We each have a life story, penned without ink, read by the people around us. Who's writing your story?

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Paper or Plastic?

"You're turning into Mrs. Walter, Mom!"

I had to chuckle last week as one of my daughters surveyed the basement void of nearly thirty years' worth of clutter, videos, and old catalogs. Instead, the built-in shelves house many of my husband's books, neat and tidy. The floor looks large and nearly empty.

Mrs. Walter. . . Barry did yard work for the dear old lady, and she adopted the rest of us, more or less.

For a while we (four-year-old Elisabeth and I) took her grocery shopping. On the weeks she found it difficult to get out, we dropped by to pick up her list. Always in her careful handwriting, always specific, always brand name items. One day we were looking for a can of Green Giant vegetables. Elisabeth, always a ready helper, quipped, "There it is. The green Philistine!" 

A widow, former tennis player, and avid reader of the classics, Mrs. Walter was sharp as a tack. She kept her home and yard just so. Conversant in subjects ranging from philosophy to gardening, she carried an aura of youth about her slight wrinkled frame. She listened well, offering just enough to make you think you could change your corner of the world.


When we shopped together, a pattern emerged that disturbed me:

"Does she want paper or plastic bags?"
The question, directed toward me, by-passes the little lady,
     Change purse poised, list in hand.

Oh, I know the answer.
We come here every Tuesday.
She waits for me by her door with hat and sunglasses,
     Outfit neat, in different colored Keds every time - 
Then hoists herself up onto my van seat.

At the store, we walk together . . .
     As though I am the usher
     And she a guest at a grand wedding.
I lay her produce on the grocer's scale.
I search for cans, often tucked in where they don't belong. 

When we return, I unload her treasures and carry them in. 
We put them all in their proper places.

And all the while,
She listens as I weigh out pros and cons.
     She gives me clues when solutions seem obscure.
     She shares my load when life feels overwhelming.
     We put it all in its proper place. 

"Paper or plastic?"
"Paper," she says.*

I made it a point never to answer the questions misdirected toward me. Mrs. Walter answered them just fine. And if my daughter wants to compare me to our spunky friend who kept her home sparse and tidy, I'm okay with that.

Just let me do the answering!

*Poem written December 2002

Monday, December 4, 2017

When the Passing of Time Brings Change

The emotion I felt surprised me.

Another first since my husband passed away. . . which should have been the first clue this would trigger some feelings of nostalgia mixed with loss.

The last two years, our youngest daughter and I "decked the halls" of our home, but this year she and the others plan to arrive for an early Christmas on the same day. Our time is short so I planned to have everything ready - and honestly looked forward to decorating the house. Umpteen trips up to the attic and back saw me pull out the old familiar simple, homespun Christmas garlands, stockings, and lighted village. And, of course, the wooden manger my dad made when the kids were little . . . and all the holiday stories. 

I cranked up the Christmas music on Pandora and went to work . . . but instead of seeing my hands sort lights and greenery, I saw little-girl hands hanging their stockings on designated hooks by the fireplace. Added to the carols, I heard their voices and laughter. I watched their daddy in the recliner, taking it all in, giving his two cents now and then, snacking on popcorn, and feeding the fire. I smelled pizza in the oven and freshly baked cookies as the celebratory ending to our annual tradition. 

Tears ran down my cheeks. Those busy, hectic days slipped away so quickly . . . only memories now. 

Even as I reached for the tissue box, I thought of our girls and how proud I am of each one. Two of them are now mothers, creating their own family traditions. I thanked God for the privilege of being their mom all these years.

And I rehearsed the blessings God has offered me today . . . family, friends, community, health, the ability to do my work and help others. . .  and even events to look forward to over this holiday season . . . blessings I want to receive with gratefulness and contentment.  

Even though time changes so much of life, Christmas is still about Emmanuel, God with us. It's still about a loving God who sent His only Son to be our Savior. It's still about joy and peace . . . and everlasting hope. 

When the family all comes trouping through the back door in a couple of weeks, the house will be festive, the tree bright, the frig stocked with their favorites, and the gifts wrapped. The little grandboys will dress up as shepherds, and we'll read the familiar story from Luke 2 together. We'll ponder the miracle of Christmas.

I plan to savor every minute!