Is Love Blind?

It's a show on Netflix. Is Love Blind flashes across the opening episode as the show begins. A "show" in the most literal terms. 

Hopeful singles prepare for a marriage partner by visiting small rooms, known as "Pods," that are sectioned off where neither participant can see the other. All they have to go on is the voice of the one they're "dating", and the words that are being said to them by the other. All to see if there could possibly be a connection of sorts. Guided mostly by feelings and blind trust. First two mistakes...

Judge me if you must, but there are times when walking in the undesirable places of this world, wisdom grows. But, when we say, "I would never do that," we are actually confirming we are better than the ones who are doing "that". And...we may be. At that time in our lives. Better, not because of who we are, but better because we have found truth. Found what gives real peace as we follow our life's journey. And it's not in the "try before you buy"...at least not in this instance.

John Bradford, a 1550's Christian martyr, said this: "There, but by the grace of God, go I." At a time when Mary (Bloody Mary) Tudor ruled England, and many were being put to death, burned at the stake, because of their Protestant faith, John was humbled when seeing so many having to die for what they believed. Yet, he too, was eventually martyred. We all are no better than the next. We've just walked different paths.

I've walked in the dust of the earth, and I've walked on freshly swept streets, so-to-speak. I have experienced both sides of dark and light. Both sides of fear and peace. I prefer peace...

So much could be said about this particular Netflix series. But, I won't. It has been some time since last indulging, because the program quickly creates an unsettled feeling inside of me. It's hard to watch these clueless people humiliate themselves...and me. Just being a part of the human race, causes me to wince just a little when watching people willingly open themselves to ridicule. 

Anyway...Is love blind?

I would say there are times we all can experience blindness, yet have sight. Season 10 just wrapped up. I stumbled upon it a few nights ago when looking for something to relax with before bedtime. I know. TV is usually a poor choice. Whether it is just a news station, or a Chicago PD show. Worst things to end a day with. But, I do. Most nights...

At the end of each season, Is Love Blind, has a Reunion segment. It was that, that I stumbled upon. My immediate thoughts were, "Hmmm...I wonder who got tricked this time," and "How bad was it?" It's the nosey side of me. If I can find someone less intelligent than myself, I win. Right? Ughhh...

Remember the statement I made in the 3rd paragraph of this post? The undesirable places creating wisdom, part? Welllll....this particular reunion of season 10 participants, struck a note in me. Can't say that has EVER happened before. One of the couples that actually made it to the marriage altar, and were thought to have a "happy ever after" life in front of them, didn't. 

Four months in and the guy leaves. His reason? "I couldn't live up to the standards required because of trust issues with her past relationships with men." She went into the relationship with binoculars. Fully expecting her worst fears to transpire. Poor guy didn't have much of a chance. And he was young, so hadn't fully understood that marriage is a selfless life. One where we give our all, and expect good things to return to us. But if they don't, we keep giving to the one we claim to love, even in the hard times. Selflessly...

And that is what hit me...

So many of us carry baggage from past relationships into new relationships, walls up and ready to engage should any appearance of possible betrayal come front and center. We listen for it. We expect it. And, I'm not saying we should totally let our guard down; past hurts and wounds are real, and we want it all behind us. Hoping there is someone who will treat us as the gift we are. (Did I hear a laugh just now?) The gift that needs cared for. The gift that needs cherished.

Trust is earned. Or is it innocent until proven guilty? Same thing, right? Let's be honest, here. We all judge. We do. How can we not? The voice of reason is loud and clear. Even when looking at a books cover, we make a judgement call most of the time. Is this book something I want to engage with? Then you open the cover and read the forward. That tells us if we should be interested, or not.

We do the same with humanity. We look at the "cover". Does it impress us? We read the forward by listening to what comes out of the mouth. That should be our first stop. How do they communicate? The way they use language is very important, in my book. The expressions they provide tell us more than most realize. I am constantly reading body language (which my husband laughs at). That's the way I approach anyone. Friend or foe.

So, yes. Innocent until proven guilty. However, the statement that came from this Is Love Blind guy, caused something inside me to take notice. Something that made me ask myself some hard questions. Something that made me ask just how hard has it been to live with me? I think I'm a pretty great gal, yet some would say Dennis has been a saint throughout our marriage. Which I've never been able to figure out. We both have had our fair share of being an instigator, and he is a great guy. But sainthood??? He works on it from time to time. And then there's me. I'm a lot. 

Still a gift from God, but a lot at times...

Being a sharpening tool, here you will find me...in Mary's World. 

#myworld #lifeasiseeit #myjourney #islovetrulyblind #innocentuntilguilty

P.S.

Love is a choice. We choose. We learn what love truly means. 

Locked Brakes...

It often feels as if someone has put on the brakes, while simultaneously commanding the body to find its sweet spot of rigor mortis, or numbness. 

Once the brakes have been applied to the ordinary everyday life, it's easy to sit back and "let the good times roll." Or to stare aimlessly out the study window. Trust me. I know something about this. Eight months in, and my body is yelling for attention. The kind that allows it to move more than a few times a day. It's not known what to do with nothing to do for approximately 78 years, 8 months, & 2 days. A new world has now emerged, and the owner of this body doesn't know quite what to pivot towards. Still...it's a pretty decent life. It's just that this old body is having a bit of "stiffness" settling in. It still keeps up, but has to try a bit harder these days.

I'm finding out just how disciplined I am, really. And let me tell you...it's scary! I keep hearing real voices say its time to take my ease. "You've worked hard your whole life." "You've earned this rest." "It's okay to relax." Right. When has anyone known me to relax? I've been a pretty tense person most of my life; a fairly high maintenance gal.

The problem??? Relaxing feels sooooooooo good!!! Until it doesn't...

Today is a beautiful misty morning, with showers expected in just about 3 hours. This kind of weather is calming when I take my walks. Sadly, I've been relaxing just a bit too much these days, and walking has become a spur-of-the-moment deal. Not good discipline. Oh, I keep the laundry up (most of the time), keep the house tidy (most spaces), and visit the greenhouse to care for those who can't care for themselves. But that's about the scope of my busyness.

I do keep my early mornings open to sit with the Word, stay still and listen for the slightest bit of wisdom that comes only from above. This morning I fell asleep (shhhh...you love it too when your child falls asleep on your lap) while listening to a reading from Luke 9 where Jesus corrals his disciples and tells them it's time for them to take up the staff as they proclaimed the kingdom of God. Yet, discipline doesn't come easy for these guys. Nor for anyone.

Even though they had been given the authority needed for what they would encounter (we actually have that as well) they were still in the learning stage, and quite frankly, acted as though they were toddlers just learning to walk. Because they were. 

As the day wears on, Jesus informs his disciples about the upcoming trial and death. Not once, but twice. He knew they were likely to brush it off and not really consider what it actually means to be a follower of Christ. I'll let you find out on your own. Just read Luke 9. There, you will get a feel for it.

Spoiler Alert: It requires discipline to the nth degree.

Soooo...back to brakes being applied in my world of worldly discipline, that also requires a full tank of discipline. When one has a responsibility, such as a job provides, one rises to meet the challenge. Daily. It's just a given if you want to eat, pay the bills, and lay your head at night, in peace. Once that is no longer a thing to be had, well, responsibility weakens. Especially until one pivots and declares a new challenge. A new way forward. Requiring discipline to once again become engaged.

Could someone pry my foot off the hold in place slot, or please, just inject me with imagination blockers? 

I don't mind the slow roll; just don't want to stop and stare.

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

When Everything Goes Dark

What would you think if, as you were driving before the sun came up, and the head lights beams suddenly went dark? What would run through your mind as you tried to remember how to manually turn them back on? 

The year is 2026, and humanity has increased in knowledge so much so, that everything is easier, faster, and is done with precision. We barely have to think for ourselves these days. It seems as if everything is ran by what has been "wired" into the main frame of anything needed to navigate life as we know it. Right? 

Thus, when I open the door to my car I fully expect, fully depend on, that car doing what I need it to do. I never second guess it. It's the norm...as it should be. Today's vehicles automatically know what is expected of them before any action by a human has been taken. I need not do anything, other than push the magic button to command it's attention to detail, as the motor beings its purr, the lights illuminate, and then...as I shift into gear, all four doors lock instantaneously. It's ready for me...for the destination I direct it to go.

But...what happens when the car decides IT wants to be in control? Including taking control of the brakes & the accelerator, as the pitch black atmosphere consumes us?

That's exactly what happened around 3 AM this morning. 

Dennis was in the passenger seat, being the silent partner, as the dark sky surrounded us. Rarely having the need to call my attention to being an unintentional driver, he must have dozed off. It was early...

When everything went black this morning, he still sat in silence, as if all was as it should be. But all was not as it should be. We were driving in the dark, with no way to see what was in front, in back, nor what surrounded us. No other cars on the road at the time.

"Dennis! I can't see!" I said it multiple times with no response coming from my partner. It was when the sound of loud horns (ah...there they are) being laid upon, yet not until my car began eating dirt, did I hear the voice of my beloved. He had reached over, trying to find access to lights, when his voice split the silence. "Mary! You're going off the road!" I already knew that...

Since my brakes weren't working, yet not considering the very real possibility of hurting someone else, I turned the wheels to the left trying to get back upon the road. I must have been in shock. Why would anyone choose that path? Thinking about it now, I really don't know why I didn't just let the car do what it had set out to do. Kill us both. Still...I don't understand how I had control in that moment, but not later.

As I made it back upon the blacktop, the lights suddenly came on. I had swerved into a one lane intersection, when the car stopped all by itself (no control of the accelerator, nor the brakes, remember), and we were waiting for what would happen next. It didn't take long for the car to start moving again. This time, slowly inching its way backward as the steering took ALL control out of my hands. 

The car was backing up around the pickup truck sitting just to my left that was in a lane separated from ours by a grassy median. I was beginning to wonder where in the world we were. I had never seen a roadway so complex.

The sun had not risen just yet, so we were still clueless as to most of our surroundings. Even with lights now burning through the blackness, our location was not known. The car continued to slowly make its way around the back of the truck and continued across to what looked to be a gas station parking lot. I kept trying to stop the dang metal (well...mostly fiberglass), demon that was holding us captive...but to no avail.

It was when the car began to pin a woman against a wall of the building, that I woke...still sitting in my office chair, lamp light on, and eyes covered with a dark cloth. What a relief!

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

Choices

My 43 yr. old self...

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!

I don't know about others, but for me, I must have a plan of action decided upon, or the hours of the day slip past me ever so quickly! Before I blink a couple of times, I am yet again flipping the calendar month to the next.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Yours, too. The next 12 hours (or more) are ours to use as we see fit. How we use them is totally up to us. We must decide, then follow through. If I don't make a clear decision, the day has been for naught. Nothing (or very little) will be accomplished. And there is no one to blame but ourselves. It's absolutely no one else's fault. We gotta stop shifting the blame. Unless a gun is being held to our head, the decision is 100% ours to make. Yes...we may feel we must make a decision we'd rather not because of family issues. Regardless, the decision is ours. We must weigh the consequences of our choice(s), then choose.

While it's great (some days) not having a "have to" agenda, if I'm not careful, I will while away the hours and find rest at night not a thing to be had. I'm still working on this retirement thing. So far, it's been nice in that my time is my time. But there are days I'd rather it be just a bit more active. I'm working on it.

My dad often reminded us as kids, that when we work hard while work is to be had, we could lay our heads upon our pillows at night and rest well because it was an earned rest. Always speaking the truth in any situation, was also a real thing and was the needed choice if one wanted to truly rest. Day, or night. He wasn't wrong...

That, among many other things, found a nesting place in my mind over the years of training that my parents provided. I'm so glad he and mom taught truth, regardless of how it made us feel in the moment. They trained us to live an honest life. A life of giving an honest days work for an honest days wages. And always being truthful...even when it hurt. And more so, we learned helping others gave us a sense of worth. We never begrudged helping where help was needed.

Soooo...today, I am planning the course of my week. Forward movement will be made. Even if it hurts in the moment. The results will be (I hope) phenomenal!

Carry on, soldier!

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World

True Valentine Love

Waking early...not uncommon...I made my way to the kitchen to start the coffee and prep for the day. My body was weary and my eyes heavy.

With coffee cup filled to the brim and a KIND Protein Breakfast Bar in hand, I settled in the study...again, not uncommon. But then, what was soon to transpire, was something that hasn't happened on the regular for quite some time. I wasn't prepared for it, but received it with gratitude. God always knows what I need, and will show up when I least expect it. This was no different and I recognized it as being straight from his heart to mine. 

I had finished listening to TTW (a guided 10 minute audio journey through the Bible), when I felt the need to stop. To just rest for a bit.

Today's reading had been from Genesis 28 where Isaac was close to death and was going to bestow a blessing on his eldest son, Esaus. But, Rebecca, his wife...came up with a gigantic plan to deceive him (Problem #1) and cause the blessing to fall on Jacob (her favorite son). The birthright, AND the blessing was rightfully Esaus'. Doesn't sound like this will turn out so good, right? 

Isaac (the dad) was what we would call "legally blind" today. Pretty much couldn't see anything. So Rebecca (the mom) got this bright idea to have Jacob (younger son) bring her 2 of their best goats so she could slay them and cook up a tasty meal for Isaac before Esau returned home from hunting his wild game, cooking it up just right, and then serving it to his dad (as Dad had requested...that dad's wifey overheard) so HE (Jacob) could receive the blessing that was not rightfully his. Confused yet?

Something you should know: Esau was a very hairy dude. Jacob, not so much. The Bible says Jacob had smooth skin (Problem #2). Well, Mom had that covered, as well...literally. She used the skin from the goats (very hairy), to lay over Jacobs arms and neck (tricky lady), just in case Isaac reached out to touch Jacob while giving the blessing. One thing they couldn't change was the difference in the two brothers voices. Isaac recognized it, yet ignored it. What?! I've never understood this crazy decision. Was he in THAT big of a hurry to throw out the blessing with the baby and the dish water? (Problem #3)

This is a really great read, so I won't explain how this played out (it's so interesting), nor the outcome of this great deception. Mostly because it's not what this blog post started out to be. I just got carried away while explaining what I was doing this morning before the message God sent me, via brain waves. Again...not so uncommon. You can read the completion of the story in Genesis 27. You should keep reading through Genesis 28, though. It's quite the story! And who said the Bible was boring, anyway??!! Most likely those who haven't read it. Or who opened to the book of Numbers and read that.

Anyway...my eyes were hurting just a bit and I was very tired, so I grabbed the cloth I use to cover my eyes, when in my study, to shield out the bright sunshine that welcomes me most mornings around 8:10 AM. The sun is positioned just right, at that time, and the beams filter through the shades so precisely it startles me occasionally. With dark cloth over my eyes, I lean back in the chair to rest.

Defined dark clouds form in the heavens, moving about, giving way to a plethora of stars gleaming as they move around, twinkling in the dark sky. Then, the clouds slightly move out of sight, revealing beautifully snow capped mountains, with what appeared to be people standing on the edge of some of the mountain tops. They were so far away, I couldn't tell who they might be. Just people.

Suddenly, faces began to appear, slowly revealing who they were. It's as if they were quietly floating through the sky coming towards me. Watching me. Looking straight at me. One of those faces was my sister, Becky. She left this world in 2008, but there she was. With my eyes still closed, and still under the cloth that shielded them from natural light, I watched, not wanting to miss anything. 

The dark clouds gave way to pure white clouds, as tiny hearts ushered in the medium sized hearts that gave way to much larger hearts, then back to smaller hearts. So many hearts! I didn't hear anything, but it felt like a symphony of love in the form of hearts. Hard to explain, exactly. But it was beautiful. It was comforting. It felt real.

Admittedly, I have been under a bit of stress these last few days. Mostly, the entire week, to be honest. Heavy on my chest, to the point of having to take a beat and relax. I wasn't up to doing much as the battlefield of the mind played out. I was sad. Feeling a bit inessential. It happens, occasionally. Not often, just occasionally.

So, maybe it was just my brains way of protecting me. Of shoring itself up. But it felt like God...

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

P.S. God's love surrounds us. Always. We just have to recognize it in order to feel the freedom it gives.

Notes About Our First Home

The rock lined drive was an instant draw for me. Pulling into the drive, we slowed the car to a crawl and pulled up next to the large rocks as the gravel beneath the tires welcomed us. We sat for a moment, just taking in the dynamics of what looked like a mansion to us. It was early 1976.

There, directly in front of us, was a house that came complete with a double car garage. Something we had never had! Sitting like a picture amongst many trees, while 2 large Oaks guarded the property from the busyness of the highway just South of it. The house seemed to tell us we were home. 

We were two young kids needing a place to grow a family. A place to allow roots to grow. Literally and metaphorically. It seemed as if a dream was about to come true, all the while wondering how in the world we would be able to afford such a place. The price tag was an unreachable $21,000. Laugh, if you must, but that was a chunk of change in the 70's.

My sister, Becky, lived only a quarter of a mile straight West of the house and had alerted us to the sale. "It will be perfect for you and Dennis! And you will be just down the road from me & Den," she exclaimed. "Just come and take a look." I think Becky had become so accustomed to watching out for me, and had become more-so of a protective mother figure over the years. It made her heart happy to think of me being "just down the road."

The home was owned by a young woman who had recently became widowed when her husband came down with pneumonia and couldn't pull out of it. Having two small children still in diapers, she was planning a move back home...closer to where her parents lived. Beck thought we might get a reduced price because of the owner's need to move quickly. 

The owner welcomed us inside, but my feet wouldn't move beyond the entrance as my eyes took in as much as they could in those first few seconds. As we walked through the house, room by room, it all seemed so familiar. So very us. Entering the kitchen/dining area, my first words were, "Dennis! Look! There's the Avocado Green stove and fridge we talked about wanting!" It was the dominant green color of the decade! I was in heaven!

The house had one bathroom, 3 small bedrooms and a double car garage! With central heat and air, it was enticing. The Master bedroom was only a couple square feet bigger than the others, but we instantly knew which one it was. When we entered the bathroom, one door up from the bedroom, we found the design of the home had been intentional. There, inside the bathroom, sat a lovely Avocado Green Bathtub, completing the look of the appliances in the kitchen. The woman's in-laws were wealthy land owners with a hunk of property sitting just behind the fenced in land we were hoping to buy, and obviously the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree... 

After our walk-through, the owner sat down with us. She hadn't put the property in the hands of a realtor because she knew it would be an easy sell. Her husbands family had connections. In fact, the day we looked at the house, her brother-in-law had already signed papers of intent that was sitting on the table. She, herself, hadn't signed just yet. She battled with the sale, waiting, hoping someone else would come to purchase it. Waiting on someone she connected with. Someone who she felt would continue the love she and her husband had shared inside its four walls. And someone young enough to make it a homestead, filled with little ones. 

The moment Becky heard the property was for sale, she put in a call to us, wanting to make sure we had a chance to talk with the owner before it sold. We called immediately and set up a time to look. The young woman that now held the deed to the house, was a lovely creature. So welcoming, open, and detailed about all she and her husband had done to the house. We connected. Even to the point of staying in touch for several years after the sale. 

We had no down payment, nothing to offer, only a promise to care for the house as best we could. Yet, she believed us to be the ones God intended for the house. Because of that, she came down $1.500 when the FHA loan authority wouldn't give more than $19.500. She said, "I really want you to have this home. Pay me the extra $1,500 when you can. And if life is hard, please don't worry about it. This is to be your home, regardless." If you but listen, God will lead you...even when you're unaware it is by his hand that things fall into place.

The day of moving in, we found a folder laying on the table she left behind just for us. Inside it was a letter and detailed instructions. She had spent the evening crying, praying, as she wrote down every service provider, and their contact numbers that we would need to keep the house maintained. Things she had trouble with previously. Providers that were familiar with the house and were trusted workers were on the list. Even this, God knew we (okay, I) would need. Inside the folder was also a personal letter, telling of the love her and her family had shared in the home. She poured out her heart in those handwritten letters that formed words of hope for a lasting atmosphere inside the walls built with so much love. 

I think I have mentioned in other posts how the first 10 years of our marriage were more challenging than we had hoped. Maybe others melt together instantly. That wasn't our story, however. It was work. Hard work for 2 totally opposite people who had promised (when promises meant something), to never allow the "divorce" word to escape our mouths. Nor our hearts. It was not an option. We would figure it out...with God's help. Which involved a couple of people willing to go to battle for us. My sister, Becky...and her faithful husband, Denny. Oh man...they should have written a book of being on the battlefield for those continually attracting arrows. 

We made it, though! The previous owner of our first home would approve, I hope. And love did live in that first structure we called home. So did angst and division. But we kept reminding ourselves why we chose marriage in the first place, and it became more real when God handed us two beautiful souls from his hand-picked collection. The first entered our lives after almost 8 years of marriage. I had wanted a baby so much so that I'm confident He gave me the desire of my heart, only after he felt I could be trusted to point them back to Him. And then he sent a second one to complete a dynamic duo that would prove his love comes in different shapes and sizes. Different personalities. Different dreams. Different visions of what life should look like, occasionally. Meg came only 19 months after Lindsey. God had brought out the big guns when they were needed the most to prove it's not over until he declares it so. After several doctors had told us it wasn't possible for me to conceive, God stepped in and said, "Watch this!" 

When it came time to sell that first home, some 36 years later, the memories of days, of years, gone by flooded every room as it was being prepared. Some would say the spirits of the past came to visit on the daily. Cherished memories reminded me (of us) the joys, the sorrows, the linked arms and hopes, that had occupied the home God had provided in those first years of marriage. The home that helped us navigate the uncertain waters of a future that declared victory instead of failure. Of a future where strength came from adversity. Where boundaries were broken, then mended. Where prayers became a constant in the midst of uncertainty. Where battles were won in spite of the wounds encountered.

The house had been built to protect love...no matter how it got there. And it did. Even when others couldn't see it, we knew it. A book is rarely known just by looking at its cover. Inside books, where true love is the goal, one will find battles to be won. Obstacles to overcome. Surprises that jump out of nowhere. Unexpected challenges. Any good book builds on the emotions of its readers and their senses. True unconditional love doesn't come easily. Any good thing never does. It settles in after wars have been won. Once truth has been revealed and right choices made. Once the many battles are laid to rest and one can look back and say, "It is well with my soul." 

We all have a story to tell...

In the interest of being transparent, I will say that whoever lives inside a house that is becoming a home, young and old alike, will most likely feel some of the fall out of battles being fought. They most likely will have shrapnel (so-to-speak) deeply imbedded in their hearts. The flesh fails us, and until we give up our rights to our selfish nature, there will be remnants of "the old man" still visible. No matter how hard we try to protect our children, they hear and see things they can't unsee, or no longer feel, once selfishness takes hold of the adults inside that dwelling. Often times, a person appears to be someone they are not. Behind closed doors, right? Again...it's not over until God says it's over. And His work continues in us until He's ready to call us home. Until we see life as it was meant to be.

One last thing: The day our truck had been loaded, and the Pod that was filled with the belongings we couldn't part with was on its way to NC, Dennis asked for my hands as he prayed over the home that had provided shelter to our family, and ministry to others...in various ways, for so many years. That day, as tears ran down our faces, we thanked God; we thanked the house for all they had harbored and cared for. Of the provision we had received because of the obedience of a young widow and her 2 babies. The house had seen so much activity. So much life within its walls. So many tears, So much laughter. So much pain. So much happiness. The home built for another, that ended up being ours...for a time.

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

P.S. In 1978 we converted the garage into my first beauty salon, added a carport, and less than a year later, added a full double walled rock fireplace. That was fun! The workers knocked out the entire wall between home and garage and built a fireplace inside the home while adding the same rocks to the wall inside the salon. Laying a foundation and hearth (both sides), the look was stunning! We put a wood-burning stove in the salon for an additional cozy spot, just to finish the ambiance with a welcoming atmosphere. While the workers were there, we hired them to add that same rock halfway up the outside of our home, the entire length and around the sides. I was so in love!

Mom and Her Formica & ChromeTable and Other Snippets of Mom

I don't know when the beloved formica & chrome table was purchased. But it was around as long as I can remember. I don't have a picture of the table we had, but this is close enough. I just don't recall our chairs being blue...but they may have been. Some memories dull over time. I do know she fed10 kids, and at least one adult over the years. They just weren't all at the same table, at the same time. The first born was 21 years older than me and had already married and had a child of her own before I was born. Dad used to say I wasn't even "a twinkle in his eye" at the time. I do think there were at least 7 kids that ate from this table at the same time, because I remember when my brother Ken almost died from a sawmill accident (saw blade tried to eat him), and he was still in school. He was child number four. I was child number 10. I may have to amend this statement, once I hear from him. 😁😉

Mom and dad had moved a few times in the beginning of their marriage, so I'm thinking the table must have been purchased after their move to our farm on the northeast edge of Oklahoma that bordered Missouri, with possibly 4 kids in tow. 

She had allowed 11 of us to take up space in her body over a period of 21 years. One baby was tragically lost when Mom was thrown off the bed of a moving flat bed truck. I think it was her 3rd pregnancy. Again, I'm not sure. Most of us were only 2 to 2 1/2 years apart and there seems to have been a gap between the 3rd & 4th child. But, YIKES! Can you imagine being pregnant for all those years, with only short sabbaticals between each birth? A minister, and his wife on a mission to grow the world...

Mom rarely had time for herself, as one can imagine. Ten kids! It's no surprise that only the first few, six possibly, got to really know her. By the time I came along, most of her time had to be used to grow and harvest the food needed to feed her very large family. Once she pulled the carrots, gathered the green beans and snapped them, dug the potatoes, shucked the corn, canned all the veggies, gathered the eggs, prepared the chickens for consumption (she'd fed and raised), it was then time for cooking...which took many hours in the kitchen, working over a wood stove for a good portion of her life. Homemade bread, butter (homemade, as well), and all kinds of delicious fried meat and vegetables gave me my start in this world. When the meals had been prepared and served, she excused herself and retreated to a counter just a few steps beyond the cook stove, so she could eat while maintaining a watch over the needs of those gathered around the table. 

I wonder if she ever felt appreciated, cherished, loved?

Her duties didn't only consist of feeding her children, they had to be clothed, as well. I don't remember ever having a store bought piece of clothing. Mom sewed all our clothes. Mine were mostly made out of Moco Feed Sacks. Once the feed had been dumped into their bins inside the barn, she grabbed the bags up for laundering...on a scrub board, none the less! Wouldn't THAT be fun! A Wonder Woman, for sure!

I vaguely remember the day she was given a wringer washer. She was so excited as it was placed on the back porch. I could feel her anticipation of get clothes cleaned with so much less energy needed. She warned us of the dangers of getting our hands stuck in between the bars that squished the clothes as they were fed into it. She knew her kids and the excitement she felt poured over into them. It wasn't a stretch to know they would want to try their hand at running clothes through this amazing piece of machinery, and she preferred her kiddos with both hands instead of one good, the other mangled. She was always protecting us from what could hurt us, and intensely worried about the times she couldn't. She hated the girls having to work like men at the mill or in the woods. She would have kept us with her, teaching us "women" stuff, if she'd had her way. But, she didn't. We were needed elsewhere.  

After the clothes were laundered, Mom took them outside to hang on a clothing line to dry...even in the freezing temps of winter time. Mom was a very busy lady. Time constraints were a constant! It's no wonder she was such a nervous person. Always racing against time. Dad used to jokingly (I think) say, "Why pray, when you can worry." But, to be fair, I think Dad did his fair share of worrying, as well.

Maybe one day I'll share things from sawmill life...or the cow barn. There's more than a few to be had. I strongly disliked them both. However, teaching a baby calf to drink from a bucket was pretty amazing. I can still feel the warmth of their milk soaked tongues sucking on my fingers that had been dipped in the warm milk, as they used their heads to butt against the bucket held in my hand, as if it was the under side of their mother's udder. We all have some great memories, not just the not-so-great ones.

Mom had a special garden. Her own creation. I think it must have been her survival space. A place to catch her breath, to steady herself as she told the flowers of her deepest fears, of her hopes for the future, and just how beautiful they were. There were many places flowers bloomed in our yard, but this particular garden was hers, and she guarded it with threats of painful death (she didn't scare us) to anyone who chose to wander in and pick any of the blooms, or trampled through, not caring where their feet landed. This was her space. Her Paradise. Her place of restoration.

She had built a pergola and a gate, over the point of entry to her garden. Framed with a bench on either side, and laced with blue Morning Glories that, once trailing, she encouraged an over-and-through design that laid so elegantly over the top, cascading through the slats like a veil. It was beautiful to my young eyes and I loved hearing her talk to her babies...her creation, as I sat on the benches under those vivid blue flowers...yet never going beyond the gate. When mom spoke, we listened. Out of respect...not fear. Those times were few and far between. But I cherished them.

My mom was also a true artist who never got to use her artistic skills. She loved her flowers. Her mom's flowers. Grandma Edna (Doerrie) Fawks must have been her inspiration. She also had well tended gardens, and Mom drew likenesses of them on paper from the 1920's...thick and woody. Every part of each flower she had drawn out in great detail. So precise and developed with accuracy. With understanding the beauty of each one, she drew, she designed, she loved. All done before marriage and children. We do have a way of messing things up. *wink *wink

She had created two manuals during her school years, that she managed to keep over the years. She tucked them away so no one would find them. Good thinkin', Momma!!! 

Once she married and had all us yahoos, she did the same thing with store bought chocolate bars, which was a rare pleasure of hers. That, and the occasional bottle of pop, which she would share if we caught a glimpse of her sipping from one. We were allowed only a sip or two. It was hers. She earned it, and believed it to not be so good for her little ones. I'm glad she hid those things from us. Had we found them, she would not have had anything to keep her sanity. A part of who she was, changed after marriage and kids...to a degree. It does with us all, right? She was still Erna, the young happy girl from years gone by...but now, she was needed in a much more serious capacity. She had to let go of her dreams.

One of her design manuals was of an array of different flowers drawn with great love and what appeared (to me, at least) to be something the flowers would be proud to see, if they could see, just how beautifully she portrayed them. Notes were made in that manual revealing everything anyone would want to know about flowers. The other was of the human anatomy. Also very detailed and explained.

My first look at them was when I needed information for a school project and was talking with her about it. She pulled them out from I don't know where. I do remember being surprised and asked, "Did you draw these?!" I was in awe...

Mom never had time to sit and share her own thoughts with us. Until most of her children had moved on, creating a life away from their beginnings, did she have time to think about herself. Maybe she talked more with the older siblings, I just don't remember having "Mom time" when I was young. I was with Dad working at the sawmill, in the log woods, tending cattle, and all chores outside. There were a few times I got to help with the vegetable garden, especially when it needed harvested. It was a time I looked forward to...away from the sawmill, and working next to Mom in the veggie garden. Several of us helped because gardens don't wait. But I was still there with my Mom.

I rarely heard her complain, but when she did, it was usually because of some chore she didn't agree with that her kids were required to do. She just pushed through any difficulties she may have had, any struggles over caring for her family...carrying whatever weight needed carried. Picking up the pieces of broken hearts and understandings. Her family always came first. 

Mom never "lounged." That wasn't a thing in our home. "Idleness is the devils workshop," my Dad would say, and if he ever caught any of us idling away the hours (yeah...that wasn't a thing, either), he would find something for us to do. "No rest for the weary," was something he would say, as his mouth curved into a slight smile. And was that a mischievous twinkle I saw in his eye? 

Today, I'm really thankful for how I was raised. In all its "mistakes" I grew to be a good worker. Never considered hard work to be a dirty word. It was a gift given by the Father of all mankind, creating a sense of worth. Of being needed. Something of value the hands found to do.

Oh yeah! That table...

I'm not sure why (or when, for that matter), Mom began noticing faces in the formica table top. Looking back...remembering the times I found her tracing on the speckled canvas, causes me to wonder why she did that. Did she just all of a sudden notice there were facial designs in her table? Or was she bored at having time on her hands? Maybe it was because the family table took a good bit of her time when we were growing up, and it was there she naturally navigated to...it had become a habit, of sorts. It was there she pulled herself together once the family was mostly gone. And it was there she noticed the faces taking form...designs within the speckles that weaved themselves sporadically throughout. Maybe she was remembering our faces...hoping to have us all close by once again. Her hands ceased to have much to do.

The tracing didn't begin until after most of the kids were grown and gone, so gardening wasn't needed as much and cooking had shrunk to feeding only a few...not an army.  When my brother, two years my senior, left home, and I was the only one left, I began noticing it more. She actually enjoyed it and would call me over to see what she had found, asking if I could also see it. Sometimes I did, other times not-so-much. But she did. And that's what mattered.

Needing more to do with her once busy hands, she began putting puzzles together on the table. Yet, every once in awhile I'd see her tracing with her finger again. Was it enough to keep her mind from all those busy days of years gone by? Pretty sure she was wishing there was more to do than stand at a table. Or wash dishes. 

Okay. Speaking of washing dishes...a memory just popped up in my head that made me smile. Can't just throw away a perfectly good memory, right? And now that he's with Jesus, I can squeal on him. I know. One shouldn't talk about the dead. But he's not dead. Not really. He just isn't here to be embarrassed. And I think he'd actually get a kick out of this one being revealed. My brother, Rush (that guy in the picture, slightly to your left), was like any other man living in those days. His life span was short. Cancer took him, but that's another story for another time. During the years he lived out, a man would never be caught dead doing the work of a woman. Well, not in the 60's and 70's, anyway. It was a thing back then. We all had a "position" in life and lines never blurred like they do now.

Anyway...because most of us kids helped Dad with outside chores; known as the hard, dirty work (I know...🙄), a man would never be required to WASH DISHES! OH MY! OH NO!!! 😂 But Rush...when he started dating Linda Olds, insisted on clean nails. And there was only one way to get clean nails, and that was to wash the dishes that had the strong lye soap swirling around, cleaning out from under the dirtiest of nails. Gross, right??? But that's how his nails and hands came out pristine. That's how he rolled. 🤣🤣🤣 Okay. Enough about him. This is about Mom.

Actually, I think I'm done for today. This blog entry has gotten out of hand. True to form, I've allowed a lot of words to flow without being filtered for production. And that's how I roll...

As always, here you will find me...in Mary's World.