The Cherry On Top
She's got fire red hair right out of a bottle and sticks for legs, the skinniest you've ever seen. She wears slippers instead of shoes, and always wears navy blue knit socks that are a size too large, causing them to sag and hang loose around those wispy, thin skin covered limbs. A floral cotton skirt, gathered at the waist, rests just below the knee, and she keeps her tiny frame warm with a pearl buttoned turquoise sweater. Her hair is always combed and neatly coiffed above her haphazard outfit. That hair, it's the cherry on top. But, she never smiles.
I've seen photos of her beauty queen days; they're displayed on the nursing home wall. She had a throw-back-your-head laugh in those days, and was dressed to the nines. I think she tries to mimic her old fashion sense when she clips that string of pearls around her neck, but it's not quite the same. Something's missing. The joy.
Where did the joy go? Where did that old beau from the photos go - the one that's sitting on the hood of that convertible with her? Somehow, between then and now, her stride turned to a shuffle, and she lost it. She turned her head, and tossed that crown of red, and life passed by. And now, turning the silver to red does something for her in the drudgery of assisted living. She may not have anything to smile about yet, but with her roots done, she's ready for whatever may come, or whoever may come to interrupt the bleak. Painting her hair red, it means she's got hope.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. ~ Proverbs 13:12
Today I'm sharing with Five Minute Friday where today's word prompt is RED.
Finding Something More Right Where You Are
I used to be mostly a city girl, a bit awkward in the woods - one foot in and one foot out. But now, I'm mostly a country girl, a bit restless in the burbs, still one foot in and one foot out. Just as comfortable in high heels and an evening dress as I am in camo and hiking boots, I get along just about anywhere. However, I've seen my desires shift from fancy to familiar, from savvy to simple since I've been married to that fisherman of mine. I like a simple life, stripped down of all the excess making it just that much easier to touch God. It seems there's less in between us. Fewer distractions and less stuff, whether by choice or not, make it easier for He and I to breathe together in this space.
I'm rich here in this low-income neighborhood. Hubs and I struggle right along side him as we watch a neighbor get his water cut off, and the teenage boy down the street comes knocking on our door asking for $50 bucks to get his car going again. We live in this space in a city block where no one has much, but neighbors talk over the fence and borrow sugar, yet most don't know Jesus. We're rich, not simply because of what the Lord has given us, but because of what he's done for us. We have something to offer. My dream is that even if the external struggles in our neighborhood don't ever end, that the internal ones will. We're trying to plant seeds here, not just in the rich garden soil next to our house, but in souls because it's not just empty pockets here, it's empty hearts. Oh yes, God's given us rich soil to plant in here - spiritual soil.
I'm ever so thankful for my home and the opportunities we've been given here, but sometimes when I look out my window, I pretend I can see for acres rather than a stone skip to the house across the street. Then God brings my mind back to the aching of the bones inside these siding slapped houses around me. I long for the freedom and hard work of country life, the sentimentality of a home on the river, a tree stand in the woods out back, and a living room large enough for parties, but then God calls me back in to this place, this place I call home, where all around me hearts lie empty without Jesus. Mission fields aren't just over there, or out there somewhere. Sometimes, God calls us to stay right where we are for the time. I wonder how often we dream about moving up and out to better houses without ever considering that God has us where we are for a reason. Sometimes we stay because we have to. Sometimes we stay because we should. He's kept us here for reasons unbeknownst to us, but we know we are needed here. So we live here, and we pray here, we struggle here, and we bring the country here. We don't long for something better. We just long for what God has for us, and sometimes God holds back so that we can give out what we already have. We're suburban farmers with more garden covering our yard than grass. We have little, but we have a lot.
So today, it's not about wishing for something different or more, it's just about being thankful that I have anything at all, that I can do anything at all, that I can give anything at all because God so lavishly and mercifully extended his hand when he gave me Jesus, when he spilled his blood instead of mine, when he held back the wrath that I deserve. In light of this, my little corner of the world seems quite grand.
It's been awhile since I shared bits of my gratitude here. I was on my journey of counting to 2000 when I left off with 1452. I've been jotting them down in a phone app and on scraps of paper, but not here. So, today I continue with the count.
1452. My precious little house where we live and love and talk over the fence
1453. Good neighbors that really can be depended on
1454. A garden and the husband who takes the time to cultivate it
1455. The stretching that depending on God creates
1456. God's miraculous provision in times of need
1457. A cold glass of orange Kool Aid after a long drive in a car with no air-conditioning
1458. Putting lotion on Dad's arms. He winced at the cold, but then relaxed and closed his eyes.
1459. Learning that my Dad used to make Angel Food Cake when he was young, and then having the opportunity to feed him some during our visit to memory care.
1460. A renewed commitment to the Sabbath and all it holds dear. It's more than going to church. It's a day with no work or labor of any kind. We rest, we reflect, we refresh, we read, we pray, we worship, we fellowship, we honor. I'm even skipping social media on that day!
1461. The sound of the harmonica coming from the front porch
1462. Early morning walks with my puppy. Not so much a puppy anymore, the walks seems to wear him out!
1463. Books on theology and time spent digging deep
1465. New friends and fellowship online
1466. A new morning routine and stewardship over those all important morning hours
1467. Lots of new reading material
1468. Chocolate Molten Lava Cake ice cream from Braum's
1469. Evening drives with the windows rolled down - an unusually mild August!
1470. Knowing that as the winds whirl around me and the debris flies, God will speak it to stillness when the time comes.
She's a Small Stone
She sits at the edge of the pond with her bent legs pulled up tight under her chin. Her left arm is wrapped around those knobby knees, while her right hand tinkers with the stones strewn about her feet. She tosses them, over and over into the air, and into the tall grass growing up out of the water's edge. The locusts are singing, and she ponders life.
A dragonfly lands on her big toe, and she tries to reach for her camera without interrupting his curiosity, but he zips away to a safer spot on a twig floating in the green, stagnant water. He seems to watch her as she pushes the stones around and ponders and strains to see into her future.
Can she really make a difference? Can one person who scribbles out words in notebooks, change anything? Is she part of God's provision to parched and weary souls? What she has to say - will it move anyone? Her mind wanders and wonders.
She picks up some stones and flings them further, and the dragonfly still stares and perhaps wonders if one will hit too close. She rises to leave and decides to toss one final stone into the water. She's hoping to make a big splash, but small stones don't make big splashes. The stone drops in the pool, and the movement of the water carries the dragonfly and his branch away on a small wave. She realizes in that moment that even small stones cause ripples and that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't called to make a big splash. She watches as the ripple she's caused moves on and on.
Then Someone Comes To Get Her
She wakes up before the sun - mostly because she goes to bed so early. Parkinson's makes the getting ready for breakfast long and cumbersome. She can't maneuver the way she once did and takes breaks between the brushing of the teeth and the combing of the hair. It's all just too much to do in one fell swoop. Once she's gotten herself together, she sits and rests and waits and then presses the assist button hanging on a plastic chain around her neck. She waits some more - then someone comes to get her.
A little bent over and a little cocked to one side, head bobbing, hands gripping the handle bars on her walker, she and her aide take the long walk to the dining room. She sits at a table alone until her counterparts, other women without their husbands but with an aide, come in alongside. They eat. They talk but can't hear each other. She finishes her oatmeal and then presses her assist button again. She smiles above the pain and waits - then someone comes to get her.
She's been alone in her apartment for 5 hours now, waiting for 12:30 p.m. That's when she goes to visit her husband of 61 years. He lives just around the corner and down the hall in memory care. She doesn't take naps or sleep. She sometimes talks to her daughter on the phone, but she mostly waits until it's time for her visit, and when it is, she presses her assist button again. She waits - then someone comes to get her.
The visits, they're hard on her, delightful for him. When she's delivered to his side, he comes alive. "Oh, I thought you'd never come!" he says. They sit in the parlor and watch TV or snooze until activity time, where she helps him play bingo, then paint a birdhouse. His unintelligible words no longer bring her comfort as they sit and wait for the paint to dry. It's the loneliest of places for her to be, but you won’t find her anywhere else each afternoon - until she grows weary, presses her assist button again - then someone comes to get her.
The evenings are the hardest. Alone with no plan of what to do, she slips into bed at 6:30 when most of us are eating dinner. Daughter visits are the only welcome interruption. Twelve hours will pass, and the routine will begin again. Body undependable, lover gone, hope hanging on the promises of God - she waits until He comes to get her.
(I have more thoughts to share below, but this is the end of my time for Five Minute Friday. I'm writing this story today for Five Minute Friday. The word prompt today was LONELY. I must confess, I stretched my minutes to eight!)
Do you have a story about loneliness?
I've experienced loneliness in my own life, but I've witnessed the most heartbreaking loneliness amongst the elderly. Their suffering rips at my heart. Being alone yet dependent on others multiplied by chronic illness can result in suffocating loneliness, but Jesus willingly enters into these moments. His provision comes in a multitude of forms. He ministers through His Word, through daughters, and chaplains and neighborly strangers. He comes in on the feet of anyone who willingly goes to the lonely places of others. Sometimes, being the answer to the loneliness of another can provide the answer to our own loneliness.
Psalm 102:7 says, "I lie awake, lonely as a solitary bird on the roof." Have you ever witnessed or experienced that kind of loneliness before? Are you experiencing it now. Can I listen to your story? Can I pray for you?
Too Many Tomatoes
bacon and tomato sandwiches
sliced tomatoes sprinkled with salt
tomato soup
braised okra and cherry tomatoes
poor boy sandwiches
summer salads
gift giving
donations to the food pantry
popping cherry tomatoes like they're candy - they're sure sweet enough!
These are just a few of the things we do with our summer tomatoes, but the plants are producing faster than we can keep up with. My dining room table is covered in Romas, Cherries, and Slicing tomatoes! We have pounds and pounds of them. It's time to break out the mason jars and get to canning some homemade spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, and maybe we'll even make up some ketchup this year! It's a bountiful blessing, but it's lots of work! I wish you all could come over for a canning party. It sure would make the work seem a lot less like work!
How about you? Do you have a garden? What did you plant this year?
Today I'm sharing with my friend Beth and her brand new link up - Three Word Wednesday. My three words are, Too Many Tomatoes!
