Seven Years

4-25-2014

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

My heart, part two

Oregon – September, 2018

“The God who made the galaxies knows the hairs on your head, the fears of your heart, the events of your life, and the details of your future.” – John W. Tweeddale, Tabletalk Magazine

I’ve been thinking about the fears of my heart. Sometimes I think I don’t have any, but I’m just fooling myself. I feel like I’ve had the worse happen last year and so what do I have to be afraid of? Fear and anxiety aren’t exactly the same. An article in Psychology says “Fear makes people run for cover. We become self-focused and on high alert…The ambiguous nature of anxiety makes it difficult to overcome. If we don’t know the source of our anxiety, it is difficult to deal with the problem. It is possible to be anxious about things that will almost certainly never affect us.”

Anxiety seems to stem from our thoughts. My anxieties now revolve around decisions to be made concerning moving. I don’t really feel fearful, but I get anxious thinking about all it entails. Thinking about how houses disappear before I can even get a look at them in person. Thinking about making the BEST decision. Thinking about all the changes this move will bring. See? My thoughts are often such a mess. I KNOW in my head and heart about God’s providence, but I still stray into the “what Ifs”.

I found a very comforting statement by Samuel Rutherford. He said, “When I am in the cellar of affliction, I look for the Lord’s choicest wines.” I still feel I’m in the cellar some days. So, I’ll do my best to look for those choicest wines. And the choicest house I can find.

The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; Of whom shall I be afraid? – Psalm 27:1

You can read My Heart (part one) HERE.

Lessons from a southpaw

There seems to be a day for everything. In August alone there is a day to celebrate ice cream, watermelon, root beer floats and S’mores (we celebrated that one a few days early). There is also a day for baseball, relaxation, black cats and eating outside. So, today is Left-Handers Day.

My husband was a left-hander as am I. Growing up I was no athlete, so I never mastered much except for riding a bike. I could do other things like skating, swimming, tennis and bowling, but was just average. When we had to play baseball (or probably it was softball) in PE in high school, if I ever caught a ball, I would pull off my glove and throw it. I was using a glove for right-handers. I didn’t know much and the coaches obviously didn’t notice. After we married, my left-handed pitcher of a husband taught me how to to it all properly.

My beloved southpaw taught me so many other important lessons.

He taught me to stop holding grudges. It was a lesson he had to learn, also, and he helped me by example and encouragement.

He taught me the importance of being in God’s Word. I am learning this even more now after his death as I find notebooks full of scripture passages and notes. There are also index cards filled with verses and catechisms. I knew he spent hours reading and studying, but now I have some of the fruits of his labors to help me.

He taught me to live for the eternal. Over the years most of our moves revolved around the Gospel. We moved to go to school at Clearwater Christian College in our first year of marriage. We went from Jacksonville to Orange Park to be nearer our church. We moved to Georgia when Chuck was called to pastor a church. We moved to Winter Haven to be a part of the church there. We often lived hand to mouth, but we never went hungry, we never lacked clothing or shelter. I worried when I should have trusted, I put my eyes on the earthly when I should have been leaning on Christ. He taught me to trust the One who provides.

²⁵ “Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?²⁶ Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?²⁷ Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?

²⁸ “So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin;²⁹ and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.³⁰ Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?

³¹ “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’³² For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.  –  Matthew 6:25-34

I am thankful for the lessons – the gifts that keep on giving. 

Happy Left-Handers Day.

Old Songs/New Meanings

 

I’ve gone back to listening to some of my old CDs while driving. Listening to Carole King I find memories stirred and songs that seem to have a whole new meaning now. Like “Now and Forever”.

Now and forever
you are a part of me
And the memory cuts like a knife

 

Now and forever
I’ll remember all the promises still unbroken

‘Til death do us part is one promise that is still unbroken. We kept that promise.

And think about all the words between us
That never needed to be spoken

I’ve thought about those last days and how we often sat not saying a word. Sometimes I’ve longed for memories of some long, final conversation. But then I realize there was no need. Talking was what drew us together – we could sit and talk for hours when we were dating. Years later we would sometimes find ourselves lying in bed in the wee hours of the morning having long serious discussions. Sometimes he would just talk and I’d drift off to sleep. And he never minded that I did.

We are the lucky ones
Some people never get to do
All we got to do

Quarantined Dream

“Waking in the Night” – dreams.co.uk

 

So I woke up this morning about 4:30 with words and an idea in my head. I knew if I didn’t get up they would disappear. I wrote down a few verses and went back to bed, but not to sleep. I had a lot to get done today. I eventually got back up, put on some coffee, did a few chores, then started prepping the hallway for painting. I got it painted and it looks much better!

So, finally, I got back to add to/revise my poem that I’d started at 4:30.

 

Quarantined Dream

In this quarantined dream
I long for the other side of the pillow
cool against my cheek
but I can’t flip it over
not just yet

In this quarantined dream
I’ve been walking so long
I want to unlace my boots
and peel off my socks
but I walk on
without the spring in my step

In this quarantined dream
my lips are dry and cracked
I search for the balm
peppermint and soothing
that gives relief
but I search in vain

In this quarantined dream
I layer on the covers
but I can’t get warm
shivering with unanswered questions
I throw on another blanket
and wait

In this quarantined dream
full of speculations
I wonder about the Vitamin C
while grasping for sunshine
and fresh air
but they slip away

In this quarantined dream
I try to hide
from the numbers chasing me
the warnings and the symptoms aren’t far behind
but where is the truth?

In this quarantined dream
I think I hear a knock on the door
but I know, even if it’s real,
I can’t answer it
not just yet

 

If You’re Reading This…

…then you are still here and have another year to be thankful for.

 

2019  is almost in the books. For these things I am grateful:

• Grandchildren who make it possible to attend Grandparents’ Day at their school and to have Bell Camp at our house
• Children who still love me
• Southwest Airlines who make travel pleasant
• All the beautiful places to hike in and around Birmingham
• Ruby, my hiking companion
• Students who make my days interesting and make me feel welcome when they greet me with  “Mrs. Bell! You’re my favorite sub!”
• Friends who read books with me
• Record stores and bookshops
• Cousin re-connections and family reunions
• Weddings and birthday celebrations far and near
• The Avett Brothers in concert with only a few sprinkles
• Seeing old friends in Jacksonville
• Being protected from snakes at Red Mountain and Lake Guntersville
• 41 years of marriage
• Good neighbors
• New friends that make me smile and old movies that make me cry

Here’s to 2020!

“May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

 

 

 

 

 

I guess it’s a natural thing

 

I discovered Sean of the South this year and when I see see his name in my inbox every morning  I know I’m in for a good read on his blog.  He writes about everything, but a recurring theme is the loss of his dad when he was 12. He even mentioned that someone has said he talks about that too much. I don’t think so. It’s a part of him.

Grief touches us all in different ways. When my Dad died I grieved, but so much was going on in my immediate family that I didn’t really have time to stop and grieve. It hit me about eight or nine months later. Like a knock down punch.  Mom had been grieving in her own way. I remember she wasn’t eating enough at one point, then later it was the opposite – she was eating a lot of sweets which was unusual for her.

She also could not listen to music for a long time, because it always made her think of Dad. It was quite a while before she began playing the radio again.

This year for NaNoWriMo I’m attempting the family story once again. Last year I wrote about 23,000 words. This year I’m trying to redo it in the forms of verse and letters. So I’m reading/rereading the tons of letters I have here, from 1925-2015. Today I read a letter Mom wrote her sister, Billie, a month after their mother, my Mamaw, died in 1983.

“Seems like for the last couple of weeks I’ve had a delayed reaction to Mama’s dying. Can’t explain it, but I guess it’s a natural thing, I don’t know.” 

It really struck me all over how much I miss Mom. Lately I’ve found myself tearing up with an overwhelming feeling of loss. It just comes over me and I can’t control it. In three months it will be two years that she’s been gone. I know I’ve talked about it a good bit here; forgive me.

Avetts in October #11: Daydreaming

Birmingham, 2013

 

“It’s a habit of mine,” said Jim Wade wistfully, “daydreaming in other seasons…”  from Quite a Year for Plums by Bailey White

In September I was daydreaming of fall. All year I’ve been daydreaming of the near (I wish) future when we might be able to return to Florida. But I realize that kind of dreaming isn’t always helpful or productive. Sometimes too much looking into the future blinds me to the present.

And from November Blue

And if I weren’t leavin’, 
Would I catch you dreamin’ …

And if I came to you tomorrow, 
And said “let’s run away”
Would you roll like the wind does… (YES)

And I sing songs of sorrow, 
Because you’re not around… (TRUE)

I’ve fallen like the leaves…

Moss Rock Preserve

 

Funerals

 

“All the same, thought Madame Michaud, you dress and adorn the dead who are destined to rot in the earth. It’s a final homage, a supreme proof of love to those we hold dear.” – Suite Francaise by Irene  Nemirovsky

I’ve thought a lot about funerals lately. I guess I can agree with Madame Michaud to a point; funerals can be a proof of love. Or they can be a racket that takes money from vulnerable people without even blinking. I have experienced this in recent months and don’t want my children to go through it. I want a plain wooden casket with no frills. I don’t think it will be necessary to offer refreshments to the mourners, or generic counseling to my kids, or bookmarks, or thank you cards with my obit inscribed on them.

 

“Still, since you brung it up, I’ll say this: my feeling bout buryin’ ain’t the same as your’n. You remember that.” – Love Simpson, Cold Sassy Tree by  Olive Ann Burns

I hope to be buried near the ocean. I would like my funeral message to be preached by a true believer who will tell those in attendance about Christ. And I hope  my kids will  have a few funny stories to tell about me.

 

Crossroads

Friendship Fountain

 

“It isn’t as though we were simply standing at the crossroads wondering what path we should take. It is more like we’ve been grabbed by the ear and dragged down a road we had never meant to travel.” – from On Reading and Writing Books for Children by Katherine Paterson

Mandarin Park

 

I can’t say I’m exactly standing at the crossroads. It’s more like I’m looking down the road and wondering what’s over that next hill and thinking, will this road lead me back home? And I (we)  weren’t exactly dragged down this road in the first place, but more like told this is where you are going and tried to go with great expectations. Perhaps those expectations were too great, or perhaps we have failed ourselves. I think it’s a bit of both. And so many deaths, some expected, some swift and unforeseen, have taken their toll on my heart. Now, I just want to go somewhere that feels like home.

 

They say that home is where the heart is

I guess I haven’t found my home

And we keep driving round in circles

Afraid to call this place our own

And are we there yet?

Are We There Yet? – Ingrid Michaelson