Sparkle

I grew up with 3 siblings, all older than me.  My interests were different than all three, which meant I spent my free time alone in my imaginary life, feeding my dolls, mothering, teaching.  For the first 8 years, I had few friends, and none who lived nearby.
A spike in building took place in my neighborhood which brought a change in my friend status.  Girls moved in all around the neighborhood, turning quiet days alone into days filled with knocks on the door, cartwheels in the yard, performance competitions, singing, games, gymnastics camps and slumber parties.
I fulfilled my dream of motherhood right out of high school, and in fits and starts, established myself as an adult, not knowing what direction I was best to go.  In eventuality, with a psychology degree, a certification in special education, and a family complete with yours, mine and ours, I stopped teaching after 7 years to homeschool my "ours." This included managing an interdenominational choir for middle schoolers, complete with musicals and traveling concerts.  I led worship, secretaried, media'd and kept books in church for 10 years, while raising children to love the Lord.
My children have all moved on, 3 moved off to other states. I now spend my days singing oldies, playing games, planning art workshops, hosting coffees; I play pool, Bingo, Pokeno and have poker nights.  I dance in the dining room before dinner to the music from my upbringing and that of others, who delight in their "youth."  I arrange Powerpoint slideshows of smiling seniors enjoying - again - interests from their lives past.  "You have so much energy" they say, some standing up from their chairs to dance with me, beaming, with their feet safely planted on the floor, their arms moving wildly. For those moments, for both them and me, we are not an age. We are simply ourselves, delighting in doing what, in our past, gave us joy.  It's what we love, and if our bodies allow us, we will spend our days wringing life out of every moment we are given.
Mine is a life carefully woven, by a masterful hand.  I have joy unspeakable, which I'm allowed, paid even, to carry out daily with my people.  The smiles on their faces feed my desire to help them find quality of life.  I was led to this moment, beginning the journey, at 8 years old.  The music my father and mother played on phonograph records - Harry Belefonte', The Tijuana Brass, Limelighters, Mahi Beamer, Andy Williams, Beethoven and Bach - all now delight these individuals I have the pleasure of nurturing. The singing - we croon together, and we know all the words.  They pick themselves up because the music and their memories demand it, and they obey with only a bit of hesitancy, a sparkle, and then triumph.
I have come full circle. One would think I'd dutifully resign myself to the next 'stage' of my life, of an empty nest, slowing down and preparing to sit and watch as others dance. Well, no. That is not the way I was made, and I will regale my seniors up to their ends and myself to my end.  The gifts of God - music, movement, art, poetry, socialization - they are to be enjoyed while we have life, and we do.

O-Dark-Thirty with Nonny

My mom and I are not good sleepers. Well, lets rephrase that:  My mom has a terrible time - we've been chasing a solution for several years, and now she's doing better than ever before, but still, 5 hours is a good night, and she's up with coffee by prob 3am daily.
When I was teaching special ed, in my 30's, I would do  the wake-and-worry thing. I'd go ahead and get up and grade papers or plan.  These days, I have figured out how to go back to sleep until I'm up to see Dan off at 5:30.
But then, there's coffee with Nonny.  I almost can't wait to text my mom after Dan's breakfast and lunch are in his backpack and I hug him goodbye. It's my morning Mom-ritual.
I take a pic of my coffee and text it to her. Then we pick up where we left off yesterday. She tells me what's on her mind, how her sales are doing at her shop, about the stuff she's going through in her space so she doesn't leave it for us kids to go through.
My mom is 82. She is relatively high-tech, so we text nearly every morning at 0-Dark-Thirty (thanks, Mabee!)  Sometimes I wake at 3 and FB tells me she's "active," so we'll text a bit and then go back to sleep - I will anyway. Mom might dose.
I realized this morning that will be a ritual that I'll miss.  I accidentally woke up my sister by cross-texting my mom in a thread that included Mabee (sis) and Jack (bro.)  I realized my mistake immediately, but my sister began to comment.  It occurred to me then that once my mom goes to Heaven, I'll have no one to text first thing, or during the night, or to send coffee pics to.  Mabee renamed the convo "O-Dark-Thirty" and went back to sleep.

Because the world revolves around us, I imagine everyone loves my mom like I do, prob like everyone thinks about theirs. Only I know I'm right. Haha.  Everybody loves Nonny. She's fun, she's cute. She's smart. She LOVES and loves and loves.  Knows everyone. Says what she thinks, and there're bits of wisdom mixed in.  She's everywhere at once - still. If I chance to pop in to Goodwill, I can pretty much bet she'll be there.

Every teen goes through a period where they think they're smarter than their mom. Mine lasted maybe 5 minutes. My mom is amazing.


Gail: I'm running out of creamer.
Elizabeth: I have none! And it's yucky....and ice cream is not covering it!
Snow coming! Tuesday
Gail: I have coffee! Come over!

       

Gail: Think God will let you text me from Heaven in the mornings? I love our conversations. <3 I'll think about you every single time I drink my coffee.
Elizabeth: Every time I find this stuff, I just can't bear to pitch it.....so I'll put it in a safe place.... I don't even remember most of the stuff!
Gail: Ok, but don't put the totes in the attic yourself.  Stack them up and wait for Andre.
Elizabeth:But it's dominating my living space. You'll have some laughs. A bargain at $5 a tote!  Yes, God will let us text... He's used to us....and when folks hear about it they'll think you're nuts!🤣

Oh, if only it was easy to keep all these conversations.  What can I say. I'm loving my mom.  And I want to keep her forever.  But someday, to her delight, she will fly just like she and Daddo have planned.  And I will have to figure my morning out.  There will be a missing puzzle piece in my life that will only be replaced when I follow her Home.  Mom, I love you. Text me if you can.  I'll pay attention. It will be my shell, my penny.

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My Tool-less Hands

I am faced with a task for which my hands have no tools.  Attempts to complete it would be futile - like the bird who tried to flap himself through my garage window last fall.  However visible the trees, he was not going to flap through to them.
But the bird did succeed in getting my attention. I, who opened the door, set him free from the futility of his attempts. He might say that his attempts were successful. So might I, indirectly.
When I face a dilemma for which my hands have no tools, my voice must take over.  I must get the attention of One Whose tools are sufficient. And if it is His Intention to open that door, He will.  Then again, he may intend to open a window.  Or, it could be that there is a plan I couldn't possibly foresee.  I won't know until it happens.
But I can trust Him, as He's responded repeatedly to the voice of His helpless child.  It's often in a way I could only marvel at afterward - a way I in my finite mind, would never have predicted. And so, He gets the glory - for how could I possibly assume it?