creative little daisy

Long time no blog

Where to begin? When I go for long stretches without posting, it's always difficult to know where to pick up. Do I try to play catch-up and explain what I've been up to, and if so should I write one long rambling post, put it in bullet form or just break it into a few short posts? How about a little of each. I'll ramble a bit on some things, maybe throw in a bullet list or two, then follow up with some short posts. How's that?

Well, the most important thing that happened in our lives in the past month, was that our Marine got on a great big boat and sailed across the Atlantic ocean.

(source)

He's been in the Marines for more than three years, and this is his first deployment. We've been lucky having him just two hours away, but he didn't join so he could see the sights of Jacksonville, NC.

It wasn't easy to watch him get on a bus and know I wouldn't see him again for at least eight months. I thought 13 weeks of boot camp was hard. We have been able to communicate a bit, a line or two here and there, via email. I had some sense of comfort, excitement even, knowing he was taking part in training exercises and humanitarian missions. Then something horrible happened. There was a crash and two young men lost their lives. Two others severely wounded. They were part of the VMM261, the same squadron as Casey. Like Casey, the young men who died were Corporals. All I have been able to find out is that they had just dropped a group off a group of troops and there were four aboard at the time of the crash.  I don't know if Casey was among those that had been dropped off, I do know that sense of comfort has been shaken. I mourn for the families of those young men and I pray that the injured will recover.

I had other things I was going to say, but they seem so insignificant at the moment. Some how the mundane things of my day to day don't belong in this post. So I'll stop here for now, but not before asking that you say a prayer for those injured young Marines and for the families of Cpl. Kerns and Cpl. Reyes.

confession

I try to be a happy person.

A loving and understanding person.

I usually give the benefit of the doubt.

The older I get, the more I worry. I guess it comes with having lived life. Having experienced heartache and loss, the tendency to guard yourself more.

I am a believer in God. In Jesus. In grace and forgiveness, and yet....

There is a dark place in my heart. A place that is heavily guarded, and untrusting. It is a place I didn't even know existed until a few years ago. It is a place that  does not want to love and trust and give the benefit of the doubt.

Because of the existence of this place, deep in my own heart. I feel a bit like Adam and Eve, hiding in the garden from God.

Because of this darkness, my walk with God has suffered.

I want to place blame. To say it is because of another's actions that I have this place. But deep within me, I know this is my battle. My cross to bear.

I wish it would just go away. Oh how I pray for the blackness to be gone, but I know the answer to that prayer. I know it is my work to do.

When the day comes and I have to answer for myself, it will not be acceptable that I harbored this hate in my heart. No matter what the reasons. And yet knowing this does not make it any easier to let go. As much as I dislike the darkness, I hold onto it. As if letting go means the other person is right.  I feel so justified in my hate. Typing that word is not easy. I've always been taught not to hate. Not to even say the word and I until now, I've never felt this way. It isn't a good feeling. It's like living under a heavy wet blanket and even joyful times are slightly tainted by its ugliness.

So there is an inner struggle. The part of my sprit that knows better is at constant odds with the part of my heart that needs to protect those I love.

How do you come to terms. How do you love someone you just don't want to love, when you can come up with reason after reason not to?  Like Jesus, I pray that this cup would pass. Really I do.  I do not want to do the work I know I need to do. 

It's not been an easy road and in reality, it's not even my road. I'm just a spectator and yet bitterness consumes me.

I'm not trying to sound all cryptic, the details aren't important. The point of my post is hopefully by opening myself up, by laying it out there, I can at least face the battle that is before me.  

No matter what the other person does, it is my heart that I will hold in my hands when I stand before my maker and do I want it to be dark and ugly or bright and filled with love? I have a lot of polishing I need to do. I just don't know how to begin.

So thankful...

Yesterday North Carolina saw widespread devastation as tornadoes barrelled across the state. We heeded warnings and huddled in the safest place in the house. The wind blew and rain fell hard, and when it was over we were able to go outside and splash in the puddles.  Not so for many others. Areas to the north, east, south and west of us saw heartbreaking damage from the storms.  My heart breaks for my fellow North Carolinians this morning. Life was lost and homes destroyed.

For the safety of my family and the roof over my head, I am immensely grateful this morning.

 

This Boy

  


This blue eyed boy.

He was home for the weekend. After he left I noticed that he left his wet towels and dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. I'll be honest, I was annoyed. For about one second.

One second was all it took for me to thank God for those towels on the floor. Those towels and the two hospital gowns.

This handsome blued eyed boy came home wearing a couple of snazzy hospital gowns Saturday night, because they cut his clothes off in the emergency room.

 

He takes after his mom and doesn't like getting his picture taken.

He does like riding his dirt bike. That's what he was doing Saturday afternoon. He doesn't remember how he ended up off his dirtbike and on the ground.

Thank God our neighbors saw it happen and called 911 before calling us to let us know our son was lying in a field. They stayed with him and kept him still until we arrived. 

Let me tell you, watching your son be put on a backboard and placed in an ambulance is not something you ever want to experience.

After being thoroughly scanned and x-rayed, they determined he had a concussion and a bruised kidney.

It could have been so much worse. I can't even let my mind go there. I just sit here tonight and thank God for those wet clothes on the floor and for that boy who left them there.

 

About this daily posting thing...

Yea, it's not happening is it? I was feeling a bit stressed about it, then I had one of those days yesterday that puts things into perspective. The idea of sitting down and writing about lamps and furniture just seemed utterly ridiculous.

I recently read a blog post about children getting older and asking questions that make us uncomfortable as parents. If I remember correctly, the author opened up by saying when we think about having children, when we decide the time is right, that we want to have children, it's not children we dream of and wish for, it's babies.  We want to have sweet little babies to cuddle and nuzzle, to comfort and protect. We don't envision eye-rolling teens and we most certainly don't envision parenting headstrong adults, who are still our children.

I'm finding it a tough road to navigate, this being the parent of adults. Young adults. I think for me it is further complicated by the fact I have no experience to draw from.  By that, I mean the relationship between a parent and an adult child. My mom died when I was 19 and to be honest we never had the typical parent child relationship. I learned more about what not to do from her than what to do as a parent. I met my father when I was 25, so needless to say, that wasn't your typical parent child relationship.

I feel lost at sea at times when it comes to knowing how to do what is right for my babes. My babes, who the rest of the world views as grown-ups.  They have their own lives, after all. They are ultimately responsible for the decisions they make. I won't be getting anymore calls from the principle to discuss a poorly thought out decision. I can give them advice, but it is up to them whether or not they chose to take it. I can't ground them, can't take away their video games or phone privileges. I can only pray. I can only make myself available to them,  listen when they choose to come to me, and try to gently guide them when I fear they are steering off-course. I can't take the wheel and folks, that's not always easy to accept.  They are grown-ups with jobs and cars and bills and all the responsibilities that come with being a grown-up, but they are still my children. And as hard as it was to sit up all night rocking a sick toddler, or to wipe away the tears of a little one who's had their feelings hurt by a bully on the playground. As frustrating as it was to battle over homework and chores, nothing compares to the helpless feeling of still needing to nurture and protect and make everything better, yet knowing it just isn't possible anymore. Your super-hero powers as mom have been stripped away. You can't kiss it and make it better anymore. You can't control who they trust with their heart and you can't kiss away the pain when the ones they choose let them down. 

It's the greatest job in the world, but it's also the hardest, and unlike most jobs, it doesn't necessarily get easier with experience.

I'm taking Bayleigh to ballet in a few minutes, if that doesn't make my heart smile, I don't know what will.

 

 

Randomness

I'm thinking of moving my blog from Typepad to Blogger. Anyone have any helpful insight as to how difficult this will be to do?

I made biscuits for breakfast- ok, so it was more like brunch. Anyway, as I was making those biscuits, Bayleigh was helping, and it occurred to me this seemingly small event is anything but small.  We are making memories. The things we do, these everyday little things are settling into her little heart and mind and will be sweet memories one day when she's old and I'm gone. 

I painted the front door, and I don't think I like it. It looks OK from outside, but if the door is open, it looks awful from inside my living room. It reminds me of the teal that was all the rage in the 90s. You know, the shade that was always paired with peach. Blech!

 

Not bad from this view, right?

Check out this one.

 

1995 called and wants its teal door with brass knob back.

The interior side hasn't been painted, it's still stained. I plan to paint it, but  NOT be this color.

Hi all!!!

I'm here. I' m good. I'm trying my best not to be defeated by the table and chairs from hell. Yes, they are still tormenting me. My fifty dollar craiglist table and chairs has become so much more- and not in a good way. Yet.

I'll have more to report, soon. I just realized I had not posted since I had pleurisy, so I wanted to at least check in and say HI! I'm is better. Much better.  I still have a slight twinge occasionally, but nothing like the stabbing pain I was experiencing. It lasted about two weeks. Not fun, but it surely makes me appreciate being pain free that much more.  I fully attribute my healing to the power of prayer and faith that prayer works.

I'm not proud to say my faith at time waffles. I always believe in God, I just don't always have confidence that God is in control, or that he has a plan for me. Oh, I know it in my heart, but sometime this human brain does what human brains do and thinks it knows best.

Well, how wrong is that?

I could give you so many examples of times I felt so lost and out of control only to look back later and see exactly how God was working in my life or the life of someone I love.

This time, I had been debilitated by pleurisy for more than a week. Yes, debilitated. Pleurisy is an inflammation of the lining of the lung. When I would inhale, it felt like a cheese grater on my lung. Every breath in caused a stabbing pain and if I got the slightest bit winded it was amplified. When you are several days into an illness that changes your way of life, you begin to feel like you will never return to normal. After more than a week I was feeling very low. Helpless and hopeless if you will. Hot baths did wonders to relieve the pain so I was taking at least two a day. During one of those baths, all was quiet and I was praying.  A thought came into my mind, I can't explain why, but it was there and wouldn't leave. The thought was you need to ask Mrs. Muriel to pray for you. I've known Mrs. Muriel all my life, she lives not far from me and attends the same church. She's in her late 70s or maybe early 80s and is the kindest most lovely lady I've ever known.  You need to ask Mrs. Muriel to pray for you! It would not stop. For days, a whisper in the back of my mind, it was there.  Did I call her up? Drive to her house? Nope, I ignored it. Or tried to. Then Sunday morning rolled around. I didn't feel like going to church and almost stayed home. Mrs. Muriel was there and so was the whisper. Still trying to ignore it I got in my car after church to leave. Then I got right back out and proceeded, I'm sure, to freak Mrs. Muriel out a little. Because I get all emotional really easy and as I approached her and tried to explain why I was approaching her I was babbling and crying. She may have been a little freaked out, but she never let it show. She put her arm around me and said lets go back inside. She put her arms around me and prayed. She prayed and I prayed and I felt a sense of peace.  I'm not saying that Mrs. Muriel has some magical healing powers and her prayers reached the ears of God when mine couldn't. But I truly believe it was a test of my faith. It was Gods way of telling me calm down, have faith, and stop trying to do this alone. Let others share your burden.

I left with a renewed faith that God is in control. My mood lifted and my mind was in a better place. A place that allowed my body to heal.

I'm about to get personal here

Are you a donor? An organ donor? I've mentioned here before the fact that one day I will likely need a double lung transplant. So organ donation is a subject close to my heart.  I will  tell you my story, in another post. For now I want to share the words of an amazing young woman on the other side of transplant. She just received her new lungs two weeks ago. I'll just give you a little back story first, but after you click over to read, I imagine you'll want to stay a while and get to know her story for yourself. I only know her through her blog and only found it recently. It's one of those blogs you get lost in, reading the archives, learning more and more until you feel like you've made a friend. I have to confess, I was a blog stalker, never commenting, but praying for her and rooting her on as she waited for the gift that would save her life.

It is not unusual to experience what is called a dry run when waiting for transplant. It's when you are called but for some reason the organs are deemed not viable and the transplant is called off. An emotionally draining event, no doubt. Piper endured four or five of these, one time making it to the operating table and being put on a vent and under anesthesia, only to be told it didn't happen when she awakened.  What a roller coaster ride.  

Reading her blog has been inspirational and educational. I don't know her, but I do know she is a beautiful person whose life was saved by a stranger. Someone whose life was cut short, but in life had made the decision to be an organ donor. In death, they gave the ultimate gift, so that another may live. 

Piper's blog is A Matter of Life and Breath. Her writing is always from the heart, but this post titled "Scars" really spoke to me.

**about the shirt I'm wearing above. Piper's sister originally designed shirts for  "Team Piper"  for the Great Strides Walk to benefit Cystic Fibrosis research. I jumped at the chance to have one of my own when she offered to print more and make them available on her blog.

A letter to my girl

 
My first born, my girl, my sweetie. There aren't enough names, titles to fully express what you mean to me. How important you are to me. How thankful I am to God for letting me be your Mom.

You were a happy baby. A smiling sweet, curious, smart girl. Such an easy baby, except for the fact that you were a very, very slow eater and you demanded your formula be warm. Night feedings involved at least one trip to re-warm the bottle before you would finish.

You were a delightful, loving child. A little actress and performer from early on. It wasn't enough for you to sit and watch a movie. You had to watch in full costume.

You were such a good student and just an all around good kid, you made being a mom easy and a pleasure.  Transitioning to the role of mom of a college kid, not quite as easy.  I was so lost at first and shed many tears, but like any painful transition, it got easier with time. 

Then it happened. The need to break away, to find your self, to be your own person struck you like hurricane force winds. You weren't sure what you wanted to do with yourself but you were sure the only way you could find out was to be away from us. We wanted to love and protect you but you only felt suffocated.  I'm not sure how the best way would have been to navigate through that time. As parents our job from the beginning is to love and protect. As a young adult instinct tells you you don't need protecting. You need to spread your wings and fly. What happens when it seems like your wings aren't quite ready or that the winds are too dangerous for you to fly safely? It was a tough time, wasn't it? There were stumbles and tears, but fly you did.

 

I'm so very proud of the woman you've become. You are so loving and generous, kindhearted and understanding and above all, you are a wonderful mommy. 

I'm proud to call you daughter, my sunshine, my friend.

Saying goodbye is never easy

In the past year, we've said goodbye to three four-legged members of our family. Gracie died last May, very unexpectedly. She was ten years old.  She died in my arms and took a little piece of my heart with her. 

Last month we made the very difficult decision that life was just too hard for our Angel. She was nearly sixteen, blind, nearly deaf and very, very feeble. Arthritis made it difficult to walk. I hoped she would peacefully go in her sleep, but I came to the realization that keeping her alive was more for my well-being than hers. Life had no joy for her anymore. I  tearfully had to face the truth.

 

Then a couple of nights ago, our little Lucky man was hit by a car. He was only three years old. I'm just heartbroken that he died such a violent death. Alone. I miss the little guy so much. Every time I sit in this chair I still expect to hear his little paws running my way to snuggle up next to me. When I lay down at night I wait to hear him jumping on the side of the bed, ready to be helped up. I know the hurt will lessen and seeing his little face in pictures will bring about a smile instead of tears. I'm just not there yet. 

 

That's a quart sized can of paint- he was such a tiny baby.

 

Each of these creatures came into our lives and made themselves at home in our hearts. They had distinct personalities and quirky little qualities that made them special and lovable. I miss them so, and am so glad to have shared my home and heart with them if only for a short time.

In the span of a year, we've gone from a four dog family to just one. I loved each of them as if they were a child and my heart is surely a lot fuller because of the love and joy they brought to my life. Toby will certainly be overprotected, but he doesn't mind the extra doting and attention, one bit.

 

Man, this was a hard post to write! Looking at all those old pictures was heartbreaking. I really, really miss my sweet wet nosed babies. Sniff, sniff...