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.

In the Quiet Moments

It looks so much like the place I used to call "home" in Oklahoma. The yard just outside my study window peers in at me as I sit at my computer, preparing myself for the list of "To Do's" for the day. Many were the moments of looking out those Oklahoma windows, simply sitting and thinking. Same thing happens here, in NC, by-the-way. It's who I am. Who I want to be. The first thing my eyes always went to (and still does), were/are the trees lining the roadway. I've always loved trees.

Although there are stark similarities, it's really not like "home" much at all. Even the culture...especially the culture, is different here. Out my window here, I see two trees lining our street, the same as was in OK...just different. There's a very large Pine Tree that lives close to where we receive our daily mail. and the gynormus Jasmine Bush that has eaten the mail box and needs trimmed back...once again. Just 50 feet South of it, stands a Crepe Myrtle that produces dark pink/purple blossoms in season. But that's here, in NC. In Oklahoma, the two trees were massive Oaks. I've always loved the mighty oak trees. They spoke strength to me. Integrity. Dependability. Honor. Reverence. Respect.

At the old homestead, off Hwy. 10, there were trees I loved in our back yard, as well. The apple tree being one of them, because the blossoms it produced at the beginning of Spring, always announced it was time for all vegetation to now grow, after a long, cold, winter. It called for the production of edible things. Then in late Summer/early Fall, we got to enjoy the fruit from its branches. Neighbors would come over to fill a bag or two, so they wouldn't rot on the tree, and for the nutrition they brought to their own families. Our family was too small to eat all this tree produced, so we shared.  

As I look out this early morning, the snow I had hoped to see, now covers the ground...but as beautiful as it is, my mind takes me back to the front yard of years gone by. The yard where our children swung on the play set their daddy had built for them when our oldest was preparing to turn 4, and our youngest had barely turned 2. It was a birthday gift, knowing our youngest would also enjoy it. We could imagine years of "together play" and collected memories while watching...as we interacted with them as if we were also so young. I remember when Dennis first began the process. He did all the design work, and the building of that design, all by himself with only a few suggestions from me. Truly. I stayed out of the mans way. Shocking! I know...

It was a simple design. One that wouldn't cost a lot of money (there's always a way), yet had what we perceived to be enough to entertain and make their little hearts happy. Poles would need cemented into deep holes to stabilize the rambunctiousness of two little girls actively playing. It had two swings made from old tires that later got switched out to park-worthy swings because a neighbor read Dennis the riot act for "making those sweet little girls swing on old tires." A ladder was built to gain access to the top of the platform where the girls could just to sit a spell and read, or play make believe, or whatever their creative minds could come up with, until boredom sat in and it was time for some sliding fun. Climb the ladder and slide down to the ground by way of a very waxed up slick slide. Up, down, around and up again. Over and over they played while laughter filled the air around them.

I think the large oak tree that stood so very stately beside the swings tower must have smiled when she saw the girls coming. I know I did...

Dennis added a sand box beneath the tower, just behind the slide. Turned out to be a great little place for the girls to take a break out of the sun and play in the cool sand while Momma fixed some lunch, then joined them for stories and a bite to eat.

There were days when passersby would pull into our driveway and ask permission to take a closer look at the swing set. Some even asked if they could take measurements to replicate it. Dennis always allowed it. I'll never forget the day he decided to tear the swing set down. I struggled with the idea it would no longer be standing so stately in our yard, as the children played on, and around, it. He finally talked me into it. I had to get a grip on the fact the girls were grown and gone. There was no longer any need for it and the yard would look so much bigger without it being there. But it felt as if he was about to take down all my memories that attached themselves to it. 

Both our girls had moved to NC, and the swings sat still most days, with only the occasional gust of wind to move them. The fun had been had. And I was much too busy to ever use them myself. The swing set that had been made with love had served its purpose. I had to remind myself that change was necessary. Even important. Crazy...it still hurts to think about that day.

Memories are beautiful things if beautiful days created them. Yet, we can learn from the days that are not quite as beautiful. Still happy. Still secure, just maybe with a bit of "ugh" thrown in the mix. Our home at 64500 E. 100 Rd. provided many such memories. There were days we faced challenges, as well. Not every day was happy. Some days we all felt more stress than what we desired. And it took a lot of years of Dennis and I remaining steadfast in our covenant to love each other. Not giving up on each other. That's what we do, right? Do what we know to do, until things get better. Now that we are older...all of us...that "stick-to-it" remains intact and we are better for it. God has indeed surrounded us with his faithful love.

In the quiet moments of this early morning, reminiscing has been comforting. Looking back has its moments of gratitude, as well. Like when Meg was only 11 years old, a surprise came our way that we weren't prepared for. I am so grateful that God showed us, inspired us, how to create a space for that very unexpected, and very generous gift. I've already written a blog about that, so won't belabor it now. I'll just say that was possibly our biggest "figure it out" challenge ever. Yet we made it work. And it was just what the doctor ordered for that time.

Nor will I ever forget the day we returned home from moving Lindsey to NC. She had cleaned up her room, being the thorough girl she's always been, but didn't take the time to remove the nails that held pictures on the walls, which she apologized for. She was my decorator girl. Our visionary. Every 3 months, her room changed. I was always in awe. Still am. I had gone in the kitchen to start some dinner when I heard his loud, mournful cry coming from the room Lindsey had always claimed as her space...until that day. The space she created from her heart and delft hands was now empty. Only the 4 walls, with more than a few nails in them, was what was left. Yet, one could still feel part of her there. There, but not there. A truly awful feeling.

I went to the room and found Dennis, with hands on knees, bent over crying his eyes out. I don't think I'd ever seen him like that before then, nor since. It was our first born's room, now dismantled, and he had the job of removing all the nails where her pictures once hung. It was a sacred moment. He knew the nails needed to come out, but she had put them there. Oh man....just remembering that day has brought me to tears.

There are other events that have caused extreme crying, as well. For me, anyway. When our Meg decided it was time to fly the coup, was another time it felt as if our hearts were being ripped right out of our chests. One would think life was over for us, even though she hadn't moved to NC...yet. So, still within reach if she needed us. But far enough away to be outside our immediate protection. It's something all parents feel, I'm pretty sure.
 

The thing is, we were never meant to keep our daughters forever. They were never meant to live with us as adults. We knew that. But those strings got tight as we protected and guided. Short story, we got a bit attached to them, ya know.

Now the girls are women with their own families, making their own memories. Oh, we're still a very large part of their lives, but they do have lives to live outside of mine and their dad's. It's as it should be. They still need us...just not in the same capacity, the same dynamic, as when they were small and becoming who they were designed to be. And now...we live "just down the road" from them. Easy access...should they allow it. 🤣

The years have come and gone, and the memories gathered so many years ago are a treasure to me...especially in the quiet moments of this season of life. So many comforting memories. But, not all memories need to resurface. Some memories I have to just let go of. They don't serve anyone, certainly not me. All families have those, right? Not sure I would believe you if you said you didn't. We all make mistakes we wish we could go back and do over. But even then...would we? 

Even those memories had a purpose, I suppose. At least it's what I tell myself. I try to just lay them down because I can't change the past. But I can orchestrate my future, to a degree. I do know the only person I can change is myself. And that's plenty of work.

One last thought:

I can feel myself changing. Crazy, right? Even though I have liked who I was (mostly) over the years of morphing into what I'm still becoming, it feels as if it's all really brand new. Not a do-over. Brand new. Admittedly, it's difficult, on occasion..I still push against some of the changes happening. Yet, nothing worth having is EVER easy. And I have a great chorus of encouragement that comes mainly from those beautiful creatures God gifted us with many years ago. To have and to hold...as long as breath remains.

Forever grateful, here you will find me...in Mary's World.

#lifeissues #godsdesign #quietmoments #oureverchangingworld #ourgirlsourloves 

Serious Me

It's been a journey...being me. My nature is one of seriousness, mostly. I see through the eyes of deciphering truth of any given situation, which makes me not the most fun person to be around. I've never been accused of being the life of any party.

"A conspiracy theory person" my husband claims me to be. He has encouraged me to write a book on it, saying it would be a best seller.  I think he was being sarcastic at the time. Or was he? 🤔

Our oldest daughter usually comes to see us on Sunday afternoons, with our "Little Bit", better known as Warner Annabelle, tagging along. We look forward to those days, knowing when they leave we will feel at least 10 years younger just because of the laughs during conversations. 

Our youngest daughter, and "Snookums", better known as Reagan Paige, joins us every other Sunday. Having all my girls in our home at the same time, gives me purpose, energy, and a full heart. It's the lightest my heart feels as the energy created builds in our small abode. I smile more on these days than I do all week long. 

Because, eventually, the serious nature finds its way out from behind the closed door it hides behind when our littles are present. 

Most of my life I have tried to be funny. It rarely happens. Probably because it's forced. BUT!!! I do have my moments though rare. One accidentally popped up this last Saturday, before the winter ice storm was about to hit our southern state.

Lindsey and Little Bit decided to drop by Saturday to test out a couple of Walkie-Talkies for emergency use should we need it. Always making sure those in her realm of living are taken care of, this was necessary for her. Peace of mind is important. She comes by it honestly, and since the ice storm was positioned to arrive late that evening, she wouldn't be able to come on Sunday....

Anyway, Annabelle got bored pretty quickly since the adults were "talking shop", and her cousin Reagan was at her dad's house, she retired to the living room couch with her iPad. After asking Grams for a blanket, she settled in. I love this kid! She already has the ability to assess a situation and decide a course of action that best serves her needs in the moment. #lifeskills

As the testing of the Walkie-Talkies ended, and Linds was preparing to leave, she told us she had offered their home to the neighbors on her street should they lose power, and need warmth, a shower, etc., since they had a generator that kicks in instantly should power go out. Much like the hospitals do, I would assume.

I made a simple observation about what a great human she is. So kind to others. She smiled and said, "Just working on my karma." To which I replied, "I'm a bit concerned about MY karma. It's not looking so good." She and DW got a kick out of that and didn't let the moment pass without a reaction. "Maybe you could borrow some of Dad's," she said with a huge smile. And, of course, Dennis jumped on the train before it left the tracks. "Yeah! I'll share mine with you. I have plenty!" Aren't they cute...🙄🤣

I think Erin (aka/Lindsey) got her wit from her Aunt Becky...they were always a team that navigated sarcasm well. 🤣🤣🤣

Bottom line? I know I'm loved by them. Serious, or not. Also, wouldn't it be a boring world if we all had the same nature? And...I kinda love being a serious person. Yet...I can be light-hearted when needed. I think...🤣

Tell me...what about you, does your family laugh at/with?

If you need a serious answer, to anything, here you will find me...in Mary's World. 

#myjourney #lifeissues #myworld #happyheart #mybeautifulfamily 

 

Celebrating the Inspiring Human(s) Of This World

There are days when it is easier to complain than it is to see the good in the world. It's easy to see the unrest, the confusion of mankind, the anger that builds up in those who feel lost and alone, especially if they listen day after day to the social media's narratives. And, trust me, most of it IS a narrative. The more "journalists" can add drama to their reporting, creating more views...which translate into you get to keep your job for another day.

It's equally easier to cave and just go ahead and say you're getting old. You know of what I speak. Reality is reality. Well...for some, reality is reality. Sad to say (here comes Debbie Downer), it appears brain-washing is at an all time high. But that's not what this blog is about. That is reserved (possibly when I'm feeling all washed up 😉), for another day. Where did this thought come from? 🤷‍♀️

However, it does seem as if I am reaching for my CBD achy, breaky, cream, more times than usual, these days. Mostly when the weather shifts and those cold and cloudy days (that I LOVE), are on the horizon heading straight my way. 👏🏼 👏🏼👏🏼 My back hurts, my head hurts, my wrists hurt, and NOW I've noticed my left hip has joined the ever growing crowd. But, I'm a trooper. I pretend I'm not a day older than 35, when I still had decent hormone and metabolism levels, and could work circles around most that lived in my world. So far, that pretense isn't working so well. My brain has a new commander-in-chief, known as "the rest of the story;" the body it used to command is now in charge.

Only Dennis gets to hear how much I ache, and "guess I'm going to down a couple of Tylenol and take to the bed...again"only because he lives in the same house as I do. That happened just last evening and by 7:30 PM I was sound asleep. At least that was the last time I noticed the time, and Dennis said I was asleep when he came in to use the privy. Also, when I woke at 1:30 AM, I noticed a couple of text messages a friend sent at 8:06 PM that didn't wake me. This very light sleeper was OUT! So sorry, friend. I was here, just not ALL here.

And, again...that is NOT what this blog is about! Good grief. I do get down the many rabbit trails. Dennis and I were talking (well, I was talking...D was listening...I think), just a couple of days ago how very complex my brain wiring is. It bores quickly with the subject at hand and jumps to something entirely off the subject, but has been inspired BY the subject. See what I mean? Many times I even forget what I'm talking about. Like now. It's why I don't like to be interrupted. If I lose my train of thought, well, you know. Go figure.

Soooo...if you are still reading, here's the real reason my fingers are busy brushing keystrokes this early morn. I ventured out, yesterday (no, this isn't it either...first the distracted thought). It's been at least 3 weeks, possibly 4, that I've gone to the grocery store. When we run out of something, DW just runs up the road (about a half mile away), and picks up what we need for the next couple of days. That has been a huge pivot for me. It was my job to "bring home the bacon"...and whatever else we needed to maintain a normal household. Routine has changed. Drastically changed...but he rarely complains. And then, it's usually through body language only, no verbal despair.

I could have just written a post on FB about how uplifting it was to encounter a young person that looked at peace, instead of indifference, where it says, "What's on your mind, Mary?" But, nope. I felt it necessary to document ever little thought zipping through my mind, probably because I went to bed way too early and woke way too early. And THAT takes a blog post. 

Here's what you've been waiting for. Hopefully. 

Anytime I go to a brick and mortar store, it is very rare to find an employee that not only is kind and thoughtful, but also has a very pleasant persona. One that seems confident in who they are and why they are there. One who recognizes they are not the only person walking this planet and there may be other needs outside their own that should they be willing to help, might give them more self-worth. A sense of being needed. Which we all need. Or just because they love giving of themselves.

I was looking for something I couldn't find when I came up to a young man gathering groceries, and such, for the most of humanity in our area (it would seem...huge cart). Those who just don't want to go inside to do their own shopping. I get it! That's where the germs are from sick people, gross kiddos (or adults), and none of them caring what you think. I don't like going in, either. But the need to see, and feel, especially the produce I want, is stronger than not wanting to go inside. 

Anyway...this young man stopped what he was doing, without a trace of annoyance. He was so accommodating, I just wanted to hug him! He not only looked it up for me on his little phone thingy, but he stopped what he was doing and TOOK ME THERE!!! It was on a shelf I probably could have reached, but he grabbed it for me and asked if it would work for what I needed. There were several other designs on the shelf, and not wanting to take anymore of his time, I just said, "I'll look these over and surely one will work. Thank you, so much! I do appreciate you." He smiled and said, "Okay. Thanks." Then went on his way to complete the orders he was pulling when I intruded upon him.

I don't think a minute had passed before I saw him coming my way with another style of the item I was looking for, that he had found on a shelf 3 isles away. He brought it my way, I am convinced, because he actually listened to what I had said. That being the comment of how big the other item was and I didn't have a lot of storage space. He had found one, half the size of the first, and thought it might work better for me. THIS is what I call customer service! A busy employee, taking the time for an in-person customer.

This young man gave me hope for the next generation who will be running this oft times mixed up world where right is wrong, and wrong is right. I rarely get anyone that is willing to look me in the eye when (and if) I get a response. They might take the time to point in the direction of an aisle 150 feet away and say, "It's over there." Okay. Great. That should cut my time by possibly 30 seconds, if the Gods smile on me.

And THAT is what my inspiration for today's blog was all about. You just got a bit more insight into my world. My thoughts. My ramblings. Scattered as they may be. Tis me...

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

P.S.

There's a possibility of SNOW, tomorrow!!! Whoop! 

Am I Morphing?

I'm just going to lay it out here...

There are days I wonder if change is happening in more places than I ever dreamed it would. For instance: I allowed myself to leave the house this morning, with plans to meet up with someone I had never met before today, and then to swing by Triangle Vision (where the people are), without "fixing" my hair. Oh sure...I brushed it (not a total slob...yet); and I did attempt a quick face glow. Threw on an old blouse and a comfy jean, then added my Hike footwear. THOSE, I never leave home without. I pay the price if I do... 🥴

Over the last few months, it appears as if the "I don't care" part of my brain is morphing/demanding actually, a much larger than I ever expected space. I've been told to loosen up on more than one occasion, and now that I've allowed myself to do just that, it may be time to rein it in a bit. 🤷‍♀️ Retirement allows one to do whatever they want to do, whenever they want to. That can be a good thing...or a not-so-good thing, depending on how well one transitions from the demands of business, to virtually NO demands. Well, there are a few, but...

Years ago, once Dennis became weary of watching me say "yes" to every request of my time, and as he watched me become more and more tense, he informed me it was okay to rest. I took those words literally, and even though it has taken years to allow it to become more of a reality, I imagine he is now regretting those words. 😂 Hold on, Buttercup! The best is yet to come...

It's been awhile back, but I remember a conversation I had with our girls. It went something like this, "Mom! Let's GO!" To which I responded, "When I stop caring how I look, that's when you should start to worry." Well, girls...that time has come. Partially...(not a total slob...yet, remember?) I do still worry that someone will stop by and see me in all my laid-back beauty. It would serve them right, though, since I wasn't alerted of their intentions. 

And just so you'll know, when I'm home, I'm home. Queen of my castle. Where the "wear what makes you comfortable" vibe is the rule of said castle. No make-up, no "fixing up". Why should one do all that work if they only have walls to impress? Oh wait. DW is still hanging out here, but he matches my look, so...not too worried there. We try to out-do each other, if ya know what I mean. 😁 

But...he REALLY doesn't care. I guess one might say he's a bit freer than I am, making him fit right in at our local grocery store. And it appears that it won't be long before I do as well...

Such an interesting saga...

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

Warriors

 

Most who have known me for any length of time will tell you I am a bit stand-offish. Hard to get to know. Opinionated (aren't we all)? They will say I keep to myself more than I join in. A loner, of sorts. 

Yet...I have been a business owner most of my adult life, where one must be approachable, kind, understanding, and welcoming. I suppose what others mean is that once the day has ended, I disappear. And they wouldn't be wrong. I've never felt that I "fit in". Never really wanted to. Even when attending important business training events (I've always loved learning new things), it was only for what I could absorb worthy of my profession, and...for experiencing humanity. I do love people and listening to their life's story. I do enjoy being where they are, for a time. I'm just not interested in large get-togethers. Ironically, that's where the people are. So, maybe I have some work still needing done. I think we're running out of time...

It's always been my opinion that it's easy to fit in, if one really wants to. What is hard, is to be who God created us to be, while in the mix of living life. We fight against being "different" while the pull inside is to bow our will to that of the Father's, so that we might become warriors for the kingdom. Warriors that are willing to follow Christ, without needed accolades and fear of opposition. 

We don't recognize it to be our life's calling until much later in life, unless we have been given permission, as a child, to listen to the rhythm of the heart, where warrior-hood was embedded while our form was being knit together inside our mother's womb. Unless we have been trained to wait patiently, as maturity grows from listening to the holy spirits call, we will become followers of whatever is popular at the moment.

'Tis true...the heart can be deceptive and lead us down a path of ease. It will tell us we can have whatever we want. And just like every lie, there is a thread of truth that runs throughout it. We CAN have whatever we want. We can have strength, or we can have passivity. We can follow the lessons taught by the greatest of all teachers, or we can follow the path that many travel. The easy way. The way of least confrontation, least resistance. We can "just go with the flow" or we can stand up for truth, welcoming the fight...the road less traveled. 

Something to remember: Warriors train for battle. Warriors prepare for loneliness. Warriors know there will be days of resistance. Want to become a warrior?

Then allow inner strength and growth to happen, never giving in to violence or selfishness. Selfishness is a broad term and has many faces. To be self-centered is to think of oneself only, rarely (if ever) acknowledging others needs beyond your own. It protects itself. Yet, warriors are purpose-driven, resilient, and disciplined every day. Continually improving by learning, and pushing beyond their limits. They deny the urge to give up when life becomes hard. And they are ever mindful of others needs beyond their own.

Being a warrior is about becoming the builder of our destiny, by embracing challenges as opportunities for growth, as we train our mind and body. Maintaining honor and integrity.

King Solomon reminded us that God appoints each moment, bringing a mix of joy and sorrow, life and death, with a divinely chosen purpose for each. But...while in the mix of life, we all have been given the choice to follow the path of least resistance (the road many choose), or the road less traveled; where battles must be fought to survive. Where becoming a warrior is necessary. We can travel whichever direction we choose. Just know they both have battles to be won...or lost. In this world, we will have problems, no matter which path we choose to walk. The difference will be between those of us who crumble under the weight, and those who see past the storm and forge ahead.

The question we must ask ourselves is, do we sit with folded hands, refusing to do battle for those we love? Or do we take up the sword of truth and do the spiritual warfare we have been asked to do? The path most often taken is one where truth has become murky. "There's more than one way to the Father," is one of the biggest deceptions out there. There's "your" truth (again a bit of truth in this lie...because we must choose), and then there is the ONLY truth. Which is knowing right from wrong. Something is either true, or it's false. Only one truth. And I think most of humanity knows where to find it.

Becoming a warrior is not for everyone. But it is for anyone...

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

#myjourneyamongtheunseen #lifeissues #theforgottenway #takeupyourcross