Troubles

 

The tendency is to think, well, I’ve been through the worst.  It can’t get worse.  The big one hit, I’m exempt from more.  We treat a problem like a vaccine: get the shot, endure the pain, be free from troubles forever more.  Done.

 

How many know troubles keep coming?  Raise your hand. 

 

Troubles do not seem to know each other.  Not the ones before or the ones following.  They’re indifferent and uncaring. 

 

Two weeks.  Troubles may leave you alone for about two weeks, but not more.

 

Since Bill left me, I have been bumping over a mountain of troubles, one after the other.  A car accident, house system failures, leg injuries, relationship sadness, and today… today my new puppy is so sick.  He’s only 2 months old.  He can’t stand or walk.  He can’t puppy.  No one seems to know what to do for him.  He’s not getting better.  It’s another, pretty yucky, trouble. 

 

The tendency is to think this trouble is too big.  I can’t endure another.  I can’t see past it.  But I make myself remember that all troubles end.  All troubles eventually fade into a lesson, a comfort for someone, a story to tell, a marker of faith.  Here I am again, dear Jesus.  Again.  I need you — Snoopy and I need you.  Please bring this trouble to an end and help me know that You know about all my troubles.  You work all things together for good because I love You.

When

 It was a Christmasy Christmas Day.  The dreams-do-come-true kind.  Everyone spilling with blessing.  The children declaring every gift one they’d been wishing for “all my life.”

 

And I thought of you.  I thought of you when:

 

the sunrise lifted my eyes toward the God-painted glory. 

 

the German Shepherd, your other best friend, pawed me at the door. 

 

Kaela held me while the tears missed you so much. 

 

Maciebear, and her engulfing Grandpa Bill shirt, hugged me. 

 

canned cinnamon rolls followed by Luke 2 upheld your tradition. 

 

49er beanies, gloves, and football, our cheer stuff, cheered our littlebear. 

 

a new running reflector vest, surely eased your mind, Hector Protector. 

quoted lines from movies you know circled the room. 

 

Our son’s barbecue burgers surpassed your grill skill— and you are proud. 

 

I thought of you when we ate green MnMs, shot the Fart Blaster, and watched the embers in the stove.  I thought of you when I opened my eyes first thing and shut them last thing.  I thought of you when Jesus reminded me that you made Christmas Day Christmas in every way.  And I’ll think of you when Christmas Day comes again.  And again.

MerryChristmas

 

Merry Christmas, Babe.

I imagine you Christmas all the time.  You, and the many who love Jesus and His home, celebrate the marvelous gift of belonging to Him and to His family and to His home.  I wonder and imagine. 

 

But I miss Christmasing with you in our home.  I miss celebrating the marvelous gift of you, our family, and our warm home.  I remember. 

I will celebrate for both of us.  I’ll soak in the verses as they’re read for you, pass out gifts for you, collect the torn paper for you.  I’ll love on our Bears and Littlebears and whisper your name into their happy hearts.

 

I want to think, that when the day is done, you somehow Christmased with me and our family.  After all, we’re told you’re part of the crowd that cheers us on.  Cheering Christmas is what we did, what we do.  So…

 

From Kath: To Bill: Merry Christmas, Babe.  I love you.  I miss you. 

To-Town

 You better watch out

You better not cry

You better not pout, I’m telling you why

All the family’s coming to town. 

 

They’re counting on food

Coming for joy

Rat-a-tat tats and zillions of toys

All the family’s coming to town.

 

My son knows I’m not whole yet

My niece will understand 

Ifa tear or two spills down my cheek 

And I’m not feeling so grand.

 

As everyone’s about

I’ll give my best try

I’m thankful inside, I’m telling you why

All the family’s coming to town.

Immanuel

 God is with us.  The baby’s name means and promises that He is always with me.  The promise embodies God’s forever love and care.  Forever.  And now. 

 

He is?  He is with me?  Are you sure because it’s just me sitting at this table.  My puppy is with me, gnawing on my torn-up sweat pants.  No faith required there. 

 

I wonder sometimes, specially when the lonelies settle in.  Sorry for my feeble faith, but are You really with me? 

 

When I drive myself by myself, spend an entire day without an utter, wrestle with exclusion or inattention or… self-pity, remember the use-to-be’s.  Show up please, Immanuel.  Please.

 

He does.  Mostly.  A written message, a comment on a post, a thought, a lyric, a call.  When He does show up, I know it.  I feel it down deep.  He’s with me.  I’m thankful.

 

When He doesn’t, I already know I’m asked to trust, to believe, to come closer.  I’m asked to give thanks anyway, to moment in His peace, to behold Him.  To come closer.  Yes.  I will.  Because without faith it is impossible to please Immanuel.

 

This girl wants to please Him.  He saved me.  Is saving me.  Is always always with me — Immanuel. 

Hallmark

 Not about money, not about directions, not about house projects (well a wee bit about house projects)… always about Hallmark.  Bill and Kath argued about Hallmark.

 

Bill — the music/acting/plot-is-awesome, escape-to-feel-good, romantic — married Kath — expects-movie-excellence, escape to stimulating, critic.  Uh huh.  Fuel for Hallmark arguments.

 

Enter — Friday nights.  And the loveseat.  And the only option in Bill’s mind.

 

“Not again, Babe.  I can’t take one more Hallmark.”

 

“But it’s Christmas.  You’ll like this one.  And we’re together.  That’s all that matters.”

 

So I resentfully put on my protesting, blank face, the one that refused to smile at any gooshy scene or laugh at the gag-me attempts of humor.  I stubbornly crocheted my way through the hour and a half (always recorded for our continuous pleasure) which meant I didn’t have to watch that closely.

 

What is Hallmark?  A way to love my husband.  A way to bring him some joy.  Nothing whatsoever to argue about, yet I did. 

 

And I am so sorry.  So sorry.  So sorry.  Tears.

 

If I had him back for only this Christmas season, I would hold his hand in our loveseat, start the incredible Hallmark movie that I recorded for him, smile, laugh and glue my eyes without blinking.  I am so sorry.

 

Here is the end of the Hallmark argument: I watch it by myself now.  Well, not really watch it.  It watches me.  Because Hallmark wants to remind me of the perfect man for me.  And it does.  And I am so sorry. 

Lights

    November 15th.  The exterior Christmas lights deadline.  Hold the phone.  Cancel all meetings.  Get the lights up.  Mr.  Christmas is on a mission.

 

Rain or shine, help or helpless, busy or bored, Bill made sure we were all Christmased in November.  That included the Santa Stops Here sign, a new Christmas CD, and especially the rooftop lights.  I would really?  him in the beginning years, and then I got on board his early sleigh.  There is no stalling Santa’s main elf.  And, well, I appreciated that we were one of those houses that joined in the celebration.  Ours never attracted traffic but definitely attracted us.  Sometimes we would hang out in the car just to gaze at them, singing Christmas carols pretty out loud.

 

Now our house isn’t one of “those” houses.  It makes me sad.  There are faint tree lights in the window, which is something, isn’t it?  But the dark roof line reminds me that my elf has retired.  And though I can merry-it-up some, there are some merries I can’t.  …I miss my merry Bill.

 

One morning last week, well actually night-nearly-morning, I was on my very cold jog.  Wouldn’t you know, my next door neighbor’s house sprouted a single string of multi-colored beauties.  Right next to me.  Almost me.  I thought, isn’t that like Jesus to light my dark.  I’m thankful for this simple merry that I reflects on my own walkway.  It makes me happy.  Maybe one day, I can join the “those-houses” celebration again.  But now, I’m joining my neighbor’s celebration.

Pen

 

With love from: Mom and D… whoops, scratch

 

To: Littlebears, From: GrammaKath and GranpaB… whoops, smear

 

From our housed to yours: Bill and Kath… oh whoops, start over. 

 

It has a mind of its own— this pen.  It’s in a deep ink rut. 

 

It’s hard to change ink pen habits.  They’re used to signing Christmas cards and Christmas tags the way they always have.  They know the givers’ names and that they go together.  The ink pen swirls imprinting the to’s and from’s, as it does every year, doing its job so you don’t have to.  It is not inclined to forget how because of its importance in the long-standing signing ritual.  And it resists digression.  If you need to make a change, you’ll want to plan on extra cards or tags— tossing several and starting over.  Plan to be patient.  Forming new pen-habits takes time. 

 

If as a receiver, you notice a go-together-name that doesn’t actually go together any more, forgive the pen.  It struggles to remember the new way to sign.  Or perhaps the pen wants you to remember both go-together givers.  Maybe the go-together givers still go together. 

Fork

 “The boxes feel bigger and heavier than me.  On top of a ladder isn’t my favorite place.  I’m not sure how I’ll get this stuff stored.”

 

“Those are husband jobs.”

 

She said as she forked her salad.  Or I mean, forked my heart.  Gently of course.  It was a plastic one.  But the words were very stainless steelish, ones I’ve been forking over and over myself.  Then she added:

 

“You have to remember that Bill would be getting older, with aching joints and an aching back and not so able to store boxes either.  As much as he’d want to do his husband jobs for you, he’d be wanting help, like you.  That’s the way husbands go.”

 

Yip.  She’s right.  I’ve given a weensy thought to that.  But she made me look at the stainless steel fork.  I can miss my husband, his company, his love, but I can’t long for all his services.  If he were here, we’d ponder box-storing together.  These bodies give way so that we long for Heaven.  His did, mine is.  And I do long for Heaven where our treasures are stored, especially my Bill.

Picture

 It’s a living picture. 

 

He lays on my toes.  He stretches across my lap.  He burrows behind my ear.  This new puppy of mine could not get closer.  Any closer.  Though he tries.

 

He finds me and keeps his droopy eyes on me.  He comes so willingly.  So eagerly.  When I correct, he yields.  He goes with me.  He plays with me.  He completely depends on me for everything.  And I love it!  I LOVE it!

 

Today, this lively puppy flopped over my arms and crunched his noggin on the concrete.  Ooosh!  That hurt.  He cried and cried.  And I… I felt so sorry so sorry so sorry.  Pain.  I know pain.  I whispered and soothed and okayed him back to calm.

 

The Bible says of our Lord, He is a good shepherd tending His sheep.  But I wonder if it could just as well say, He is a good dog-owner snuggling his puppy.  Because this attachment, this fancy for a brand-new member to my family, is amazing.

 

My Lord loves me to hide away in the crook of His arm.  He loves me to shadow Him, gaze on Him, drink from His “bowls,” receive His praise and instruction.  He loves loves loves me to get closer than close.  To be eager for the morning when we’re together again.  He loves me to depend on Him, follow Him, and rest with Him.

 

I see it.  I feel it.  A living picture of Jesus and me.  Wow!  Just wow!

School

 I was in school, those bedside days.  I didn’t like it either.  But my teacher, Mr.  all-things-house-management, insisted that I learn while he was still employed.  So I tucked my kick-and-scream down in, though it managed to lash out a couple times.  If not lash, then at least mask my sweet face.  And went to class.  Attendance was required.

 

Electronic Bill Paying 101

 

This course began with a remedial unit — naming the bills.  Of which, I don’t think I actually learned them all because many unnamed scary looking envelopes still land in my mailbox.  I hide my eyes as I slit them open.  I also swallow my gulps.

 

Files 102

 

This course covered drawer files, computer files, even wood files.  Anything files should be labeled, dated, slotted, alphabetized and otherwise thoroughly organized.  And no file gets tossed.  Never.  Ever.  Ever.  Which is why, I think, I couldn’t locate the files and nearly flunked the course.

 

Who to Call for What 103

 

This course required notes because there would be a test.  Call David.  He knows money and insurance.  He’ll explain it all.  I noted David.  Call Scott.  He knows construction.  He’ll repair the roof.  I scribbled Scott.  Call Josh.  He’ll help you move.  I wrote down Josh.  Um… notes get lost.  So I got smart and added Bill’s contacts to my contacts.  The list looks different than his: David Insurance Guy, Scott Handyman Guy, Josh Move Guy, Matt Mosquito Guy, Eric Heater Guy, Aaron Floor Guy, Conrad Contractor Guy, Mario Lawn Guy.  Note-taking is a personal system.

 

The semester came to a close, but like all graduates, I was not fully prepared for my future.  Not even close.  Graduates really learn on the job.  I value my teacher more than ever because this on-the-job-training has widened my eyes and especially my appreciation of his know-how.  I recall the tough lessons, I still hear his instructive voice, I remember the practice sessions.  I didn’t like them then.  I’m so so thankful now.  He gave everything to get his pupil ready for the real world.

 

School’s out.  Forever.

Signs

 

 

 

Did you know… 

If rain falls from your roof in front of the living room window, it’s a sign the gutters aren’t guttering.  If a dogger escapes into another room, it’s a sign he needs the backyard… or not anymore.  If you’re “whating” every few sentences, it’s a sign to sign up for a free hearing test.  If a symbol lights up on the dashboard, it’s a sign something needs attention sooner than next month.  If the gas stove won’t fire up, it’s a sign the pilot light isn’t fired up.

 

These are signs I’m recognizing.  Some for the first time. 

 

Here’s another:

 

If a Christmas tree is deboxed, put together, strung, ornamented and lit — by the first week in December –, it’s a sign of hope.  Of whole.  Of steps.  Surely such a thing speaks of future, anticipation, nostalgia, frivolity — such a thing glimmers of hope.  I’m amazed that my tree twinkles in the window.  And that I like to gaze at it.  Who did that?  It wasn’t anyone who lived here last year.  Was there Christmas last year?

 

And another:

 

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…” (Isaiah 9:6) And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:12)

 

I’m finding the Babe everyday.  I’m finding Him beside me, helping me, decorating with me, singing with me.  I’m recognizing signs.  Of hope.  In Him.

Snoopy

 

 

“You need a dog, mom.”

 

“No, I don’t think so.  I don’t want a dog right now.”

 

And so it goes… it’s gone.  This conversation — again and again.  They think I need company.  I think I don’t need any more unfamiliar.  They think a dogger would fill the lonely.  I think nothing will ever fill the lonely.  They think my mind is closed.  I think my whole self is closed.  Down.  At least for now.

“Shut your eyes, Mom.  Open your heart.  Hold out your hands.  Ok.  You can open them now.”

 

And there he was.  My puppy.  My company.  My lonely-filler.  The opener to my heart. 
His name is Snoopy, or Snoopers, or Snoops. 

 

This is day 3.  I don’t really know how to raise a puppy.  Our family did it yeeeeears ago.  But that was a different me.  That was a Kath whose heart was fully in tact.  I raised herbs, kids, kids’ friends, puppies; I raised a husband.  Do I know how to raise anything now?

 

What I know is that in 3 days, we, Snoops and I, are completely attached.  He follows me everywhere.  I snuggle him until play time.  Does he know my voice?  His name?  Already?  Am I one of those loony dog-owners?  Already?

 

Ok then.  Tell me what I need.  Then do what I need.  You know best.  Better than me.  I don’t want to be closed.  What I want are friends and family that speak life and joy to me.  I think I remember that favorite stuff gets chewed, soiled, thrown out.  I remember that dogger life is work!  But what I want is this dogger — Snoopy.  I can’t wait for Snooper days ahead.