Photograph

We’ve been here a month now. The entire house has been renovated except for one room. The room holds sentimental treasures….Dad’s pipes and briefcase and shoe shine kit, Mom’s rocking chair and her favorite trinkets. Some old furniture. Old letters and cards and photographs. Hundreds of photos in boxes and bins and old photo albums.FullSizeRender (1)

I started moving things around in the room. Trying to make space for when my sisters come and we go through it all. I accidentally started looking at some of the photos. Remembering moments I’d forgotten.

There are lots of old memories here. Good and bad ones. The good ones we treasure.

But mixed up with all those treasured memories are painful ones. Sad ones too. And some that made their mark on us forever. But God redeems those. He uses them all for our good.

And then we can help others who are going through trials and painful circumstances.

Because whenever He changes us or heals us it’s never just for us.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.         2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NIV

Mama

Mom’s wait was over one year ago today. Her last breath left her while all of us were gathered around her at home, holding her hands, telling her we love her, crying because we knew we’d miss her, but rejoicing that her fight for breath was finished.

One of my favorite memories of Mom is when I was a teenager living in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She, my younger sister and I were at Eastgate Mall and she wanted to eat a sandwich at Glen Gene’s deli.  We sat down to eat our sandwiches and we talked and laughed. She listened mostly. I don’t remember the words said or what I was wearing or the taste of the sandwich. I remember the deli wasn’t crowded. I remember her happy and smiling and there. And I remember the song that played while sitting in those yellow seats at Glen Gene’s deli that day.  The song was, “True” by Spandau Ballet.

So true
Funny how it seems
Always in time, but never in line for dreams
Head over heels when toe to toe
This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound 

“Always in time, but never in line for dreams…..”  Mom didn’t speak of the dreams she had for her life. She didn’t talk about how she thought her life would turn out. I wonder if it was what she thought or hoped it would be.

She loved Daddy and her quartet of daughters. She loved her home and the town she lived in. She was a woman of courage and she didn’t give up. She stayed in a hard marriage that turned into 51 years.

Mom was a hard worker and taught us to do the same. Anyone who ever tasted her cooking praised her work in the kitchen. She was a list-maker to the very end and funny, too. She had us laughing even in the last days.

She loved reminiscing and in the last year of her life she shared treasured memories with us as often as we would sit and listen.

She commented on one of my posts called “51” about a year before she left us and several months before Daddy passed.

Marie,

Thank you for the beautiful words you put together for Wayne and I. I do believe our four beautiful and wonderful daughters had so very much to do with us making the marriage work. Not only our girls, but our friends and families that were praying for us through all the difficult times. Ultimately, it was God and his love that got us through the rough times. Also, I knew Wayne was a godly person and did not want the life we were living with the drinking problem. I knew that one day he would ask God to remove the desire for drinking away from his mind, body and heart. God answered that prayer and today we continue trusing in God and his promises. Thanks to our four daughters for what they have given to us, their love and trust and our ten grandchildren.

Love,

Mom

Each time she spoke of her life she was thankful.

To God…..for us…..for Daddy….for her other family…… and her wonderful friends.  She was thankful for everything. She praised God.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise the Lord.      Psalm 150:6 

I think she was in line for dreams and hers came true.

Waiting

Christmas time is a nostalgic season. This year more than ever.

The memories of long ago Christmases…..the wishing and the dreaming and the waiting.  The waiting was one of the best parts because the waiting meant preparing.

Decorating and baking and shopping and wrapping.  The Christmas music. Mom’s orange balls. The twinkling lights. Grandmother’s little white church with the light inside that shone through the stained glass windows. Her ambrosia. The gathering of our big family and playing with all the cousins on Christmas Eve.

And this Santa ornament. Mom let me have it a long time ago. She was cleaning out her Christmas stuff and decided she didn’t want him or Mrs. Clause any more. His jolly round face reminds me of those days….the days of the waiting for Christmas morning.

The joy and longing and the hope that filled my heart as a child fills my heart still………even more…….each day.

For you have been my hope, Sovereign Lord, my confidence since my youth.      Psalm 71:5 NIV

In response to the Daily Post’s Anticipation.

Our House 

There’s something special about getting to renovate the house I grew up in.

In the process of removing the existing floors I’ve discovered the floors I walked on when I was a little girl. The brown and gold flecked linoleum in the kitchen and the solid hardwood in the bedrooms.

In our attempt to remove the wallpaper in the back bedroom I found the green and yellow flower patterned paper that decorated my older sisters’ room when they were teenagers.
And I found pink walls underneath the wallpaper in my dad’s office which used to be the room I shared with my younger sister when we were in elementary school.

I’d forgotten the floors and the yellow and green wallpaper and the pink walls. These discoveries have unlocked a flood of memories.

Like the time I was sitting in my sisters’ yellow and green bedroom listening to Elton John’s Tiny Dancer on the radio one Saturday morning.

And now I remember sharing our bedroom with my grandmother for a while. She slept in a hospital bed beside our bed and I was scared.

And when Mom cooked oyster stew and I only put the milky part in my bowl to eat with oyster crackers because I don’t like oysters. Or when Dad showed me the way to eat cereal so that the little Krispies wouldn’t stick to the sides of the bowl. I sill eat my cereal that way.

I know other memories will come. Sweet, sad, and joyful ones. Maybe some scary ones, too. I am who I am because of the life that happened in that house and the people that loved me there. Those that taught me there and cared for me there.

Mom and Dad struggled there and forgave each other there. Dad took care of Mom there. We all learned there.

Learned to live and care and forgive there.

We all learned to love there in our house.

But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever. For what you have done I will always praise you in the presence of your faithful people. And I will hope in your name, for your name is good. 

Psalm 52:8-9 

Heritage

Piles

Four weekends ago my sisters and I sorted through, looked at, and wondered at the amount of stuff in my parent’s home.

The kitchen cabinets held more than we could have imagined. And so did the hutch in the dining room. Mom collected pretty tea cups, candle holders, various colors of taper candles, vases, figurines and other unique glass items. My dad’s office held the pencils, pens and highlighters that sat on his drafting table. An assortment of matchbooks, business cards, rubber bands, old stamps, pocket knives, his ledgers, old to-do lists and all kinds of items filled the drawers of his desks.

The closets were full, too. Mom’s clothes were sorted by color. Dad’s for convenience. Her favorite blouse hung in hers, his old work shirt in his. Dad’s old puffy Alabama jacket that Mom hated hung in the foyer closet. The card tables and chairs we used on holidays leaned against the wall and the bucket of toys that all the grandkids played with were there.

There were stacks and stacks of books, old records, and photographs. Collections of CDs, and piles of tables cloths, blankets, and bed sheets. Dishes, cups, pots & pans. Silverware and cast iron skillets.IMG_2777

Old metal Folgers coffee cans filled with nuts and bolts and screws. Some with hinges, or wire, or batteries.

Piles and piles and stacks and boxes of stuff filled the house.

Our hearts are full of cherished memories, some painful ones too. But more than anything our hearts are piled high with love. Lots of love.

Because our parents loved us and did a good job. They weren’t perfect and didn’t parent perfectly……who does?  But they prayed for us and we always knew they were there for us. Always.

Now everything is boxed up……the house is almost empty.IMG_2846

But our hearts are forever full.

 

In response to the Daily Post’s Taper.

The Last Time

FullSizeRender (12)

None of us knew this would be the last time Mom and Dad were together.

Mom had been sick for years and Dad her sole caretaker for the last two. He was still working his full-time job out of his home office when he started feeling abnormally tired in the spring of 2014.

Mom hadn’t been out of the house for months…..except for an emergency room visit the month before. But she mustered up enough energy to go to the hospital to see Dad. He was in the intensive care unit. The visit from Mom was a surprise to Dad and the oxygen mask couldn’t hide the big smile on his face when he saw Mom.

They reached for each other and held each other’s hands. They told each other “I love you” and stared at each other. Squeezed and patted each others’ hands.

Those of us in the room felt the sacredness of the moment. I think they knew this was the last time.

The last time they’d hold hands. The last “I love you”. The last time they’d see each other.

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Connected.” and One Love.

You can read more of Mom’s and Dad’s story here.

The Barn

This is a follow up to a photo I posted previously called Barn Door. I grew up there. Going in and out of that barn, up the stairs and into the loft with my sisters. We posed for Mom’s camera the same way my kids did for mine. But Daddy didn’t like us playing in the loft. He thought it was too dangerous.

This was not a typical barn. It wasn’t filled with horses or cows or any other animals except for the occasional stray cat that made its home there.

The barn housed all of Daddy’s tools. The chainsaw, drills, handsaws, the sling blade, hoes and rakes. His dad’s tools were there, too. In an old wooden tool box. Ladders and paint and his saw horses and old coffee cans filled to the brim with nuts and bolts and nails. Everything and anything he didn’t want in the house.

07152015122804
Dad with my two oldest in the loft of the barn.

I followed him as he worked around the yard one Saturday afternoon but he stopped me before he opened the barn door.

“Do not come in the barn. There are wasps’ nests and I may stir them up. Stay outside.” Daddy said.

I waited a minute but I went in anyway. He didn’t realize I was right behind him when he moved an old fold-up bed out of his way. Within seconds, I had yellow jackets swarming around me. He picked me up and rushed me outside. He swiped several yellow jackets off my back and arms and carried me inside the house. I was stung seven times. I’m sure Daddy was angry with me but I don’t remember it. All I remember is him taking tobacco out of his cigarettes, balling it up, pressing it onto each sting, and covering my stings with bandages. It was supposed to take the pain of the sting away.

But nothing could take the sting of my embarrassment away. I was ashamed I hadn’t listened and sad I’d disappointed him.

From that day forward, I listened to Daddy because I knew he meant good for me. I listened. But I didn’t always obey. I wanted more than anything to please my parents but missed the mark a lot of times. I lied and sneaked out of the house. I smoked and drank and had guys over when I wasn’t supposed to. I went places I shouldn’t have gone and did things I shouldn’t have done. When I was caught my parents would sit us down and talk with us because there was usually an “us” when I got into trouble. Mostly the “us” was me and my little sister. Sometimes they talked angrily at us. Daddy raised his voice wondering why we would put ourselves in these foolish and sometimes dangerous predicaments. But even so, it was always done in love.

I never doubted that. Ever.

I realized pretty early into my troubled days that the fun of it wasn’t worth the hurt and disappointment I caused my parents. Because I loved them and I wanted to make them proud.

How did they do that?  How did they make me care about honoring them and making them proud?  I’m not sure.

But I remember the day I was stung by seven yellow jackets.

And I remember I could have avoided it if only I had listened to Daddy.

1-2 Listen, friends, to some fatherly advice;
    sit up and take notice so you’ll know how to live.
I’m giving you good counsel;
    don’t let it go in one ear and out the other.    Proverbs 4:1-2 (MSG)

The Middle

It was already past my youngest daughter’s bed time.  

“Brady, gather your uniform!  You have a game tomorrow,” I said. 

“Ok, I have everything except my game socks,” she said.  

She looked again after I assured her that I’d washed them.  But it was late and we were too tired to care about her red game socks. We were certain we’d find them in the morning.  

We didn’t. I was aggravated and she was crying when she left for school with her brother and sister.  I waved them goodbye and marched back into the house, determined to find those socks.  I had five minutes.  Not under the bed, not in the dirty laundry pile, not in her brother’s room.  No red socks and I had to leave for work.  Ten minutes into my drive to work I realized I’d forgotten to write a note for her teacher about the change in afternoon pickup arrangements.  

“It’s ok,” I thought, “I’ll just call the school.”

Seconds later my cell phone rang.  It was the school.  My daughter went to the office to tell them I forgot to send a note.

I cried the rest of the way to work. And I was late. I walked into the office with a big grin on my face trying to hide my ruined makeup and wished my co-workers a good morning.

But my eyes didn’t lie.  Even with a fake smile, I’m sure they weren’t fooled. I can usually hold it together, but not lately.  I think I have “Acute Emotionalosis”, an abnormal condition pertaining to my emotions.  Crying one minute, annoyed the next.  I’m overly sensitive to songs about only having 100 years to live or kids growing up.  Trace Adkin’s song, “You’re Gonna Miss This” does it to me every time, and so does anything by James Blunt.  Even commercials cause tears.  Have you seen the Subaru commercial with the 7-year-old little girl at the wheel?

I don’t feel like I’m doing this whole life thing well.  Whether it’s my role as wife, mother, daughter, friend, or employee…..I doubt myself.  Sometimes, I know I’m not doing it well.

That was three years ago. I was going through a difficult time and getting used to a new normal, adjusting to working full time outside the home after mostly being home for ten years.  And in my spare time I was studying for the CPA exam.

I remember how I felt then. Besides tired and overwhelmed I felt inadequate. Less than. Like I was failing at everything, disappointing everyone and I was on the verge of tears most days.  

My family and I finally adjusted to the job. But as soon as I was used to that everything changed again. And again. And then again.  

And more change is coming.   

Change has changed me. For the better. I still have moments of doubt and stress. I mess up with my husband and kids. I say the wrong things, I’m not always there when they need me, and I’m impatient. I forget to write the check or the note. My house is still not as clean as I’d like it to be. I fail sometimes. But they’re only moments. 

When faced with a loss, a problem, crisis, challenge or any kind of change I try to remember it won’t always be this way.  I’m right in the middle of this whole life thing, doing it the best way I know how, and learning how to do it better. I will still feel the sting of failure, but I will take each day as it comes and remember the words to one of my favorite songs, “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World.  

“Hey, don’t write yourself off yet.  It’s only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.  Just do your best, do everything you can.  And don’t you worry what the bitter hearts are gonna say.  It just takes some time, little girl you’re in the middle of the ride.  Everything, everything will be just fine, everything, everything will be alright, alright.

I wish I could tell you I was my daughter’s hero that day because I found those red game socks before her game that afternoon three years ago.  I can’t. We never found the socks. And just last night she asked me where her black athletic pants were.

“I don’t know, baby,” I said.

She asked, “Have you washed them?”

“No, not recently.” I said.

“MOM!” she said.

Oh well, I’m in the middle.

Disastrous

Prom

Mom and Dad - Prom (1960)
Mom and Dad – Prom (1960)

This is a moment captured long ago…..of youth…….. filled with hope and anticipation.

I wish I’d been there when Mom was getting ready for her prom that night in 1960. I’m sure she spent hours getting her hair just right, taking extra time on her make up, and getting dressed in her beautiful gown and fancy gloves. She’s lovely.

I wonder if her sisters helped her get ready. What did Grandpa and Grandma Sharrott think of their youngest daughter going to prom with that boy?

I wish I could have watched as Dad walked up to the door, knocked and nervously waited until someone opened it. Look at him! His excitement is evident by the big grin on his face. His hair looks newly trimmed and I’m sure he took his time getting his tie straight.

Did his older brothers give him advice? Who helped him pick out Mom’s corsage? Was he brave enough to pin it on her gown or did someone else?

Did they go out to eat before prom? If so, where? How did he ask her to prom?

I know Mom loved to dance. Did Dad dance with her all night? What was her favorite song of the night? What was the name of the perfume she wore? Did he forget to put on cologne? What was her curfew? His curfew?

I had a thousand chances to ask those questions.

Now I have to wonder.

In response to the Daily Post’s Primp.