PENSIEVE

WWJD WWyouD?

Two homeless men have been attending my very middle class adult Bible fellowship (adult Sunday school); although I'm not sure of the details, two women who minister to the homeless bring them every week.

These guys are more faithful in attendance than "old timers".

They sit quietly.  They don't engage in class discussion.  But they've attended week after week for about two months.  We're studying the book of 1 John...the book all about love....

This morning I arrived early and few people had yet to show up; I struck up a conversation with Rick and learned another church member had given him a guitar last week and that he has played since the 70s and has taught many.  He rattled off his repertoire--Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Beatles, The Mamas and Papas--and told me the first song he teaches is always "Amazing Grace".  He both reads music and plays by ear.

I told Rick my father-in-law had given my son his guitar at Christmas, and although he had been teaching himself how to play (with the help of friends and youtube...), we probably should invest in a few lessons.  Rick told me he "sure could use the help", the implication being he could teach my son.

Last week when our church paid tribute to all those in our congregation who have served in the military, Homeless Rick proudly walked up to the front and stood tall behind the Navy Flag. 

Jeanette, homeless ministry angel, extended an invitation to me this morning.  "You probably have to go back to work in the morning, but if you don't, a group of us are going to clean up where the homeless live under the Broad Street bridge."  She went on to tell me there probably weren't any needles, but if there were, they were probably rusted by now.  She was planning on wearing wire mesh gloves.

I didn't even know there was such thing as wire mesh gloves and I don't have a job to return to....

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And with that, Jesus' words in Matthew and a few things James had to say are ringing in my ears, along with the phrase "...perfect love casts out fear...", taken out of context but within the passage we studied in class.  This morning.

The best hamburger in the world...! *

I thought he was mocking me.

"You wanna take a picture of this?" asks my husband.

Since I've been known to take pictures of everything from fire hydrants to fire-breathing spiders, I just figured he was making fun of the type things I like to photograph.  How much do I love that he knew I'd love to photograph his Perfect Hamburger? 

Then, again, m a y b e it was self serving; me thinks he was just trying to figure out a way to make it last longer! ;)

July 4th, 2009.  Grillin' burgers on our back patio.

His version of the Best Hamburger in the World includes a patty seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic, onion powder and Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and the deal breakers--dill chips and pepper jack cheese.  I have no idea how he gets all that in his mouth AT ONE TIME, and it's best I stopped taking pictures before the eatin' commenced.

You don't even wanna know how I eat MY burgers, but I'm curious about you--what's your version of the Best Hamburger in the World?  Or if you aren't a burger fan, what's a "must have" for your summer celebrations?

* according to my husband :)

What happens when your 12-year-old SON gets a hold of your cell phone

In his mind, my "footprints in the sand" cell phone wallpaper was vanilla-ly boring; yet this is his idea of excitement???

Sons...they're a breed apart...;)

{Here's a link because this is a REALLY FUNNY, and believe it or not, informative book...you have GOT to get a copy of your own!}

Make believe and little girls

When I was a little girl, I had fizzy affection for all things "mini"--Hershey's chocolate bars and stuffed animals and oddly enough, office supplies.  I'm convinced whoever invented Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet Shop toys was Just.Like.Me., and had I been a teaspoon brighter and a dash more risky--and you know, thought of it first!--I'd be rolling in the green, compliments of Mattel or Hasbro.

One of the reasons for my little love affinity was the size of my black patent leather pocketbook; shoulder-strapped with an envelope enclosure, it was the perfect size for my age five frame.  For anything to fit inside, however, it had to be small.  It was a dress purse reserved for special occasions, and I suppose my first plane ride was its most significant.

This was back in the day when people dressed for travel; my sister and I were no different.  Black and white houndstooth suits, belted in red patent leather, we were twins born 16 months apart.  As the younger sister, I adored the arrangement; my big sister probably resisted it. I'm not completely sure, but I'd wager we wore black and white saddle shoes, iced with white lacy socks. 

Rising above the clouds, I was fascinated.  I hadn't realized their enormity from the ground, and now tickling their faces I was spellbound by their effortless magic!  I imagined what it would be like to run through them or jump from perch to perch, and I was certain their taste was of spun sugar.  Mostly, I longed to reach out and scoop up two handfuls, to keep safely in my patent leather pocketbook until I had the notion to bring them out again to play with or show my friends.

It was disillusioning when I learned they were just vapor.

Recently, I looked through five years of digital images; I had never before noticed how often I photograph these magical, ethereal shape shifters.  Clearly my childhood fascination remains intact, vapor or no stinkin' vapor. 

Then, again, they are where rainbows are born...:)

{Mouse over pictures for more information.}

Initially, this was an entry for Carmi's Thematic Photographic at Written, Inc., but since he's changed themes (from Clouds to Aviation), and I jumped down a long bunny trail, I guess it's just a plain ol' post :).

When bare feet smile

Summer begs
my feet roam free;
Verdant and lush,
a prickled
velvet carpet
their bounty.





Visit Laura Salas to learn more about "15 Words or Less" poems, a photo-prompted poetry challenge.

Onion Pie, Tonguegasms & a Tasty Giveaway

It's a Southern delicacy I've only recently discovered, a culinary celebration of tongasmic* proportion:  Vidalia Onion Pie.

Making this and/or eating a slice must be included on your personal Bucket List, it's that good.  Onions...in a pie...who would've thunk it? 

Then again, we are talking Vidalia onions; unusually sweet, Federally "protected" and so scrumptious the State of Georgia claimed them as Official State Vegetable (compelling evidence I'm not speaking in hyperbole).  They don't cause your eyes to water like c o m m o n sweet onions, but your tastebuds might squeeze out a tear or two of joy.

I contacted the Vidalia Onion People to let 'em know I was talking about them behind their back, and--GET!! OUT!!--they've offered to ship a $40 Vidalia Onion Goodie basket to a lucky PENSIEVE reader in the U.S.!  All you have to do is leave a comment; multiple entries are encouraged by Tweeting or linking this post's permalink from your Facebook page, and then commenting your Tweet URL or whatever it is you link if you've Facebooked it (Bueller??). 

Plus, if you're already familiar with Vidalia onions and have a favorite recipe to share, you'll want to submit it to the "Sweet Times with Vidalias" recipe contest, where you might just win one of three cash prizes.

Here's the recipe that might well change your life and bring about World Peace...well, I'm sure it would if we could get everyone to come to Sunday Dinner! 

Vidalia Onion Pie**

• 2 pounds Vidalia Onions, thinly sliced
• 1 stick butter (clearly, approved by my dear friend, Paula Deen
• 3 eggs, well beaten
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1/24 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon white pepper
• dash hot sauce
• 1 pastry shell, unbaked
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Sauté onions in butter until tender and translucent.  Combine eggs and sour cream.  Add to onion mixture.  Season mixture and pour in pastry shell.  Top with grated cheese.  Bake at 450°for 20 minutes, then lower to 325° for 20 more minutes. 

Serves 1, 6 or 8, depending on size of slice ;).

Note:  I used my famous Perfect Pie Crust instead of a prepared shell; the edges burned slightly and the pie browned a bit too much for my liking; next time I'll use my Pie Saver or tin foil to avoid this and probably lower the temp to 425.

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* Coined by Rachel at A Southern Fairytale, her recipes always sound delish!!  Check out her Mouth-watering Mondays. 
** This recipe is ever-so-slightly adapted from the Onion Pie featured in "Tea-Time at the Masters: A Collection of Recipes," a wonderful cookbook if you'd like a thorough compilation of Southern recipes! 

Angel Oak

Two Important Deadlines and Two Inspiring Photos

Are you interested in learning more about blogging and social networking?  Then you must make plans to attend the Type-A Mom Conference taking place September 24-27 in Asheville, NC.  The speaking panel is phenomenal, the conference promises style and substance...and I'd really love the chance to meet you (or see you again) in person. 

If you register by tomorrow you'll pay half the conference rate, an incredible value for all you'll gain.  If you're on the fence, can I tug you over to my side?  Dinners with speakers are planned and I'd love nothing more than to spend my evening over something yummy while chatting with YOU! :)

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Dawn at My Home Sweet Home is hosting a photography contest, the winner to receive a one-year subscription to National Geographic magazine and a sample of Energizer lithium batteries (this is in conjunction with National Geographic's/Energizer's Ultimate Photo Contest where the grand prize winner will win A 10-day National Geographic Expeditions trip for two to the Galapagos Islands.).   Check out her site for additional details and it's important to act quickly:  her contest ends TONIGHT AT MIDNIGHT and NG/E's ends tomorrow!!

Here are my limit-of-two submissions for Dawn's contest (I love these shots but for VERY different reasons...!) ~

I asked her permission before snapping this shot of a woman hard at work filling a grain bag in the Calcutta heat; her hand and forearm were dusty white, and though she's not even breaking a sweat, heat index was 115 degrees.  Her sari's vibrant color provided stark contrast to the backdrop of hay, grain and ground.  She was beautiful.


 

This little fella entertained me as she creeped and crawled anywhere to get out of my camera's view.  She was the first series I shot with my new Nikon D40...and in her own way, was a gift for my 20th wedding anniversary :).

I grew up with these two icons, just like so many of YOU...

{Ugh...I can't believe THIS is my post in BlogHer's current post in their rotation :/. Don't you wish you could choose? PLEASE, click this to find an AWESOME recipe & a chance to win a $40 goodie basket, or this to see I can actually write or this for a little controversy...!  THANKS! LET ME KNOW YOU STOPPED BY VIA BLOGHER!!}}

Farrah was the poster girl of my youth--EVERYONE wanted that hair, and OH how we attempted second-rate imitation... {remember when this was the most controversial poster on the planet??}

And the King of Pop?  My heart broke for the man he became, but for almost 20 years his music reigned--

Off the Wall...
Thriller...
Bad....

Those were my favorites.

I found this video of The Jackson Five on Andy Williams--how could you not love them back in the day?

For all their fame...celebrity...fortune...I'd chose the life I've been dealt over theirs every time.

Thoughts and prayers for their families for a peace that's not of this world.

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If you have related thoughts to share, please leave a link in comments or on Mr. Linky.

>

How should parents respond if their child disrupts an "adult" event?

"If you can't say anything nice,
don't say anything at all!"
~ Every mother on the planet

Rare have I written anything offensive and I hope never divisive, but sometimes I feel like I've failed in blogging because I've never received a negative comment.  Spam, yes; negative (strongly dissenting opinion) or trollish (just plain mean), no.  I'd like to believe it's because the readers who comment on PENSIEVE are decent people who subscribe to the axiom above.

But I might get a few if you continue reading because I have a little confession...

With very few exceptions (i.e., newborns),
I don't agree with bringing children to adult gatherings
(especially where childcare is available);
if you need to, should they become distracting,
out of courtesy to others in attendance, you should
take them to a place they can be KIDS.

Gasp!  The people pleaser living inside me is running for cover because I know I just stepped on a lot of toes.  Even toes I'll face soon (I'm sure) in real life. 

This is no attempt to create controversy; it's not meant to polarize.  I know in advance plenty of people--people whom I respect--will strongly disagree with me.  I'm not gunning for negative comments, but I hope gently to share the perspective of those who agree with me...and maybe to offer some helpful parenting advice.  

Will you bear with me while I share my thoughts?  I worked as nursery and Parents' Morning Out director for almost ten years at a large church, so I think at least some of what I suggest has merit (though my degree is in business, this was my post-baby, part-time position).  Typically, my experience reflects church settings, but it applies beyond.

[1]    When your child becomes noisy--and I don't blame the  little one, that's what they're wired to do--I'm distracted from hearing the speaker.

Early in our parenting, we were introduced to the concept of "preciousness of others", a principal gleaned from scripture and transferable regardless of faith.  In its most simple form, it's the practice of considering others and how your actions affect them, regarding them more highly than your own preferences.  We have been diligent to instill this in our own children, and have tried to model this in our lives.

Sunday, sitting directly in front of me (on the front row) was a young mom with her two-year-old child.  Throughout our lesson, her daughter squirmed, walked around, talked, "fought" her mother when the mom tried to do something with her, knocked over a cup of coffee--twice--and scribbled in her mom's Bible. 

Our teacher was gracious and said, "She's fine...she's not bothering me..." but I could barely follow him!  I wasn't the only one.  We have a wonderful nursery the little girl would have enjoyed much more than an adult class, but the mom brought her to class instead.

I felt for this mother; I wondered if she was a single mom, overwhelmed, or not quite confident in parenting.  She came in late and left early, so I never had the opportunity to meet her, to learn more about her. 

[2]  Sometimes children have MAJOR MELT-DOWN separation anxiety.  I know this mama-pain experientially; my middle child had to be pried off my body when I dropped him off at the nursery.  But...I firmly believed that I was helping him by teaching him to separate even though it was a month's long lesson.  Some things to consider (again, both from my personal experience and from observation of others):

• Never sneak off when leaving a child in nursery/preschool!  Never!  Tell him you're leaving for a little while and that you'll return later.  This teaches him to trust your word.
• Nine times out of ten, he'll settle down shortly after you leave; for some kids, this is a power play to manipulate.  They're savvy little creatures. 
• Sometimes, Mamas, you're feeding this; perhaps you're equating their love for you by the tears shed at drop off.  Don't make that mistake, it has nothing to do with love.  They might be mad...or even scared, but their crying when you leave doesn't mean they love you more than the child who happily skips into the room.
• For the record, I'm not talking about the first time you take your child somewhere!  That's a totally different story!  (Then, I think it's good to stay with your child a time or two, even for just a few minutes, to help her grow comfortable with environment, teachers/caregivers and classmates.)

[3]  Some derivative of "My child [is running a fever/threw up/isn't feeling well] and the nursery has a 24-hour sickness policy."  Oh, dear ones...someone needs to stay at home with that baby!  If your child is sick, germs can be spread in adult classes, too, and if your little one needs to lie in your lap because he doesn't feel well?  This might be a time you have to miss out.

Certainly there are times when it's necessary to bring your child to an adult event; but the courteous, other-minded thing to do if he/she starts crying, talking or can't sit still, is to remove her from the setting to allow everyone else a distraction-free class/lesson/wedding/whatever.  I've been to more than one wedding where weeping and wailing accompanied the vows.

Once children reach an age of self control, it's important to train them to sit quietly and respectfully when attending grown-up events.  Years ago, I about DIED when our church dropped "children's church" for four and five year olds.  I wondered how our kids could sit still (or at least quietly) for over an hour in "big church" and seriously thought we'd have to take turns attending for a while.  We clearly explained our expectations for them, packed some quiet activities (crayons, books), made sure we had snacks (hey, I'm not above bribery, I never said we were perfect parents...and sometimes you DO have to do whatever it takes...!) and they rose to the occasion!  They didn't disturb those sitting around us and eventually learned the self discipline of sitting still. 

It doesn't come naturally, it takes practice.

I just had a conversation with my daughter about writing this post, and she asked me why I would bother...wasn't it just inflammatory?  Sincerely, that isn't my intent.  I think it goes back to the parenting class we took when she was three, and "preciousness of others" always rings in my ears; to me, it demonstrated a lack of regard if I subjected those sitting around me to the perpetual noise and motion of my then-young children. 

Please...nicely...share your thoughts in comments.  I'd really like to hear your heart in this; if you're of the opposite opinion, please share your logic.  Also, especially, if you have helpful tips, I'm sure parents who struggle with this would be most appreciative.

Birthday Boy

Happy 15th to my first-born son, middle child, and testosterone-equivalent of me.  That, alone, gives me a much-needed edge :).  It seems like just yesterday you were sweating in Wrangler cowboy jeans, lugging Woody around and wreaking havoc as a terrible two--not 13 years ago.
Happy birthday, baby...to my kid who lives at full tilt, and the coolest 15-year-old guitar player on the planet.

Oh, wait...the drums will be here next week, won't they?
{{Serenity NOW!!!}}
xo,
Mom

home alone

Interminable quiet bears witness to my house's 327-pound weight loss this week:  my children are scattered like birds leaving the nest.

Like the paradox of deafening silence, their absence is more conspicuous than their presence.  Almost.

It's a gift, the half-full glass tells me. Just as Clarence demonstrated to George Bailey that never having been born would've meant the detriment--even death!--of those he loves most, and how Cash gave Jack Campbell a "glimpse" of what his life would've been like had he made other choices, I've had a "taste". 

It's the same, only different. 

Rather than a backwards glance over my shoulder, however, my Capra-esque vision has been a peek into the future.  Life as an empty nester.  

Sweet mercy, just a mention of those two words sends shivers down my spine and has me running through my house, screeching like a banshee, flailing my arms over my head like I'm running from a swarm of angry hornets!  Not because my children will be gone, but because I'm old enough for my children to be gone.

Just kidding...sorta.

It's only been four days--hardly enough time even to miss them, but the second time I've been without all of them this summer--and yet, I've discovered a few random insights into this season of life...

~ Laundry becomes not only manageable, it's a completable task.

~ Once again, I'm reminded we're raising our children for someone else. 

~ Taking baby steps (or sometimes giant leaps) towards independence will serve them well in college, work, ministry, marriage, family. 

~  I'm thankful they're secure enough to leave home, to have a good time apart from us. 

~ Remembering I was a wife before I before I became a mom. 

The funny thing is I thought I recognized...understood...lived that last one.  But being alone with my husband for an extended period of time in our house?  It's very different from being alone together for a romantic getaway. 

It's daily.  It's not a celebration of anything in particular.  And though I don't think we've ever been accused of being "child-directed" parents, I realize how much their lives and activities determine how our family spends time (together or apart, when we have to be two or three places at the same time). 

It's hard to believe we've been married almost 22 years!  We know each others' stories, we anticipate how each other thinks, and yes, we can often complete each others' sentences.

And, dear me--recently we even matched when we met a friend for dinner!  As we stepped out of the car, I realized we both had on black shirts and jeans (mine were capris, thankfully his were not).  I sent that as a text to my daughter and she replied, "Mom, if you did it on purpose i am NOT coming home hahahahahaha! love you and bless ur heart."  It was definitely a "bless your heart" moment. 

My "glimpse" has made me aware that marriages--our marriage--needs to be nurtured; there needs to be intention coincident to loving action.

We learned that turning on the television is a death blow to romance.  We've relaxed into each other and talked (interestingly, rarely about our kids).  We played Scrabble.  He watched golf, I watched my laptop. 

Ebb and flow...give and take....

A glimpse into our future. 

Today is my middle child's 15th birthday; how can I feel such joy and reluctance in the same celebration?

Two of the three return today.  I look forward to this reunion, knowing in advance I missed them more than they missed me.  I'm okay with that.  Beyond watching the Lord at work in and through my children, there is no greater success to me as a parent, than for my children to to delight in the lives they live both with us and apart from us.  

And I smile to think the empty nest still has room for two.

P.S. I love you

"The only difference between men and boys
is the size of their toys."
~ Author unknown

The other day I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the most darling wind-up toy on the planet.  The only thing it was missing was an elephant head sized white bow and a gift enclosure card that said "To Robin".

 

Shiny and red and exuding the charm and whimsy typically reserved for curly-headed, snaggle-toothed freckle faces, it beckoned a closer inspection. 

I'm not a "Car Girl".  I rarely give them notice.

But this wasn't just any car; it was a perfectly restored 1969 Volkswagen Beetle.  Mint condition never tasted sweeter.

I reached for my camera only to realize I didn't have it, causing me to cry an ocean of tears because I knew a picture would last much longer than our chance meeting.  Then I remembered my cell phone, mopped up the sea puddles--bless cellular technology's heart!--and my tears of disappointment trickled into tears of dancing.  Like a moth to flame and paparazzi to the dual personalitied Hannah Miley-Cyrus Montana, I began taking pictures.  

 

Ladybug floor mats?  LADYBUG FLOOR MATS?  I had palpitations!

Right about the time I figured out how to hot wire a Volkswagen  climbed into the passenger seat captured an image of the minimalist-compared-to-today's-standard dashboard with retro dial radio...

...wouldn't you know the owner walked outside?  And caught me molesting his car??  With a vanity plate that reads "YNDMEUP" and a shiny key attached, it's just begging for it, though.  Is that a crime, I ask ya?  IS-THAT-A-CRIME, for crying out loud!? 

I begged forgiveness requested permission to photograph his obvious pride and joy, and when I asked if it was weird for me to do so with my cell phone, he shook his head and said, "Happens all the time...."

It was then I realized I might not have been breaking any laws, but if I'm not mistaken, parking in a handicapped spot when you're 100% healthy is an offense.

So I made a Citizen's Arrest and promptly confiscated the car for evidence.

S i g h...in my dreams, anyway.

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And because I've already professed my undying love to the Jonas Brothers and posted Love bug previously, enjoy Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat with a video that musically feels like my ridiculous infatuation with a little red car (even if the lyrics don't quite describe it....)

"Lucky" Official Video With Colbie Caillat

Get! Out!! ARE YOU STINKIN' KIDDING ME???!!!!

For all you Twitter naysayers?   Sometimes it PAYS TO TWEET!

I've been acquainted with Squarespace since before I started blogging; two friends who introduced me to blogging used their platform.  When I decided to start my own, I ended up with Blogger, too cheap to pay for service.  I've always been impressed with their professionalism, however, and I think they're BRILLIANT with their current marketing effort; in their words, they were:

"... looking for a way to show our appreciation to our fans and to say thanks for helping us grow 100% over the last few months! With our own Squarespace iPhone app in the works, we thought giving away iPhones would be a great way to celebrate with everyone who loves Squarespace just as much as we do!"

Well, I didn't know if creativity had anything to do with it, but I began composing haikus (those who read me know I'm a poetry freak); here's my winning tweet ~

I'm stunned but not quite speechless.  And, suddenly, I feel like dancing.  Join me, please??

{P.S.  But first, subscribe to my feed or have PENSIEVE delivered to your inbox via email (see left sidebar)}

{P.P.S.  And check out the phenomenal Type-A Mom Conference, register to receive the early bird rate, and we can meet in September}

NOW, let's dance!!

?

Fathers and daughters

{Originally published as a three-part series in September 2007, this is one of those posts that "someone" needs to read; I just wish I knew who....  If you've struggled with the relationship you share with your father (or mother), it could be you.  Also, you might want to read the original posts if it resonates with you--comments were poignant and raw.

** lyrics Mike and the Mechanics, "In the Living Years"

Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door**

Fathers and daughters....

It is through a father's eyes a young girl first believes she is a princess, she is beautiful, and she is capable of anything her unbound mind can imagine. 

In her return gaze, without the words to express it, she sees him as warrior-provider, hero-protector, and first love.  Some would suggest it is in her father that a daughter will construct her first impressions of God.

What a powerful relationship...what opportunity...what potential danger.

I know that I'm a prisoner
To all my father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Because, understandably, parents want the "best" for their children, they teach and challenge and encourage them.  They provide opportunity through education, the arts, athletics, and in a best-case scenario, there's balance.

Along the way, these babies grow and mature, each day and month and year marking an increase in independence, sometimes quite noticeable--the emphatic exclamation of a three-year-old, "I.do.it.MYSELF!"--other times imperceptible--the subtlety of a 14-year-old wearing lip gloss, but no longer just to balm chapped lips.

Crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I'm afraid that's all we've got

I had several moments of "childhood interrupted", events that would alter and determine, at least in part, who I would eventually become:  the divorce of my parents, which many sources would tell you is blighting to a child, but for me, strangely, wasn't a horrible thing (we continued to see my father every day and at least my parents' arguing was silenced); most likely that was over-shadowed by the truly devastating death of my mother when I was nine, and my paternal grandmother's death the following year (with whom we were very close).

These things facilitated an accelerated maturity for me and my siblings, and we learned to cope with adult fare at an early age.  I'm convinced that is a skill learned early in life which has served me well, and although certainly I would rather my mother have lived, I'm thankful for this tiny piece of seen redemption from such a great loss. 

When I celebrated my 39th birthday, I realized I had out-lived my mother. When each of my three children reached their third grade year in school, I was thankful, and to some degree, relieved, at its completion; not so much for my own life and health, but that they still had their mom.  It is not "normal" to not have a mom when you're a kid; to this day, I never presume any child I meet has both parents living...  residual wake with no apparent ending, I suppose.

You say you just don't see it
He says it's perfect sense
You just can't get agreement
In this present tense
We all talk a different language
Talking in defense

The way I viewed my father changed often throughout my life; I think he was more consistent in how he saw me.  He always thought I was smart and beautiful and could accomplish just about anything I set my mind to; he was always proud of me and he found ways to express his love, sometimes verbally, more often not.

That being said, it was far from a "perfect" father-daughter relationship, and in my young adult years, I found fault with him.  There was never a real friendship, he wasn't the adviser from whom I sought counsel, he rarely shared my confidences...we never allowed each other in to our private worlds.  He didn't know how to express his; I wasn't willing to share mine. 

It was loss for both of us. 

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye

There's a certain beauty in all this, though, learned at great cost to him and to me.  A lasting impression--adult interrupted?--that will, once again, shape who I will become, especially as a parent myself.

So we open up a quarrel
Between the present and the past
We only sacrifice the future
It's the bitterness that lasts

The role I assumed in my family was one of peace keeper.  We weren't a particularly quarrelsome family, but whenever conflict of any sort arose, I'd try to mediate the situation and smooth things over.  This naturally bled into every area of my life.  I think peace keepers are necessarily people pleasers--conflict avoidance and the desire to please others make ready bedfellows. 

For most of my life I viewed my peace-keeping, people-pleasing inclinations as virtue.  Then God, in the sometimes subtle, sometimes sledgehammer ways His Spirit can work in your heart through His Word or through study or through circumstance (and in my case all three simultaneously), revealed to me how these were idols of mine. 

Ouch.

In our well-intentioned-but-flawed state, we can make an idol out of anything when it becomes the thing we "worship", even good things--work, volunteerism, children, marriage, busyness, and in my case nice.  The god of Nice.  I was much more concerned about "you" liking me (whether it be family or friend or co-worker) than I was about pleasing God.  That meant conflict, real issues between people, weren't dealt with; instead, they were conveniently swept under the rug and forgotten.  The problem with that is the dusty point of contention was still there.  

So we open up a quarrel
So don't yield to the fortunes
You sometimes see as fate
It may have a new perspective
On a different day
And if you don't give up, and don't give in
You may just be OK.

I was working through the Beth Moore study "Living Beyond Yourself" when God smacked me with this revelation...the difference between being a peace keeper (not so healthy) and a peace maker (very healthy).  Moore suggested (and keep in mind I studied this several years ago and my memory and notes are imperfect!) keepers try to maintain peace at any cost, but there's no completed action, no resolution of the conflict; in essence they're keeping something (a false peace) that doesn't really exist (because there's no resolution).  Peace MAKERS on the other hand, deal with the issue, work through to resolution. 

For me, these ideas were revolutionary.  I began to see in retrospect how my peace-keeping role in family had perhaps, ironically, created a chasm in my relationship with my father, not bridged a gap.  There were a lot of little somethings in between us, preventing a closeness I longed for. 

I never dealt with those things.  There was never true peace made with Daddy.

You know why?  Because I wanted him to be the initiator of peace (but I'm sure he never even realized there was division); as my father, it was him who needed to pursue me, not me, as his child pursuing him.  I wanted him to be the grown up. 

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye
 

It's important to note we loved each other, there was no doubt about that.  This isn't about loving--invisible threads that tie parent to child, where shared blood flows with forgiveness and long-suffering and affection. 

This is about knowing each other.  I never got to know him, I never really let him know me. 

Because I wanted to please him, because I would rather have kept peace with him than make him uncomfortable, I never tried to know him. 

As I began to understand these things about myself, about him, I began to extend to him a kind of generosity...I no longer found fault with him or blamed him for not trying to know me.  Truly, I'm inclined to believe a fair amount of this lies with his generation and his general guardedness in sharing his emotions; part of it lies with him wanting to protect me from things I "didn't need to know". 

And then, in a twisted turn of fate in God's sovereign mercy, Daddy's health began declining.  Dementia and early Alzheimer's began to surface, at first, excusable (don't we all forget where we put our keys or the name of someone we just met?), eventually impossible to ignore.

How could I possibly find the good in that?

I wasn't there that morning
When my Father passed away
I didn't get to tell him
All the things I had to say

Looking back, my father was sick for a long time--years--before diagnosis.  I use that word loosely because with Alzheimer's, and more specifically with him, Lewy Bodies, the early symptoms are subtle and excusable.   Interestingly, I'm convinced he knew better than anyone else that his mind was escaping his body in pieces, and he did his best to open lines of communication that had previously been closed.  We observed him trying to bring closure to business affairs, controlling the things he could with a sometimes frantic desperation to bring order and resolution.  Many of these things would have future impact on us (his children and his wife); I think he was attempting to simplify those effects.

As I read...re-read...and eventually read again the comments from the prior two "Living Years" posts, I was moved; my heart ached after hearing the incomplete stories you began to share.  When you've lived unresolved relationship, you hear with a clarity not accessible to the unacquainted.  Not only did I hear what was said, I heard those unspoken, sometimes broken thoughts you dared not utter. 

Speaking them can bring them to life...it gives them a strength you'd rather not allow.

After my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer 10 years ago, Daddy changed.  In his own way, he began reaching out to his children in a way he hadn't before.  He was scared--the thought of losing his first-born must have been horrifying! 

Sadly, I think I was somewhat hardened towards his overtures; throughout my college years I  wanted him to be interested, invested in my life.  Now that he was making more of an effort, I didn't respond in kind.  I certainly wasn't disrespectful or discourteous, but there was a learned detachment that was slow to dissolve.  Walls of self-preservation had been erected long ago, and to avoid putting myself in a position to be hurt or rejected by him, my life was easily filled with my husband, children, friends and activity. It's important to note that his rejection was more a sin of "omission" (things you should've done, but didn't) than "commission" (things you shouldn't have done, but did).

I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I'm sure I heard his echo
In my baby's new born tears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

One day about two years ago, overnight my father's health took a catastrophic turn for the worse.   He went from being able to function independently--driving, dressing himself, eating normally, etc.--to not being able to do a thing.  Although we'll never know for sure, we have reason to believe it was an adverse reaction to a drug he was given.  He was in the hospital over two months, near death on more than one occasion, but eventually came home with 24-hour care.  He was confined to bed for 14 months and during that time there were only hints of recognition.

Because we wanted to give his wife a much-needed break (and because around-the-clock care is not only expensive, it's unreliable), my siblings and I took turns traveling to their home to help care for him.  Without going into the horrific details of parent-child role reversal, it was a blistering living hell--for him and for us.   If you've lived it, you know what I mean.

This is the saddest truth:  I spent more time with Daddy his last year and a half of life than I have for the past 20 years combined...and the man was out of his mind.

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It's too late when we die
To admit we don't see eye to eye

There is a beauty in this brokenness...slivers of redemption among shards of regret-- 

I looked at my father for the first time in a long, long time.  I looked at him, I watched him,  I saw things I hadn't seen before.  He was 75 but had amazing skin, very few wrinkles.  How could I have missed that?  Without remembering I was his daughter (which was the case more often than not), he told me I was the "prettiest thing he had ever seen", in his own way, still telling me I was a princess.  When he thought of something funny, the twinkle returned to his eye and his laughter transported me back to happier times in his life. 

Mostly, though, it was opportunity to just be with him, serve him, and learn what it meant to honor him when it wasn't particularly pleasant to do so.  I thought of all MY sins of omission where he was concerned and realized that in spite of both of our emotionally-protective walls and unmet expectations, we loved each other, and for us, that has to be enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don't live with a lot of regret, but are there things I wish, in retrospect, I would have done differently?  Absolutely.

I would have pursued him, I would have endured uncomfortable conversations to forge an intimacy of knowing each other we never found.  Because intuitively I knew he didn't want to "go there" (and "go there" meant a thousand different things), I never pressed, I didn't ask...and he didn't offer.

It's not that I have it all figured out or have all the answers--I don't even know all the questions (wink)!  But...but...I KNOW there are a million daughters just.like.me.  Little girls living inside a woman's steel magnolia frame who simply want to know their fathers, to share life, and for HIM to be the one to initiate it.

And I write this to tell you...gently...it probably isn't going to happen that way (if it hasn't already). 

But it can happen, I believe that. 

It's gonna have to be you in the driver's seat.  And it's worth it, it will be worth it.  Of course there are damaged, abusive relationships between father and child--I can't begin to speak to that type of estrangement :(.  For those who are like me, though, I think there's a way to intimacy; it takes courage and determination and initiative.  It requires a sacrifice of your "rights", it demands forgiveness, it means loving in a way that doesn't necessarily come naturally.   Because I hold scripture in esteem and believe it to speak truth and to reveal the nature and character of God, it seems this is certainly a way to honor your father (parents).

For a few friends of mine IRL who've admitted some of what I'm sharing here--I practically beg them to take the first steps towards a deeper relationship with their parents.  Consider this a "beg" to my cyber friends....I wonder if someone had kicked me in the behind five years ago if I would have heard...and responded....

This is the last picture I took of my dad...it was taken with my cell phone a few weeks before his death; I knew it would be the last time I photographed him and it seemed important.

I can't think of a better way to end this post than with the closing words of "Living Years" and to share the music with those of you who are unfamiliar.  Enjoy~

Say it loud, say it clear
Say it loud
Don't give up
Don't give in
And don't know what you can do next