A new patio...

The last few weeks have been spent tearing out my old wooden deck and replacing it with a flagstone patio.  This has been much more of an ordeal than I had imagined.  What a process this has been to tear out all of that wood, jackhammer a 4 ton rock that was smack dab in the middle of the deck (don’t ask me why anyone would put a rock in such a place), lay electrical wires and drainage pipes, lay a foundation of dirt and small pebbles before the concrete foundation, and finally the placement of the flagstones.  While I had no idea what all was involved in this process, I’m certainly glad my contractor, Kris did.  

Kris is a master at his trade and does so much so well that I marvel at his knowledge, skill and craft.  We, like the royal “we,” as I have stood and watched while Kris and helper, Austin do all the work, are now in the final stages of completion.  While this is not going to look like a large home improvement, I certainly appreciate all the hard work and many hours that have gone into the reconstruction of this patio.

I have always had a great fascination with brick masons.  There is something so mesmerizing about their actions.  Watching their plumb lines go up, how they mix the mortar to just right consistency. The way they use that trowel to scoop up the mortar, splatter it on the existing layer, place the brick, smoosh it in and then scrap off the mess that was squished out, it’s seems so satisfying. It looks so fun, though I know it’s hard work that takes great skill and practice.  I admit I’m a little jealous.

This last week I have watched Kris perform an even more fascinating craft. Laying varying sizes of flagstone to create something that looks like a kind of crazy quilt made from stone.  

Kris had me go with him to a stone yard to pick out the type and color of my flagstone.  Did I go with beige or gray tones?  Did I want the stone to be smooth or wavy?  I was a bit overwhelmed, but in the end picked four huge flats of beigish/brown smooth stones, each stone with varying veins of color running through them.  

Watching Kris meticulously cull through each stack of stones was so interesting.  He would stack and restack the stones in various piles, leaning them against one another almost like a chain of fallen dominoes.  I later found that this assured him of being able to see all the variations of the stone’s colors. I realized he had stacked the stones according to size and shape.  The largest of the stone slabs that had straighter edges he placed around the yard, leaning them against trees, fences and any place he could easily look for just the perfect stone to place in a corner or along a straight edge.

Once Kris began the actual process of slopping the mortar onto the newly poured slab his work magnetically drew me to his side.  I watched as he carefully handpicked his stones, some small, some large, some in between.  All the shades of the stones began to meld and compliment each other as the patio began to take shape.  I watched as he would carefully place stone beside stone, their irregular pieces fitting together much like a jigsaw puzzle.  He would fill the spaces between each stone with mortar making sure there was equal distance between the stones.  Oh if only Kris could have been like Tom Sawyer whitewashing that fence. Tom trading his friends small treasures for the privilege of doing his work, I would have been thrilled to get my hands on that mortar and trowel and work those stone pieces together.

Fortunately, Kris knew the skill and experience it takes to lay flagstone and he continues to plod along, making sure each stone is strategically placed.  Insuring that I will have a beautiful flagstone patio very soon.

All of this reminds me of Corrie ten Boom’s tapestry poem “Life is but a Weaving.”

Corrie writes how life can look much like the underside of a tapestry at times, loose threads dangling, filled with raw knots and rough edges.  It is not until the piece is complete however, and the tapestry has been turned to the finished side that the observer is able to see the masterpiece as its finest, or...that we can see what God has planned for our lives.

I felt the same way watching Kris with the stones.  I realized that it takes all types of stones (or trials), different colors, shapes and sizes to enable the finished product to look exactly as the master had planned.  The large rough pieces might well be significant of the times in our life when those boulders of sadness or fear seem unmanageable. Isn’t it those tough times that enable us to grow, to broaden our views or opinions, to turn to our Master, who enables our faith to increase?   Isn't it those amazing large pieces of stone that enhance the beauty of the final patio product? 

When I watch Kris carefully fill in a blank spot with a smaller piece of stone, making sure the mortar around each piece is even, I am reminded of how much more diligently God seeks the right moments to help balance our lives with certain obstacles, so that we might be exactly who he created us to be.  

There are times Kris had to stand firmly, sometimes even stomp with all his might, on a certain stone to make sure it was securely embedded in the mortar.  How many times in life have we felt life’s pressure was simply too great to withstand?  Yet, after time has passes, we see God’s fingerprints covering experiences in our lives and it is these moments are precious and rare.

I have tried more times than not to jerk that trowel out of God’s hands.  Thinking, I could do a better job, demanding the perfect scenario to be accomplished in my time...not His?  Oh, I’m thankful our God doesn’t take after Tom Sawyer.

I think as I’m growing older, I’m seeing that my patio, my life, still seems so uneven at times, so awkward, so full of knots and loose threads.  There are those rare moments though, when I do get a glimpse of the finished side of my quilt, when I can see a vision of my completed flagstone patio, when the rough, jagged pieces of my life do begin to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle with purpose and definition.  

It is in those glimpses I am able to see that God is indeed working within my life, making it one of purpose and joy. It is then that I can sit back and breathe deeply and be thankful that He is not yet finished with his work and even more grateful that He is the greatest Master of all.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Four years with Harper...

Last week we celebrated Harper’s 4th birthday and the feeling that she will always be a gift from God, an amazing miracle and extra special fills me to my very core.

You know those moments in life when you hear devastating words that catch you off balance?  Those moments when replayed in your mind, you are able to recall the exact place you were when you first heard these words.  Even the slightest reminder sends you tumbling back in time.  You are there...sitting in that chair, or standing in a particular store, or maybe eating in certain restaurant and all the feelings that you had moments before hearing these life changing words are frozen and now all that will ever exist is the feeling you felt when you first heard those words that would change your life forever.

I vividly remember the winter of 2010.  Brooke and Jared were living in Atlanta and they were 12 weeks into their first pregnancy.  The phone rang, I was cooking dinner and Brooke told me there was a “slight hiccup” in the baby’s sonogram.   She tried to sound calm, but I could feel the tension in her voice from a thousand miles away.

That “slight hiccup” ended up developing into a serious birth defect.  I had never heard the word before and had no clue what it entailed, but the term giant omphalocele quickly became part of our reality.  

As this child grew in utero all of our fears grew larger and darker and more troubling.  News that the child within might not survive, might have serious life-long issues, or be seriously restricted by this birth defect enveloped each of us through out the next year to follow.

I watched my strong, professional, courageous, young daughter remain stoic. I also was by her side when she would melt into puddles of tears when those darkest of fears were simply too overwhelming.  

I will tell you that as Brooke’s mother, my heart was heavy as a heart could be, not only for this child within, but more so for my precious daughter and her darling husband.  I wept mountains of tears for what might come. I prayed daily asking for God’s mercy, asking for a miracle that by all medical certainty could simply not be reversed.

August 4th finally came.  Harper Elizabeth was born by c-section and was to spend the next three months in the NICU.  We still had scary days ahead of us, and we knew it would be a long time until Harper might be out of the woods.  God was merciful, he blessed us and he answered my prayers more than I could ever imagine possible.

Brooke was a constant in Harper's life from the moment she was born.  She mothered Harper with more devotion and determination than she could ever put into any job.  She was at the NICU every day and many nights.  Her days were long.  At first, Harper was unable to be held until the O started to solidify.  The holding times grew longer as Harper healed and I would go at least once every day to now spend time with both Brooke, and Harper.

There has been something extraordinary about Harper from the start.  She would take you in with her big brown eyes. She seemed able to look deeper within me than I thought possible.  Trying to discover who I might really be.  We spent long hours rocking and looking into one another’s eyes. To this day I still find a knowing wisdom that lies within the lovely eyes of my granddaughter.

There were developmental delays with Harper, but her physical condition soared.  She grew into her O and finally in July before her 1st birthday she had surgery on her little tummy and was also given a brand new belly button.  She was on her way to putting those dark unknown days behind us.

While Harper might have been a little late in sitting up, crawling, even walking, she made up in soaking up knowledge like a little sponge.  Her first passion was for letters.  Soon after her 1st birthday Harps began to have a great curiosity in the alphabet.  Letters and puzzles became Steve and Harper’s favorite past time.  They could sit for hours talking about different letters and working puzzles.  Grandy could never quit talking about how amazing his little pal was.  I loved nothing more than sitting and watching the two of them with their heads together chattering at length about all things wonderful.  Oh what a gift Harper was for Steve.  As sick as he became, he always wanted an opportunity to watch her curiosity and personality unfold.  

At an early age, probably because in the NICU she was unable to wear cute little baby outfits and partially because she was bald...forever, Brooke and I began buying and making her caps and hats.  I hope she will never lose this devotion for hats.  What fun it was to walk in and find her plopping different ones on her little head.

 Harper’s next passion involved transportation vehicles and construction site equipment.  She quickly new the difference between excavators and backhoes and slept and played with only trucks, buses and earth moving toys.

From there we fell in love with dinosaurs.  I say "we" because Harps was very demanding about proper naming of these large critters. She thought nothing of correcting of us when we would mix up a Allosaurus with a Ankylosaurus...this is no exaggeration.  At three years old she was telling everyone she was going to be an paleontologist.

Then the inevitable happened...Disney princesses came into her world.  The door to pink, purple, frilly, prissy and beautiful opened and Harper was sucked into it like a Hoover Wind Tunnel Vacuum Cleaner.

We now stand amazed at how many times a day a girl can change into another lovely ball gown.  We spend hours talking about why Cinderella’s step-mother didn’t want her to go to the ball. Why Elsa and Anna’s parents had to die on board that ship? Why the evil Maleficent had it in for Aurora a.k.a. Sleeping Beauty????

In the fours years Harper has been in my life I know my heart has doubled in size.  She has taught me so much I might have forgotten about the innocence of life, being silly and witty and imaginative, and the fact that I am indeed getting older.

A year since Steve’s death, Harper continues to bring up her memories of Grandy.  I love these times when we can sit and talk about how much he loves her, how amazing he thinks she is, and how he always jumped out of his chair when she came in the door and would throw his big arms around her and said, “Hey Pal!”

There are nights when Harper sleeps over and she often sleeps in my bed with me.  Her method of waking me in the mornings is to hold my face in her little hands and smooth out the wrinkles she finds beneath her fingertips.  I hear her whisper “Honey” so softly.  If I keep my eyes closed for just a brief moment after I wake up, I am reminded so very much of Steve doing the same thing not so very long ago.  Ahh...what a gift!

I am also reminded of my aging condition as Harper sits in my lap.  Thinking we are being sweet and cuddly, Harper plays with my upper arm.  She gently rubs my arm, so lovingly and her little hands gradually find their way to the underneath part of my arm.  Not paying too much attention I soon realize Harper is flapping my loose dangling arm fat between her hands.  “Oh Honey, I do love your arms, they are so fun and squishy.”  I wouldn’t trade in squishy arms for toned ones for anything in the world,  it might deny me the delight of this giggly little gir!

Just the other day we were sitting on the floor when out of the blue Harper asked, “Honey, can you do a somersault?”  “Well, of course I can!”  I stated with great confidence.

I bent over from a cross-legged sitting position and placed my head down on the floor between my legs.  I suddenly realized that if I in fact followed through with this exhibition I would be either (1) never get up again, or (2) I would break my neck.  I mean if it weren’t for Harper I might never have realized that what used to be second nature, something I didn’t need to think about twice.  Now, find I can no longer contort my body into a wadded up ball that flips over on the ground and springs right back up again.  But guess what?  I no longer need to. All I need do is enjoy every single somersault this sweet ball of energy has in her.

If I could, I might love to freeze Harper right where she is...I remember Minnie Mama telling me at age five that one day I would out grow her.  One day I would no longer want to come and spend a week with my grandmother doing absolutely nothing except soaking in the love and special attention she had to give me.

She was right, of course. All grand babies will eventually outgrow us, but until that day I plan to revel in the delight of each of my exceptionally special and perfectly wonderful grand children.

Oh how blessed I am,

Honey

 James 1:17  "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change."

True confession...

Sunday late afternoon, I plopped down on the sofa, turned on the television and began browsing through the menu section on my remote control.

Okay, stop right here for a brief “Let-Me-Get-On-My-Soapbox” spiel.  Am I the only person in the world challenged by the numerous television remote controls?  Why is it that I pay an incredible amount of money for AT&T cable services and feel I'm missing out on ¾ of my options?  I have a zillion channels at my fingertips and yet, I struggle terribly trying to remember which number goes with which program?  

Then there’s the problem of accidentally hitting a wrong button.  Oh great, now I stand a real chance of (a) losing the program I’m am watching, (b) having to go back to the beginning of the program and start all over, or (c) all of a sudden realizing I’m watching “Breaking Bad” or “The Good Wife” or "Parenthood" in Spanish or French or Russian!  

For pete's sake, what happened to the get-up-and-turn-the-dial days?  Okay, my rant is over let me resume the story of my true confession.

So, it’s Sunday and I’m browsing..and there in the Menu Setting I find I have automatically programed new episodes of Project Runway.  There, I have exposed my dirty little secret to all of you.  I love this horrid program.  Embarrassing, yes, but truthful.

Let me be clear that I have never watched a full episode of “American Idol,” “The Bachelor,” “The Voice” or any of the reality TV shows.  Often I sit with my friends and I'm lost in conversation because I’m not sure who got cut from their latest singing challenge.   I struggle with keeping up with who got a rose or which judge is everyone’s favorite.

I admit, I have really struggled to sit through an entire episode of “A.I.” just so I could be part of friendly conversations, but alas, I have never made it.  I remain left out in the cold when it comes to “knowing the people.”

Now I know this sounds a bit uppity on my part, like maybe I’m too cool to waste my precious time watching someone sing their hearts out and then get cut to the core and must leave the show, terrible right?...but then there’s “Project Runway”...

Sunday afternoon, when I discovered the New Season 13 of “P.R.” had started and, even better, when I realized I had recorded both the 1st and the 2nd episodes of the new 13th season, well, I was a little beside myself.

There I sat, riveted to the tube.  My friends were back!  I had had to wait almost a year to reunite with them again, and now, we were all back together again.  Timm Gunn, Heidi Klum, Nina Garcia and the other guy…Zach Posen, not much of a fan of his.  I like Michael Kors so much more.

The selection of the new designers began!  Oh fun, more new friends and/or enemies to spend time dissecting.  I think my heart might have started pounding a little harder, my breathing more erratic, okay maybe I’m being overdramatic here, but I’m loving this.  All the drama, the backbiting, snippy behind-the-back comments, the melt-downs, the tantrums, the blood, yep, even seamstresses are capable of suffering when one almost got their finger chopped of with a rotary cutter or experiencing a sewing machine needle going through a finger.  Oh, this is television at its finest.  It's fabulous, who could ask for more?

The 18 new designers were introduced, a bit of their stories unfold, they begin to show the judges their designs...their hearts, their talents are exposed for all to critique. The creativity and imagination of these wannabe designers, so incredible.  

Their crazy challenges like creating an outfit out of fruit, or finding all your design material at a hardware store instead of a fabric store, the list of wacky challenges gets better with every season.  Timm Gunn's favorite sassy mantra, "Make it work!"  as he mentors the designers to the very end.

Immediately I find my favorites, my A Group.  Their stories appeal to me, their personalities blend with mine, their work is divine!  Heidi states she would love to own some little top or jacket or pair of slacks that the would-be-designer has just created!  Me too, Heidi, me too!  Oh, how I hope my people make it to Mercedes Benz Fashion Week!

But as Heidi says in every episode, “One day you’re in, (she lifts her ever so toned arm and snaps her fingers) and the next day you’re out owt! (little German accent there)  Now isn’t that profane?  

So I watch. I watch both one and a half hour episodes, three full hours of “P.R.” in one sitting!  I can’t wait for the next episode, only problem is how the heck do I find The Lifetime Channel?  

I do hear Steve every once in a while...”Janet, how long are you going to sit there and watch this ridiculous show?”  Oh how crazy it made him that I was a little giddy about my people.

So there you have it.  I have confessed my shallow, foolish, empty obsession.  I can’t wait until Thursday.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

1Peter 3:3  "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes."

okay, how about this one…

Proverbs 31:25 "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come."

The pit that waits at the end of the delicious fruit...

I just came home from a fun five-filled days of spending time at Port A with the Meabon's.  All five of us left last Monday and arrived back home today.

There is something a little disquieting about coming home to a quite, empty house after five days of laughter, energy and joy that comes from spending so much time with four members of my wonderfully large family.  

There is suddenly a quiet that reverberates from being completely alone and finding that it’s... okay.  There is such a stillness now that I am home.  No talking over what to do next, no sounds of silly laughter and endless hugs and “Honey, come hold me, or play with me, or watch this…”  All of what remains leaves me feeling a little hollow and empty.  It is similar to that pit that one finds in the middle of a delicious peach or sweet cherry.  That lone pit defines you have come to the end of the pleasure of the fruit.  It is that pit that envelops your space telling you this moment of delicious joy has come to an end.  “All good things must come to an end...blah blah.”

I began to create this little vacation idea sometime last Spring.  Knowing Jared had an incredible busy July, it was my intent to give Brooke a bit of relief from being a single mom and enjoy a change of scenery.  Port A was calling.  An easy drive from San Antonio and sure to be an effortless way to entertain an almost 4 year old and a wildly active 2+ year old.  

Fortunately, Jared was able to take some well deserved time off and join us in our little respite.  Let me just take this brief moment to tell those of you who may not know me well, how very thankful and blessed I am to have Jared as my son-in-law.  I really think of Jared as another son. I love him as if he were my own child.  Together, Brooke and Jared are the most terrific twosome.  They have such fun together, they are amazing parents and I think they enjoy spending some of their time with me...what more could any mother-in-law/mom/grandmother want?!?!

So off we went to spend five full days at the beach.  We packed up two cars and away we went.  Harper and Harris were full of anticipation as we unloaded the cars and headed up to our 2 bedroom condo/home away from home for our stay.  Squealing with excitement, we danced and jumped and yelled our way to the “poo” (Harris’ verbiage) for hours of sliding down slides, diving for Spiderman and Cinderella pool toys and jumping off of and into anything possible.  What joy to see their little faces light up as they had the complete attention, love and devotion of not one, not two, but three of the people who loved them more than anything in this entire world.

So the days flew by.  We sent up a permanent canopy on the beach.  We flew kites and attached them to our “outside” home away from home until they were tattered to shreds and the wind could no longer make them soar.

We made sandcastles and mermaids in the sand.  We sucked up baby shrimp with our shrimp sucker (a must have when spending time on the beach. I wish I had invented this simple pvc pipe instrument...what a coo!)

We packed our picnic lunch and headed out to the beach early each morning.  The kids would quickly feel the call of the swimming “poo” and would head up with their parents leaving me time to walk the beach, read and nap under the shade of our canopy.

There’s something about the sea breeze, the sound of the ocean splashing against the sand, the dull background rattle of beachcombers near by that literally lulled me daily to sleep in minutes.  

Each day I would awaken from my sleepy naps to little taps, hugs and giggles of sweet smiling cherub faces staring over me telling me it was time again to play.  Life doesn’t get any better than waking up to those precious, adorable faces!

We would picnic on the beach, appetites so hardy you would think we had all run a marathon.  The seagulls enjoyed our lunch time almost as much as we did.  Harris managed to drop as much food on the sand as entered his mouth, so after lunch activities we spent time chasing seagulls eating Harris's remains.  The kids never gave up trying their best to catch a pesky gull.

After lunch, the Meabon’s would retreat up to the cool of the condo for afternoon naps. I would soak up the ocean water (if you got out far enough the seaweed seemed to disappear.)  The warm salt water was perfect to allow you to bob up and down with the gulf’s gentle waves and lull you into memories of younger days spent at the beach.

A little aside here,  there is nothing quite like the beach to relive those growing up years.  The smell of Copper-tone, along with cocoa butter, that unfortunately,  as teenagers, we would lather ourselves in as we baked to deep golden brown.  

I can vividly remember those days.  As teenagers, we would pile as many friends as possible into the coolest of our friend’s cars, a GTO, and we would head for Galveston.  Music of the 70’s filled the air along with the gulf breeze.  The hot summer sun, best friends and simply being 16.  This was enough to last a lifetime.  I find it incredible that at almost 60 years old, I can still walk a beach and those vivid memories of innocent days so long ago, fill some of my fondest memories.

After long afternoon beach walks, I would find my way back to my little shaded spot.  I would immerse myself in a book and soon my eyelids once again grew heavy and before I knew it hours had passed and little hands were back encouraging me to join in their afternoon play.  

We would stay at the beach just long enough for the ice cream truck to make it’s daily pass-by.  “Home on the Range” blared from it’s speakers foretelling of the delights to come.  Harper, always a little more determined that most of the popsicle landed in her mouth. Harris, whatever made it into his mouth, was good enough, the rest streamed down his mouth, dripping into chest and tummy, leaving him a streaked mass of red and blue.  “Poo” time, we would retreat from the beach for the day and spend the rest of the afternoon swimming in the clear cool blue waters of the Port Royal pool.

Everyone knows you can’t go to Port A without a visit to the “shark’s mouth” junk store and a trip to the coveted candy store.  Been there, done that, Port A is teeming with all things tacky that greatly appeals to 2 and almost 4 year old.  Pink octopus decking the rooftops of souvenir shops, pirates, sharks, pelicans all calling for attention, beckon the wildest imagination of children of all ages.

Each night, all five of us so weary we fought to stay awake much past 9:00 p.m.  We allowed deep sleep to wash over each of us until the tiny fingers and squeals of delight brought another new morning.

I must admit that as we packed up to go our separate ways this morning, a sense of sadness swept through me.  Our much planned and anticipated vacation had come to an end and I was headed home.  That pit was staring me in the face, the delicous fruit had been devoured.

It will take me a day or so to regroup and find my normal life is busy and full and the quiet won’t be so foreboding.  Until then I fill these evening hours writing.

I’m finding my new normal, while not quite what I would have asked for, is turning out to be full of joy, life, and a different kind of richness  

 A friend posted this quote on Facebook today.  I thought it was worthy of repeating...

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”  Vicki Harrison

I pray I am learning to swim in these new waters. My desire is to find the calm amidst the waves and simply continue to swim as I find new currents to pull me along.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Daniel 2:21 “He changes the times and seasons....He gives wisdom to people, so they become wise. He lets people learn things and become wise.