The picture above popped up in my memory feed today on Facebook. Already feeling out of sorts, this added fuel to my sad fire. But it also was fuel for my poem today.The prompt was “thought” . So, I thought, as if I wasn’t already thinking, about how long and how short seven years are.
Thoughts on Seven Years
seven years ago we moved to a new state
it was not our choice
but that’s okay
and though there is such a thing called the seven years war
that’s not what we fought
in fact, many of those seven years were good ones
years of plenty like in Joseph’s dream
and Joseph's life
but years of plenty
soon became lean years, rawboned and grievous
though we enjoyed hiking through the beauty of fall colors
and a few snow-angel winter snows
and spring on the back porch
there was much loss
the demise of three parents while we were away
longing to be with them
even though we often languished
in the city where we tried so hard
to belong
we were together
we finally migrated back home
but one month later
you left
for your eternal home
and I try not to wither away
without you
I’m not one for looking for signs and wonders, but sometimes it’s just interesting how God can use seemingly insignificant things to direct our thoughts. I follow a blog called DC Widow that has been very helpful to me. Her post from March 11 was good, but it was a comment from a reader that got me started on the idea of moving forward. The reader, Steph, said, “Nora McInerny’s TED talk about not moving on but moving forward is spot on…” so, I looked it up and she was right.
At breakfast I picked up the AARP bulletin to scan it while I ate and the cover jumped out at me: “The Path Forward”.
AARP Bulletin
Then, at lunch I did the same with the latest copy of Southern News, from Florida Southern College. Inside was was an article heading “…move forward without forgetting the past.” Wow. It all goes together.
Southern News, Winter, 2021
I am moving forward, well, literally I’m moving south. In two weeks. I closed on my home in Tampa on March 5, then stayed there a week on an air mattress, painting walls and planning. At the end of each day I just drove 1.6 miles to my son’s house where I was fed and loved on. Now I’m finishing up packing and preparing for my third move since last May. It’s been exhausting, not just physically but emotionally. I have to keep stopping myself from the thoughts of “this isn’t how it was supposed to be”. I remind myself, rather, “this isn’t how we planned it.”
Carole King’s song, Anyone At All, comes to mind. I have loved that song ever since I saw “You’ve Got Mail” years ago. It felt like Our Song. It feels like it even more now.
“You’ve become a memory I can’t erase…” “It wasn’t in the plan, not that I could see…” “…that’s what catches me when I fall I’m so glad it was you”
“Displaced souls roam every city in every country.” – Ilana Manaster, One of the Crowd, Real Simple – 2017
I know what it feels like to be a displaced soul. I felt pretty much like that the whole six years we lived in Birmingham. It was a beautiful place, but it was never home. I don’t mean to dishonor Chuck when I say that, because where he was, that was home for me. But, I think he felt the same way. We both felt uprooted.
Now I’m “home”, but he’s not here, and once again I don’t quite feel at home. But it’s different, because I do have family here, and numerous friends. I’m in the town where I grew up. It’s changed a lot, but still familiar. The Maxwell House Coffee drifting across the St. Johns River smells the same. The ocean, though constantly changing, is the same. I can still drive by my childhood home and my high school.
So now, as I prepare to move for the third time in less than a year, I think about how to put down roots in Tampa. God willing, I won’t move again. I long to live there and serve God to the end of my days. To make a home for my family, my friends, and other sojourners, for I have to remind myself that, ultimately, I’m just a sojourner on this earth.
These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar offwere assured of them, embraced them and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For those who say such things declare plainly that they seek a homeland. Hebrews 11:13-14
Elderly Cindy takes it all in stride. “My daddy was a farmer. He used to say the only difference between an adventure and an ordeal is how you look at it.” – from Sean of the South‘s blog
Moving can be an ordeal or an adventure. Or both. For me, it’s both this time. The ordeal part is no more than anyone else experiences in moving. After what I’ve been through the past eight months it seems it’s actually going to be a piece of cake.
This is my third move in less than a year. The first two were far from being an adventure. They were an apartment and a house chosen for convenience. This next one has been chosen for a home. The adventure will be in turning it into a home. The adventure will be being with my grandkids. I’m ready.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever. – Psalm 23:6
“Everything we use comes in boxes, cartons, bins, the so-called packaging we love so much. The mountain of things we throw away are much greater than the things we use…I do wonder whether there will come a time when we can no longer afford our wastefulness – chemical wastes in the rivers, metal wastes everywhere, and atomic wastes buried deep in the earth or sunk in the sea.” – from Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck
Well, I’m glad for boxes. And for people willing to recycle them by passing them on. To me. Especially since I don’t have my friend Rodney here. He was my go-to box guy in Bham.
It seems crazy that I’m packing for my third move in less than a year. I should be a pro at this, but I don’t feel at all like one. I have a lot less possessions now so you’d think it would be easier. I just hope this is the last move, at least for a very long time.
“So my question was: What, dear Lord, is your purpose for my life? Where during the rest of my mortal years, is home? Ultimately, it is with you, Lord, but meanwhile I believe I am to make a home in the strange island of Manhattan for my granddaughters, who have been so good for me as they have been in college in New York, teaching me, pushing me, not allowing me to get into any kind of a rut. I believe, too, that our home is to be an open one, so that friends that are called to be briefly in the city have a welcoming place to stay.” – from The Rock That is Higher by Madeleine L’Engle
Madeleine L’Engle was thinking back to the time after her husband, Hugh, died. I love the fact that she lived with her granddaughters while they were going to college. I’m not going to be living WITH my grandchildren, but near them, Lord willing, very soon. I am under contract for a house and am waiting for inspections and all that entails. I am so excited I found a house just 1.6 miles from theirs. I want my home to be a haven for all who enter, whether family, friends or strangers.
Yes, I’ve written tons of poems about my love for Chuck, our relationship, and his love for me. But, this is a different one, not written by me. It was written by our friend, Dorothy Young, who wrote it when we left Jacksonville/Fruit Cove in 2014 for Birmingham. She gave him a framed copy when we moved. It hung in his home office in Bham and I’ll hang it again when I get to Tampa. Dorothy and Chuck had a special friendship, as evidenced in her words. She included it in her book, Loved from Eternity.
A lot of movin’, A lot of rollin’ A lot of drivin’, A lot of strollin’ A lot of leavin’ here A lot of arrivin’ there Trying to go just about everywhere A lot of thinking about where I’m going next
I could add a whole verse here about a lot of packin’ :
A lot of packin’, A lot of sortin’
It’s nerve rackin’, We’re transportin’
A lot of leavin’ there
A lot of arrivin’ here
Goin’ on a lot of love and prayers
A lot of thinking about where we’re goin’ next
I’ve wanted to write a post for a while but have been so overwhelmed by life. To try to make a long story short, I’ll share my husband’s facebook post.
From my husband…
As some of you are aware, I put in for retirement effective June 1 and we placed our home on the market. The house went under contract immediately and we close on 5/19/20.
Unfortunately a few weeks ago I was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. We have consulted with UAB oncologists and decided to return to Jax, FL as planned and I have an appointment at Mayo Clinic this Thursday.
I wish all of you the very best in all life as to offer. Angie and I covet your prayers for strength, wisdom and that the Lord be glorified in our circumstances.
According to the Scripture all ‘our days are numbered’ so whether mine are few or many “I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for my sins…”
Please forgive me if I ever offended you in anyway, it is never intentional but still there is no excuse.
I pray his blessings upon each of you.
So, here we are in Jacksonville. We are home. One more night in a hotel and we move into an apartment for six months. This is not the move we planned. We were going to buy a house -our last home -in Jacksonville with cash so we would have no mortgage payment going into retirement. God had others plans. And He has provided for us.
My husband will start chemo next week. Our lives will be much different. But I look forward to a sweet time.
There have been many silver linings in all of this. I have seen God’s providence. Had there not been this “pandemic” our two daughters would not have been free to come help us as they have. We have seen amazing things with these two girls. Young women. Their love and care for their dad and me has been overwhelming. From cooking, packing, and making phone calls for me to massaging feet, taking vitals and tracking meds and food for their dad, they have been here for us. I could never have done it without them.
Our sons, too, have poured out love and help on us. Our oldest with his nursing skills has been a comfort to lean on, traveling back and forth from Tampa, which is NOT a hop, skip, and jump away. The younger son, thankfully working a new job, maintains constant contact and cheers us up. A few weekends ago they were all at our house in Bham. It was the first time we had all been together in over 13 years.
In anticipation of The Avett Brothers concert TOMORROW, I have been writing a series of blog posts connecting some of their lyrics to words of some of my favorite authors.
“And in every place he abandons he leaves something vital, it seems to me, and starts his new life somewhat less encrusted, like a lobster that has shed his skin and is for a time soft and vulnerable.” –E.B. White
I love E.B. White, best known to most for his classics, Charlotte’s Web and The Trumpet of the Swan. But it’s his essays that I like even more.
I have moved a bit in my adult life. We have lived in 11 houses in our 40 years of marriage. I get what White says about leaving something vital behind. We’ve left friends and family too many times. A few moves, though, let us, like the lobster, shed a skin and leave behind an old unwanted crust. Every new house, every new beginning, brings with it a time of being soft and vulnerable. But, nearly every house became a home that was hard to leave. All I know is I don’t want to live encrusted like the lobster. I want to be soft and vulnerable.
Not the best picture, but it’s me, 35 years ago, Farrah Fawcett hair and everything
Last month Chuck and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. Since it falls just nine days before Christmas, we did what we’ve often done – hung out and did a little shopping. For those who want to have big anniversary celebrations, I don’t recommend getting married in December. To compound that, both our birthdays are at the end of November.
So, I was thinking about changes that have come over these past 35 years. 30 pounds is one change that I don’t want to think about. Back in the baby days, my weight would go up and down with each birth, but I always managed to get it back to my pre-baby weight, at least for a while. Now, I seem stuck with this excess poundage. To use a few clichés: Talk is cheap; I need to face the music.
We’ve been through numerous changes of residence, from four rooms total to four bedrooms, but only within two states. Now, it’s time to move again, not by our choice. We’ve been waiting nearly a year to find out exactly when his move will take place. All we know is that it will be sometime this year. And that it will be to Birmingham. Alabama. Unless God has other plans for us.
The number of people in our home has gone up and down. From the two of us in 1978 to the six of us in 1989. Three of the four kids have come back for short periods of time, plus two other family members were under our roof as well, one for a few months, one for a year. We’ve had various dogs and cats and now we just have Loretta.
We’ve experienced the birth of children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. And the death of family members and friends. Graduation celebrations abounded, three in a row from 1998-2000 which included me from college and our oldest two from high school. We’ve made friends with people from all walks of life through numerous churches, jobs, and neighborhoods.
I am thankful to God for all of this life – the good and the bad. I am thankful He has been there always, even when I fell away from following Him as I should. I am looking to Him for my future, for who else is there to sustain me?
Not In This Soup Alone 