No-More Goodbyes

This thought comes to mind every time I travel to visit family and friends:  I don't like good-byes.  I am always so eager to see the folks at the other end of the trip, but when it comes to leaving my loved ones at home, I hate to part.  While I feel immersed in love with the folks I'm visiting, my heart aches for the ones I left back at home.  When I turn my face back toward home, I'm so happy to ease my homesickness, but I immediately ache to stay with those I am leaving.  I want to have all of the folks I love in one place.  I don't want to say good-bye and to miss you.  That whole absense makes the heart grow fonder idea is over-rated.

 

My vision of heaven is where I will always be surrounded by those I love.  Sure, you can roam about as you will and won't be chained to me, but I never want to be far from you.  I want to be at your side without the time and distance of travel.  I want to see my darling grandchildren whenever we wish it.  I want to chat face to face with my kids without buying plane tickets.  I want to talk about music with a beloved friend without having to send a text or squeeze in a quick hour when we wish we could talk all day.  I don't want to dread the day when my best friend will move, and I will remain behind.  I want to spend forever with my husband at my side and surrounded by all of our loving family and friends.  I want it all so much, that I think about my heaven every day. 

 

Make no mistake, I'm not suggesting that I am in a hurry to change my residence from earth to heaven just yet.  For now, and for many more years to come, I will settle for my pieces of heaven, and I will travel back and forth between them.  It is good to know that when I leave one place on the map, I can anticipate joy at each end of the long car ride or airplane flight where another group of folks waits to welcome me.  But some day, I want each of you to have a home on my block.  To never have to miss you will be happiness forever for me.

2 Things Unrelated

Written on June 22, 2010

What I did for love ended up in what I did for joy, which is often the way it is.  If you haven't tried it, you haven't experienced the challenge of gluten free baking.  You see, gluten is the protein that holds wheat together.  Remove that, and well, it's a challenge.  This evening I successfully made a yummy batch of chewy cookies for Wayne.  It was a triumph, as many of my gluten free efforts have not been as fortunate.  The joyful part is watching Wayne sneaking back into the kitchen for another treat.  Yes, I notice as each cookie disappears. 

As an unrelated piece of joy, I just ordered a pair of rocking chairs for our new front porch.  If you've been following that saga, you know that it has been long and very frustrating.  But, the end is in sight, and at last, it's time to get the chairs.  The next step will be the 5 hanging baskets of flowers that I will need.  That will wait until next week when Cox Farms begins its annual 50% off sale.  Expect more joyful notes as I peacefully rock and enjoy the blooms on our lovely new porch.  Ah, I can hardly wait.  What will make it even better is when the grandchildren visit and find their way into our laps as we rock.  Now that is is joy. 

Another Layer

It has been some time since I've written a new entry of joy.  As always, there have been plenty of joyful moments and a desire to write, but there have also been many demanding tasks and not enough hours of sleep.

As many of you know, I returned home a few days ago from a lovely visit with Lizzy and her three little ones at their home in Florida.  I treasured feeling surrounded with love every minute of my visit.  There was always a darling face and a set of soft cheeks to kiss easily within my reach.  When I snuggle the soft, warm heads, I feel my soul fill up with a wonderful glow that fills in all my empty spaces.  I loved every minute of romping in the surf of a beautiful white sand beach with Anny and Merrylee, twirling and playing "Ring around the rosy" until I was too dizzy to stand.  I loved playing games, reading dozens of story books, making Easter crafts, and spoiling the girls on a shopping trip.  I sparkled as I cuddled Baby Benjamin and delighted in his big smiles and baby talk.  

I loved it all, but there was an even deeper layer of fulfillment.  I watched in proud and profound completion, the magnificent character of my daughter.  She has grown to make my dreams for her come to their full potential.  I am so proud of her strength.  It is not easy to care for three little ones all day every day while her husband is away on military deployment.  Her job never has a break.  Through all of that exhaustion and loneliness, I see her standing like a rock.  Her faith is strong and is an example to all who know her.  I heard some of her friends talking about how their family lives are better because they have followed Lizzy's example of faith and devotion to raising her family immersed in the daily routines of prayer and scripture study.  Her children are sweet and confident and secure.  They are growing and thriving in their spiritual and academic development.  They are happy and well adjusted.

It all requires great effort, but I see Liz doing all of the things I have wished for her, and I see the blessings in her life and the lives of her children.  Watching her family life feels like a bountiful harvest for me.  The fruits of my labors in her childhood are coming to their maturity in a very pure and beautiful way.  It is another layer to my joy that I don't think I could ever have anticipated.  I'm confident that my life's work will not end with me.  What is dear and precious to me lives on through my daughters and sons and their daughters and sons, and so on forever.  It makes all of those midnight feedings and taunts from fellow grad students as I tried to haul my pregnant self into a desk seem very indifferent now.  My early days of motherhood were rich with blessings two or three decades ago, but they are exponentially sweeter now.