Priceless Art

After a visit from grandchildren, it takes a day to change my home over from a toddler environment to that of a single adult. Taking the junior chair, bathtub toys and rattles back to the basement, my thoughts are always with the children as they head home.

Grandma having funRecently while going through this process I thought back to my own days of young motherhood when I would visit Mom, kids in tow, at her orderly home set up for two adults. When she first found out she was going to be a grandma, she emptied a large cabinet and went garage-sale-ing for toys to fill it. “I want our grandkids to have fun when they come,” she said.

Her wish came true. Our children and everyone else’s had a blast at Grandma Johnson’s. After leaving multiple little ones in her care, I’d always hurry back, worrying she might be exhausted. But no matter the length of time or number of children, she’d always say, “Back already?”

Time flew, because she was having fun.

After the children had pulled every toy out of her cabinet, each of us young moms would stay to pick them up, but Mom would take them from our hands and say, “Oh, let me do that after you leave. I have such a good time thinking back on the morning.”

“But it’s such a mess!” we’d say.

“A happy mess,” she’d counter, “and I love it.”

I remember one morning when Mom took care of several of our kids and made chocolate chip cookies with them. Two year old Klaus had deposited a smudgy hand print on her white door at toddler height, and before we left I reached for a soapy rag to wipe it clean. Mom stopped me, saying, “Don’t touch that. It’s darling.”

The next time I visited, she’d drawn a square frame around the messy print and written “By Klaus,” along with the date. Another “happy mess.” I’ll be glad if I can be half the grandma Mom was.

Micah, circa 2010I’ve found plenty of my own precious art-prints after grandchild visits, like the ones 4-month-old Micah left while sitting in his Bumbo on the kitchen counter. He loved watching us prepare meals and was perched next to the glass cake dome. After he and his family had left, when the sun hit that glass, half of the dome was covered with tiny prints this little guy had left with his dimpled, drool-soaked fingers, and I experienced the same rush of grandma-love Mom must have felt seeing Klaus’ chocolate hand.

Though I confess to washing Micah’s artwork off my cake dome that day, it wasn’t before I “framed” his creation in my memory. Maybe when he visits next, we’ll bake some cookies together.

Children’s children are a crown to the aged.” (Proverbs 17:6)

Praising and Praying with Mary

  1. Please pray for my visit with the doctor tomorrow, a specialist who will work on feeding tube issues.
  2. I’m thankful for a trip to Arkansas for dog-Sydney’s last day and the days following.

Wrapped in Comfort

In the years after Nate died, I gave away most of his clothes, many of them to distribution centers helping the homeless. There’s one piece, however, I’ve decided to keep… and to wear. It’s his navy blue, terrycloth bath robe.

Nate's robeNate wore this robe daily. Throughout 2009 when he was plagued by severe back pain, he couldn’t wait to get out of his business suit each evening and into the comfort of this bath robe. Usually the transition was made immediately after our 7:00 PM dinner by way of a hot soak in the tub with a good book.

Once in a while I’d get frustrated watching him abdicate the hustle and bustle of family life in favor of undressing and moving toward a prone position that alleviated back pain. I even grew to dislike the navy robe, which for both of us represented the end of his day. I’d ask, “Are you getting ready for night time already?” Now, of course, I feel bad about the implication of my question, but I hadn’t known the extent of his pain.

These days, as I wrap myself in his “giant towel,” I think comforting thoughts about Nate. I ponder the absence of his back pain and know he’d smile to see how I’ve come to appreciate his robe. I also imagine how he’d laugh if he could see me in it, the shoulders droopy and the belt nearly going around twice. But he’d be glad I’ve finally discovered there’s comfort in that terrycloth.

Many of my widow pals say they find a warm refuge in wearing a husband’s jacket, shirt or socks. It sounds silly, especially if we never shared our men’s clothing while they were still with us. But it’s one of the few remaining links we have to our partners, and because of that, wearing their clothes takes on special meaning.

Scripture tells us God is a good comforter. He provides his Holy Spirit as a soothing balm from our insides out, supplying comfort deep-down in those places nobody sees. Jesus said that when we mourn, he’ll see to it that relief comes to us. (Matthew 5:4) One of the many ways he’s comforted me is by coaxing me into Nate’s robe.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles…” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4a)

Praising and Praying with Mary (on their anniversary today)

I thank God for 47+ years with Bervin! May the Lord bless him (and our marriage) through this cancer challenge.

Like it or lick it.

A bad habitToday I did something I said I’d never do again, but an old habit got in the way of my new resolve. I picked up a packet… no… a box-full of hard-copy photos from the store. I’m embarrassed to say I now have 307 new prints to put into albums.

An old Chinese proverb says, “Habits are cobwebs at first, cables at last.” As the wildlife in our basement enjoys cob-webbing our 196 photo albums, I’m upstairs shackling myself with a cable wrapped around me 307 times. Now I have the undertaking of putting these prints in books I haven’t even bought yet. Worse yet, it’ll put us over the 200-album mark, a dubious honor.

What could possibly be the reason for such idiocy? I do have one. It’s the tiny but potent memory card inside my digital camera. Because I can delete any photo, I take pix with abandon, which is what brought me up against three maxed-out cards that needed clearing. The thought of losing even one good shot nagged me until I finally decided to make 4×6 copies to have and to hold… as is my habit.

My kids have pressed me to give up hard copies entirely, and I promised I would… next time. For now I can’t ignore the cry of my basement albums: “You’ve loved us for so long! Don’t stop now!”

Is photo hoarding a bad habit? Or is it a harmless pastime?

Are there any harmless bad habits?

My 307 pictures got me thinking. How many other bad habits do I have that haven’t been classified as such? What behaviors more serious than album-collecting ought to be stopped? Every bad habit has something tantalizing within it. We can’t lick it because we like it. It feeds us somehow, gratifies something, gives back in some way. If it didn’t, we’d walk away.

Experts tell us the best way to get rid of an undesirable habit is to substitute a desirable one. But since there’s already something desirable nestled within every bad habit, finding an even more desirable substitute can be problematic. It’s one of life’s big challenges.

YumIf I could figure out how to conquer my album-addiction, maybe I could triumph over other bad habits, say, my love affair with sugar. How could there ever be anything more desirable than sugar? For now, I’m just trying to think of something better than stockpiling photos in the basement. After watching Louisa reorganize her computer pictures for several hours, keeping electronic  albums doesn’t have much appeal either.

After all, dusting the cobwebs off my basement albums could be done in three minutes flat. If I’m munching on candy while doing it, two.

”For as he thinks within himself, so he is.” (Proverbs 23:7a)

Praising and Praying with Mary

  1. Thanks so much for continuing to pray about my feeding tube pain and the the appointment with a GI doctor.
  2. I’m thankful the tube itself continues to feed me well.