my dad...[on finding beauty in the broken]

 

Today we celebrate Father's Day. My focus is on my husband and how so very thankful I am for how amazing a dad he is to our kids. They have no idea how lucky they are. Next I turn my focus to other men in my life~my brother, my step-dad, uncles, and other "father-figure" men who have loved me, mentored me and built into my life. Thankful.

My dad is sometimes an afterthought. He has been gone for almost 10 years. Before he passed away, I can remember the internal struggle of buying a Father's Day card. I wanted to mean the words written on the inside. This sounds harsh and unfeeling, but it was reality. I loved my dad very much, but his story was not what is should have been or could have been.

I wrote the words below last year, but they seemed appropriate for today. Amidst the broken and shattered, God still bestowed beauty...

 
We've had a lot of "Mayberry days" recently. For me, this means a simple day, a day spent "sitting on my front porch drinking iced cold Cherry Coke" (or iced tea although I do love Cherry Coke). I love the Rascal Flatts song, I run to it. I love country music (most) and old-fashioned simplicity where progress and productivity are set aside and I read a book while my kids sketch chalk designs on the sidewalk and dance in the front yard. I like the Mayberry ideal. It doesn't hurt that our neighbors down the street have chickens in their backyard--clucks echo off the surrounding houses, birds twitter, a dog barks, and I can almost ignore a siren in the background.
 
Mayberry and country things in general also remind me of my dad. Music from Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers and the Oak Ridge Boys were melodies of my childhood soundtrack. We played Elvira at his memorial service. We knew he'd appreciate it. We always laughed at this song and loved the Oak Ridge Boy with the deepest bass voice in the history of the world. No joke! (The video I linked to is quite hilarious, the "boys" are...aged;-)).
 
All things cowboy and country bring back those memories...the good ones. Bittersweet is still sweet. I'm no cowgirl. I'm legitimately citified, but I have fond childhood and adult memories of county fairs, state fairs, stock shows, and rodeos. Part of my love is simply the small town America atmosphere felt at county fairs. Life seems simpler, purer, pointing back to my Mayberry ideal. 
 
Until I was eight or nine, if you asked me what my dad did for a living, I would have told you without hesitation that he was a cowboy. This was my dad's answer to me when I asked him this question. I was young, and I believed every word. He had the props to back it up. Cowboy hat, countless pairs of cowboy boots, and his twangy country music was gospel. I told kids at school this "fact" and was quickly called a liar, but I held fast in my resolve.
 
As much as Old Spice aftershave, these country things bore his essence. I remember him with a smile, a poignant sweetness. I have many very hard and bitter memories. I've even gotten rid of possessions in my house because every time I saw them, I would face a memory I wished long forgotten. The most unsuspecting items would transport me to a scene, like immersing myself in Dumbledore's pensieve.
 
But at rodeos and county fairs and on front porches, I can bask in memory of a dad that I haven't seen in a long time. Wheat fields as far as the eye can see bring comfort. I can feel what he was supposed to be, what he was at his best. It's not to say that he was a different man who shed his struggles during these times, it's more symbolic. He was country born and bred. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska with three brothers his life brimmed with possibility, talent, charisma and hope. We all make choices, he made his, and it's not how good stories end.
 
I know that small-town life does not mean that life is easy. Life is not. But the memories remain pure to me. The antics of boys on a Nebraska farm, the walking up hill both ways to town (he had a car by the way), Coke in glass bottles at the local store...these stories I love. I pair them with my childhood watercolor memories of wearing my white cowgirl hat, accented with a purple feather, as I tagged along with my dad at the stock show, climbing into the back of his car cringing at the country twang, seeing his many pairs of boots lined up on the floor in my parents' bedroom (proof of his profession), and pots of his famous "ranch-hand" chili simmering on the stove.
 

Several years ago, I went to a rodeo with my in-laws. It was there I realized the sweetness of these memories. But as with mourning, something sweet can be a double-edged sword. I often don't think about my dad, I can avoid it. But good memories bring back the sting of loss. What could've been but wasn't. And suddenly I missed him painfully. I couldn't keep back the tears. I wanted to stay because the memories were good, but at the same time I just wanted to escape because I could do nothing to change the reality that my dad was gone.  I loved it and I hated it.
 
In spite of the loss, I'm thankful for these memories. I still love county fairs. I'm not quite sure how I feel about attending rodeos, sometimes it's easier to love them from a distance. Country music I now love for me and not just because of my dad, something we share. I don't know that my kids love country music, but it will be in their childhood soundtrack also. And this makes me smile.
 
And I'm thankful for my Mayberry days, where life feels peaceful and simple even if just for an afternoon.

300 days of beauty, day 41 [bee blessed!]

As I mentioned, we've had a rough couple of months. We've been walking through grief, and walking along with my children as they grieve has been heart-wrenching. My son has struggled the most, but I've seen him forge his own path, his own personal way of engaging with his heartache. He showed me this picture that he took with my camera:

The teacher and friend he loved so much would sign all of her cards and letters with this phrase "Bee Blessed!" She loved the Lord. She loved bees. And she encouraged all of her students to write letters to her over the summers. She always wrote back--every letter, every time. D saved her letters and they are treasured.

As D processed through his grief, he grabbed our large bucket of marbles and constructed the phrase that reminded him of the teacher he loved so much. He did it privately, took my camera on his own, but later wanted to share what he had made. He had a smile on his face, even though it was touched with some bittersweet.

I'm not sure if beauty can truly shine without the presence of darkness and shadows. Can we appreciate spring without experiencing the barrenness of winter? Even though this picture doesn't "shout" spring, as I was flipping through pictures, I thought of our friend, Robin, who now experiences new life and "spring" fully. I also thought of bees and how every time we watch honeybees from our window, we can remember Robin--spring is coming!

Bee blessed!

300 days of beauty, day 37 [the holidays]

We've had a rough couple of weeks. We said goodbye to someone very beloved, especially by our kids. A teacher and friend and lovely lovely woman who deeply impacted their lives over the last five years went home to be with the Lord. We are heartbroken. I hate so much how this feels. I know how this journey goes. It can neither be erased nor sped up. 

I have lost many people I have loved dearly. My kids were younger then, they could not grasp the grief. Now, they are older. Harder than dealing with my own sadness is walking alongside D, Cece, and Belle as they cope with the sickness and death of someone they love so much. We've had many tears and conversations, each one difficult, but good.

I feel worn. I long for heaven. I get so tired of goodbyes.

When I knew her last days on this earth were near, I grabbed The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis and read the last chapter. For whatever reason, I had never finished The Chonicles of Narnia, but while in Tennessee this last fall we listened to the Reader's Theatre version of all seven books. I don't know what I expected from The Last Battle, but it was different than I thought. I was sobbing at the end. Reading it again, this last chapter penned by C.S. Lewis comforted my hurting heart even amidst the tears I could not corral.

[spoiler alert: Many of the beloved Narnia characters stand before Aslan, wondering if they must return to their world]

"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."

The holidays. I love the wording, the feeling of hope and expectation. Some day.

I hate the loss we experience here. I'm angry. Sometimes it feels as if I can bear no more. But my term isn't over. And that's okay. Separation is temporary for those who hope in Christ. The longing and ache for those we've lost serves us well--to remind us that we are not created for this world. We live in the "Shadow-lands" and some day we will live out the "Great Story... in which every chapter is better than the one before."

"For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come."  

~Hebrews 13:14

the view as we traveled home from the celebration of life service

[The beautiful, soul encouraging artwork pictured at the top of this post was created by my lovely friend, Jenn, through her business Cobblestone Road Hand Lettering.]

a Mayberry day, country things, and my dad

We've had a lot of "Mayberry days" recently. For me, this means a simple day, a day spent "sitting on my front porch drinking iced cold Cherry Coke" (or iced tea although I do love Cherry Coke). I love the Rascal Flatts song, I run to it. I love country music (most) and old-fashioned simplicity where progress and productivity are set aside and I read a book while my kids sketch chalk designs on the sidewalk and dance in the front yard. I like the Mayberry ideal. It doesn't hurt that our neighbors down the street have chickens in their backyard--clucks echo off the surrounding houses, birds twitter, a dog barks, and I can almost ignore a siren in the background.

Mayberry and country things in general also remind me of my dad. Music from Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers and the Oak Ridge Boys were melodies of my childhood soundtrack. We played Elvira at his memorial service. We knew he'd appreciate it. We always laughed at this song and loved the Oak Ridge Boy with the deepest bass voice in the history of the world. No joke! (The video I linked to is quite hilarious, the "boys" are...aged;-)).

All things cowboy and country bring back those memories...the good ones. Bittersweet is still sweet. I'm no cowgirl. I'm legitimately citified, but I have fond childhood and adult memories of county fairs, state fairs, stock shows, and rodeos. Part of my love is simply the small town America atmosphere felt at county fairs. Life seems simpler, purer, pointing back to my Mayberry ideal. 

Until I was eight or nine, if you asked me what my dad did for a living, I would have told you without hesitation that he was a cowboy. This was my dad's answer to me when I asked him this question. I was young, and I believed every word. He had the props to back it up. Cowboy hat, countless pairs of cowboy boots, and his twangy country music was gospel. I told kids at school this "fact" and was quickly called a liar, but I held fast in my resolve.

As much as Old Spice aftershave, these country things bore his essence. I remember him with a smile, a poignant sweetness. I have many very hard and bitter memories. I've even gotten rid of possessions in my house because every time I saw them, I would face a memory I wished long forgotten. The most unsuspecting items would transport me to a scene, like immersing myself in Dumbledore's pensieve.

But at rodeos and county fairs and on front porches, I can bask in memory of a dad that I haven't seen in a long time. Wheat fields as far as the eye can see bring comfort. I can feel what he was supposed to be, what he was at his best. It's not to say that he was a different man who shed his struggles during these times, it's more symbolic. He was country born and bred. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska with three brothers his life brimmed with possibility, talent, charisma and hope. We all make choices, he made his, and it's not how good stories end.

I know that small-town life does not mean that life is easy. Life is not. But the memories remain pure to me. The antics of boys on a Nebraska farm, the walking up hill both ways to town (he had a car by the way), Coke in glass bottles at the local store...these stories I love. I pair them with my childhood watercolor memories of wearing my white cowgirl hat, accented with a purple feather, as I tagged along with my dad at the stock show, climbing into the back of his car cringing at the country twang, seeing his many pairs of boots lined up on the floor in my parents' bedroom (proof of his profession), and pots of his famous "ranch-hand" chili simmering on the stove.

Several years ago, I went to a rodeo with my in-laws. It was there I realized the sweetness of these memories. But as with mourning, something sweet can be a double-edged sword. I often don't think about my dad, I can avoid it. But good memories bring back the sting of loss. What could've been but wasn't. And suddenly I missed him painfully. I couldn't keep back the tears. I wanted to stay because the memories were good, but at the same time I just wanted to escape because I could do nothing to change the reality that my dad was gone.  I loved it and I hated it.

In spite of the loss, I'm thankful for these memories. I still love county fairs. I'm not quite sure how I feel about attending rodeos, sometimes it's easier to love them from a distance. Country music I now love for me and not just because of my dad, something we share. I don't know that my kids love country music, but it will be in their childhood soundtrack also. And this makes me smile.

And I'm thankful for my Mayberry days, where life feels peaceful and simple even if just for an afternoon.