with eating lunch out, but she wanted to do something else. While they were eating lunch, Mom kept pointing west. So Dad asked and asked trying to figure out what was she was pointing towards. He finally asked, "Do you want to go meet Lydia Mae?" to which he received a resounding "Uh Huh" and a strong nod of the head yes!

I got tears in my eyes (and do now as I write this out) when I first heard this story. I shake my head in amazement at what my mom has accomplished since her stroke despite the things she cannot do. I also am so moved by my dad's care for my mom.

A Summary. The First of Several.

Two weeks ago I flew back to the Midwest to see family and to assist in packing up our house in Minnesota.

After a visit to my full-term pregnant daughter, I spent a few days with my parents. It had been a long time since I had seen them (Christmas). I met them at their Bible study group that they have been a part of for more than 30 years. I know several of their friends and my dad led the discussion. A good study on John 4 and a fun group of elderly people still learning about God's word. That is so encouraging to me to see people in their 80s still seeking to learn about God and His word. I have heard an 80-something year old say that he didn't think he had anything left to learn about Christianity (I even heard him say this when he was still in his 60s). That made me so sad.

The next morning I accompanied my parents to my mom's speech therapy at the University of Northern Iowa. The stroke that hit my mom in September of 2013 took away her speech. While she doesn't talk, she is comprehending two-step instructions (pick up the cup and pretend to drink), matching words to pictures and working on playing UNO. She has one-on-one time and some group time. The group time is for social interaction and is with people with the same type of language disorder caused by damage to the brain (most commonly the result of a stroke). Anyway, I found the whole thing very interesting (and hard) and am so thankful for people who study speech-language pathology.

Another morning I got to see my mom working hard in physical therapy. They have a very good and patient man come to the house three times a week to help my mom with movement. The stroke also took away the use of the right side of her body. She cannot use her right arm or leg. Amongst other exercises, physical therapist helps Mom walk with the use of two different types of walkers. He helps move her right leg. I watched my mom walk across the kitchen floor several times. I loved the look of determination and concentration on her face.

After a few days with my parents, I took off for Minnesota to meet my husband there.

(Can I take a break here to confess how the rental car I had drove me nuts with trying to figure out how to operate it? Oh, I could start it and drive it, but the climate control, radio and even the gas door release got the best of me. I spent a good five minutes at the gas station trying to figure out how to open the gas release thingy. I finally consulted the manual. I just needed to press on the round door and it popped open. Good Grief. Sometimes I just laugh at myself.)

Okay. Back to Minnesota. 

We finally were able to pack up the things in our house in Minnesota. Not only did that house sell, we found one here in South Carolina.

(I must clarify that by "we finally were able to pack up the things in our house" I mean we supervised a moving company packing up the house. And by "we supervised" I mean my husband. Of course. He's the best.)

It took a team of people three days to box everything up and to load it in a moving van. The moving van will unload everything here on Monday.

Whew! I'm tired just thinking of all of those boxes that need to be unpacked. I am so thankful for a husband who has the Gift of Organization. He also has the Gift of Spacial Reasoning and can visualize how our furniture will fit in a house. We spent a good part of today walking around our house trying to figure out where the bigger pieces of furniture will go so we can have the movers do the heavy work.

Friends

Since September 6, 2013 I have been a witness to some remarkable friendships. That day is the day my mother had a severe stroke. That day is the day I began to watch my parents' friends step up and demonstrate what friends really are.

When that terrible stroke hit my mother, my dad and Mom's friend, Lois, were with her. As they were following the ambulance to the hospital, Lois was on her phone calling my dad's friend, Pat. Within a few minutes Pat was at the hospital by my dad's side and stayed until my sister arrived. The next day Pat brought sub sandwiches for all of us who were in the ICU waiting room. I was with my dad for the first week Mom was in the hospital. Every single day Pat came by and Lois came by. There were also visits from several friends they have been in a Bible study with for years. When Mom was finally able to move home five months later, those friends continued to visit and bring meals to their house. Pat came every Sunday afternoon to visit. He would great my mother with, "Hello, Beautiful", which always made her smile.

We got news today that Pat is now on hospice care for cancer that has metastasized.  My heart just aches for my dad. I ache for the hole that will be left when Pat is gone. Pat has been an encouragement for Dad. Pat has been a support for him. Pat has made my dad laugh. Pat has been a help to Dad. (Pat built a ramp in their garage for my mom's wheelchair.) Every Sunday, Pat is right there as my dad pulls up to the building and gets the wheelchair out of the back of the van for Dad, the footrests that are in the back seat and then will park the van for Dad.

Today I read this post by Sophie Hudson on Ann Voskamp's blog about what her mama taught her about friendships. At the end of her article, Sophie said:

Because in sincere, God-honoring friendships, you don’t compete - you serve.
You don’t push people down; you lift them up.
You encourage.
You esteem.
You honor.

I have watched Pat do all of these. My dad is blessed to have had a friendship like this. I have been blessed to witness this friendship.

I have thanked God many times for Pat and Lois and their loyal friendships with my parents. Many times I have asked God to bless them. Pat is ready to see Jesus and to see his wife (who passed away about 3 years ago).

I am praying for my dad as he grieves the loss of his friend.