Here I am laying in the hospital with tubes and needles imbedded in every available vein.  I can barely adjust my laying position without pulling on something. I haven’t eaten in two and half days.  My mouth is so parched I can feel wrinkles on the top of it. What am I even doing in here?.  I have things to do.  A 90th birthday party to organize.  An Etsy shop to start. Pies, tarts and sourdough to bake.  A dog to train.  A daughter to send off across the sea. My roots aren’t done.  I am in desperate need of a pedicure.  My pantry’s a mess.  And I am laying here doing nothing.  All I can hear is the constant pumping of the blood pressure machine attached to my left arm.  As I trace the folds in the blanket and notice how it matches the chipped nail polish on my toes, I wonder why this happened. How did this happen?  Having a stroke was not on my todo list. 

I often imagined that it was quite possible I would have a heart attack.  I mean, my dad died of a heart attack upping my risk factor exponentially.  I knew I was eating whatever I wanted.  Lots of butter and salt. Sugar and fat.  All the delicious, treacherous things.  I knew I would rather lay in bed in the morning and luxuriate with the sun streaming in, casting lines on the walls through the blinds, than get up and workout.  Whenever, I didn’t feel good, which was rare, I always prayed “Lord don’t let me be having a heart attack”.  I just assumed if I got sick it would be by way of a heart attack.  So a stroke really took me by surprise.    

I know God didn’t exclaim “Oh no,  Geri had a stroke,  what are we gonna do now?”  That blows  my whole plan for her.  No….He knew it was coming.  He did not cause it, of that I am sure,  but He did know it was coming.  It was me that exclaimed “Oh no,  I had a stroke, now what am I gonna do?’  But I believe He said…I know this is coming but I’m going to let it happen because I can work this together for her good.  It never seems like it, in the moment.  I mean, what’s good about a stroke?  What’s good about being in an ambulance or emergency or the neurological ward or the stroke ward.  I guess it’s better than prison (although the food sure isn’t). But I had a LOT of time to think.  A LOT.  It was only 6 days but I am not used to laying in bed for a solid 6 days.  I thought all the thinks.  I wondered all the wonders.  I pondered all the ponders. I rehashed all the events that led me to this place.  I wracked my compromised brain trying to figure it all out.  What conclusion did I come to?

Well, it still baffles me.  I am sure it will unfold over time.  But this I know for sure,  God is not done with me yet.  If He was, I wouldn’t be here writing this right now. I’d be walking streets of gold with a butter pecan waffle cone and my new perfect, healthy body. But here I am, 10 weeks later….still cognisant.  Absolutely no speech impediment (much to the chagrin of others).  Still using my motor skills to drive and bake and cook and write and watch movies and read books and paint and rub my dogs belly.  Only this time round, I am going to pay more attention to how I am living in this battered and abused (by me) body.  

I feel blessed coupled with gratitude.  It doesn’t always turn out so well for others.  I dodged a bullet.  I don’t for a minute  believe that God didn’t take care of me.  Didn’t spare me. Didn’t heal me.  Isn’t continuing to heal me.   I may be left with a few thorns in the flesh….I may not.  We will wait and see.  But whatever the outcome, I am still here and I am responsible for me.  The steward of my health and my relationships.  The steward of my finances and my choices.  The steward of my actions and my inner thoughts.  I am still required to love others.  Still required to be kind.  Still required to be generous.  Still required to  follow hard after Him.  No more drifting into lalaland and thinking I’m invincible, infallible, impervious to what is common to mankind.  Maybe God will use this experience for me to bless someone. To empathize with someone.  To bring someone hope where there is none.  Or to just still be here when someone desperately needs me.  

My wee girlie is off on another adventure and she is taking my heart with her, again. Not all of it of course, because I still have two men at home that I love with just as much passion, pain and purpose.  But there is something about a daughter and  if you’re a mother of one or more, you know. There is a bond that you cannot replicate with a male.  Any male.  Maybe it’s just a kindred spirit forged out of carrying that baby for nine months and then teaching her everything you know and then watching her grow into herself with traits she clearly got from you. And being female.  Interests you share.  Tastes you pass on. You create a life for this little girl that will shape and mold her forever.  Creativity birthed into her little soul and nurtured over time into a full blossomed maturity all her own.  Of course she manifests character traits that are clearly her fathers and they are best buds.  Her father  will definitely be moping about the house long after she’s gone as well, but for different reasons.

Wee girlie is spreading her independent, often defiant, wings once again and moving to London on a two year work visa. The London that is in Great Britain.   The London across the ocean.  The London far, far from home.  I know this feeling.  She has lived there before. But last time she was part of a group of people that were looking out for her in a small way.  This time she is completely on her own. Of course she is ten years older and a full grown, independent woman who makes her own choices and has her own dreams.  I hate that.  But I guess I can take comfort in the fact that her father and I must have done something right right given the fact that she wants to venture out into this scary world with bravery and vision of what could be. This is a particularly poignant time for her to go. But I have to ask myself, will there be a better time for her to go?  Yes. When I’m dead. And I don’t have to experience this tearing of the heart.  Why does parenting have to be so painful? 

Part of me is terrified that London will become her permanent home. Part of me knows I have to let go and let her put into practice all, the wise, practical, mature parts of her that she has acquired over time and experience.  She actually warned me long ago that she would probably marry someone foreign and for me not to count on her living next door. (I mean, what’s what’s so wrong with living next door or in the same city?) 

Anyway, I am really so proud of her because when I was her age I was a fraidy cat.  Still am, actually.  So I just can’t imagine why she would want to do this treacherous thing.  But I’m glad she isn’t afraid (or at least doesn’t show it).  Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway. Maybe that is her.  I don’t want to know. 

My prayer for her would be that she finds exciting and fulfilling and creative work. She has already set those wheels in motion.  That she would find a safe and comfortable place to live. That she would meet beautiful people that would love her and look out for her. I know this may sound silly but watching Emily in Paris paints a picture for me of how this could be a wonderful, learning experience.  And that a 31 year old woman is not a child  and can definitely hold her own in a foreign place.  My fears come from a place of observing her doing sketchy things in the past in regards to safety and mom’s are all about the safety. We are nothing else if we are not about the safety.  Am I right? 

But she knows our door is always open and there is always a safe place to land.  She can home at any time and we will run to meet her with open arms (and of course a fatted salmon. She doesn’t like beef). 

I will just continue to support her and encourage her and pray for her.  God can go with her and I cannot. It’s that simple.  Thank God (literally) for prayer. It’s a mother’s most powerful tool.

I spent the afternoon with mom then I drove home in the dark.  Yes it’s dark by 5:30pm and getting darker by the day. But I’m OK with that. It helps me realize we are at a different place in time. We will spend the next four months living mostly in the dark. I arrived home to find the fireplace crackling and my husband and daughter upstairs watching war movies (it’s November 11th).  I had a hankering for some comfort food so I decided to cook up some of the spaghetti and sauce from my Covid Mormon stash. (Is it OK to say that?).  I mean, they keep a year’s supply of consumables on hand and I, for one, think it’s not a bad idea.  I cook the pasta and then doctor up some store bought sauce in another saucepan and when both are done I mix them together like homemade alphagetti.  I scoop some into a bowl and douse it with parmesan and head down to my woman cave (my studio) to watch a Hallmark movie and savor my culinary creation. It’s delicious and exactly what I was craving. (yes, I made enough for everyone).

I am so grateful for this cozy comfortable home, already dressed with curtain twinkle lights on every window.  There is just something about twinkle lights, don’t you think?  It warms the soul.  At this moment in time, there is food in the pantry, running water, flush toilets, showers, comfy warm beds, a working fireplace, cars in the garage.  Hallmark movies, books to read for escape and inspiration. My whole family living under this one roof – for this moment in time.  My ankles seem to be healing.  They are not swollen today (as a result of two separate accidents, one on each leg).  And I know the Savior – the omniscient, creator and controller of this planet.   The lover of my soul. The light of the world. The hope of the ages.  

The glory of my secret garden has passed. While it’s sad, we are moving into a new season that has its own glories.  I actually love the changing of the seasons.  Life doesn’t get too boring and each season gives us a rest from the others and makes us appreciate them when they’re gone. Each season has its own special charms and we know they’ll be back next year. As much as I loved the dahlias, the sweet peas, the poppies, the poppies, the peonies and the petunias….and the roses, that season is done.  I was getting tired of watering and weeding every day anyway. AND for this moment in time, all is well.

I think it is noteworthy to acknowledge that ‘all is well’ tonight or today.  Our lives can change for better or  worse in a flash.  And there are big issues to deal with in this world and this life.  So while it’s prudent to plan for the future,  NOW is the only moment we are actually guaranteed.  Lets not waste now worrying or fearing the future because of what’s happened in the past. Let’s take this moment in time to acknowledge when all is well, if it is for you.  I love this line from the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, “Everything is going to be ok in the end,  if it’s not OK, then it’s not the end”

I’m not stunning or thin or perpetually youthful.  I am not considered an intellectual or a super success but I have everything that truly counts.  (Maybe ignorance IS bliss.  Lol).  

Christmas…the season of hope, joy and peace… is coming, as it always does.  Just around the corner. More on that later. 

I’ve read the news calling out our PM for initiating an unnecessary election at the worst possible time…during a pandemic, while half the country is burning up and the Taliban is sadistically taking over Afghanistan.  The 20th anniversary of 9/11 bringing all those conspiracy theories back to the forefront. The natural disasters happening all over the world, all credited to global warming…I mean, climate change. The whole residential school debacle. Trying to stay connected to loved ones when there are differing COVID factions involved. Naturally occurring problems on the home front. Even my own purpose and career in question.  It all makes me want to crawl into my own bubble and stay there until the end of the world.  True story – I have actually prayed, at times, that God would open up a crack in the earth and I would fall in never to be seen again.  True story – That would be the easy way out. 

 I would love to be holed up on some tropical island with some books and embroidery and paints, feeling the sand between my toes and the warmth of the sun on my skin.  Listening to the waves crash against the shore as I forage for sea shells.  A million little twinkle lights dancing in the trees at dusk.  On a sailboat by day and a lounger by night – studying the moon and the stars – sipping a Starbucks beverage.  Hey, it’s my dream, I can have Starbucks if I want. It’s my escape.

But then, His voice breaks into my imaginings and reminds me, ‘you are here for such a time as this’.  What does that even mean?  I do not like this whole ‘with knowledge comes responsibility’ thing.  I much prefer ‘ignorance is bliss’. (I can think of many in high power I could ascribe that to). I am reminded that I am on this planet, at this specific moment in history, for a reason.  It’s no accident.  I wasn’t born into the wrong era as I so often like to believe.  This IS my era.  All the things I lived through – difficult or easy, good or bad, real or surreal – All meant for me.  Not so I could close myself off in a bubble but so I could reach out and save someone else from falling or drowning or fading into oblivion. I could do this because I have survived.  I have survived my worst which has brought me to ‘such as time as this”.  

So many things I wish I’d done differently.  So many things I wish I didn’t know about. So many words I wish I could take back, so many words I wish I had said. So much fear I wish I hadn’t manifested. So much courage I wish I would have bolstered. So many lies I’ve believed. So many truths, I didn’t. So much heartache I wish I hadn’t witnessed, experienced or inflicted. So much injustice I wish I could do something about.  So much selfishness I wish I didn’t have.  Yet, here I am “for such a time as this’.  The words of that old spiritual come to mind “nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen – Nobody knows but Jesus”.  Not that I’ve seen more trouble than others because I certainly have not.  Just that, nobody knows what troubles I have personally experienced. And that’s fine.  But my past paralyzed me sometimes. I often get caught up in “well  HE allowed that to happen so what else is HE going to allow to happen”  that’s going to be painful and difficult and scary.  But HE also said He would never leave or forsake us…ever.  We are not in this alone. And I breathe a sigh of peace.

So whatever HE wants me to do “for such a time as this”.  I am up for the task.  I’m not going to say ‘Bring it on” but I am starting to feel braver and more intentional about doing what I am here for.  Maybe I am doing what I am here for but for some reason I am not recognizing it.  Maybe I don’t see it for what it is because I am not done.  But this I know for sure, I am meant to be right here, right now, for such a time as this.  

I like to talk about August. My heart beats to the rhythm of  August…much more so than June or July.
June and July feel like hot, sticky, scramble to get packed, get out of town, fight the traffic and the airports, too hot to sleep, too hot to eat, but damn it, its summer and we are going to make the most of it. Finalize all the final wedding details and find beds for all the out of town guests.  Pay the caterer and tear down the wedding tent.  Lock the house, take the dog to the kennel, set up irrigation for the lawn and flowers, grab your passports, pick up the meds, clean out the fridge and empty the garbages.  We are on a tight schedule.  Gas up the car, get out the maps, google the sights.  Gather all the jet skis and the surfboards and the inner tubes and the snorkels and ice packs and the air conditioners and the fans and let’s start having fun.  

But August……August is slow down time. It can still be hot but instead of fighting it, we bask in it.  We slow down and we quit scrambling.  We finally give into summer as we see it starting to fade.  We lie in the grass and gaze up at the clouds.  We let ladybugs crawl up our arms and take pictures of butterflies. We eat watermelon on the porch with juice dripping down our chin.  We go on a picnic and while away the afternoon chatting about recipes and books and places we’ve been.  There is no schedule. We get up early to lollygag at the local farmers market and buy all kinds of treats we wouldn’t normally.  Pies and tarts, jams and dressings.  Veggies and fruit and we eat much healthier.  Much more laid back.  Gone are the corn dogs and mini donuts of the fair.  Gone are the burgers and fries that make us feel heavy and tired.  Welcome, lobster boils and smores.  Hello to the straw hats and flowy caftans.  Sit in the shade of an enormous tree and read all the books we’ve been saving for August.  Sit on the dock at midnight with your feet dangling in the water and listen to the crickets or the loons. Or both.  Lay in a lounger in the backyard and name the constellations.  Build a tent out of a patio umbrella and some sheets and sleep outside. Light some candles to keep the bugs at bay. Cut some flowers and take them to a shut-in.  Listen to the rain through screen doors and scratch the dogs belly.  Pull out your easel and paint.   No better time to have a puzzle sprawled across the table to pick away at when the weather isn’t cooperating.  You won’t need the table because you’re eating most of your meals outside.  Take an afternoon nap.  Walk for miles on the beach with sand running through your toes and smoothing out the skin on your feet. Collect sea shells and drift wood. Sit on a patio and sip ice tea with your besties.  Canoe or kayak out to the middle of the lake and gaze up at the mountains and watch the clouds blow past the sun in intervals.  Relish the calm and the quiet.  

Take it all in because it will be another year before August comes around again.  Don’t wish it away.  Don’t think about September.  There will be plenty of time for September in September.  Live in the moment. Spend a lot of time with your eyes closed just listening to the sounds – of the trees and the rain and the lawnmowers and the laughter of children, grandma telling stories of the good old days.  This is August.  

The Lord is my shepherd. I’m following Him. He’s doing what’s in my best interests.  If I wander off he is going to come and find me.  I shall not want. I’ll have everything I need . (Not to be confused with my greed for everything). He will provide for and protect me. I will not lack any good thing.  He makes me to lie down in green pastures.  The other mans grass is not as green as the grass He makes me lie down in. If I don’t take rest, he’ll make me rest. He has his ways. He provides rest for the weary. He leads me beside still waters for peace and nourishment. Refreshing.  He restores my broken soul. Restoration. Redemption. Encouragement. Strength. Healing.  Even when I walk through the valley (with the fear of death)  He is with me. He’s with me now. Even in the shadow of a world gone mad, He is with me.  His sovereignty and gentleness and kindness comfort me.  He prepares a feast for me right in front of all my enemies.  They cannot harm me. I can eat in peace until I am satisfied.  He will show them how he will bless me. He anoints my head with oil  so I will function properly and he blesses me so much that is it falling out all over the place. AND then He follows me around with goodness and mercy.  He’s got my back all the days of my earthly life and when I’m done here I will live with him for all eternity.  Now that’s not ominous at all.  It’s encouraging and full of hope. It begets peace and hope and trust and blessing.

 God’s leading me.

He’s beside me all the way. 

And he’s got my back. 

The shepherd surrounds me on all sides to keep me safe. And not only safe, he blesses me with peace, rest, protection and provision. Right now.  Right here.  Does it get any better than this?

What a picture of gentle caring love (and power). I can almost feel the shepherds arms around me  – picking me  up because Im getting too close to the edge of the cliff and bringing me back  to safety. 

They say sheep are stupid animals and well…. if the shoe fits.  I can be dumb at times. I can believe the wrongs things. I’m can do the wrong things that put me (or others) in harms way. Self sabbatoge.  But then the shepherd calmly walks  over and rescues me and brings me back to where it is safe because he knows I don’t always ‘get it’.  AND he doesn’t think of me as dumb, He thinks of me as lost and wandering and He lovingly provides guidance.  So I follow because I am at least smart enough to follow the good shepherd. I am safe in his fold. Nowhere else I’d rather be. 

All of life is a celebration.  Or it should be.  Even the pain and difficulties eventually lead to growth and maturity and that is to be celebrated.  With Love day swiftly approaching, we have another opportunity to celebrate. Many folks believe that the retailers of cards, flowers,  chocolate and jewelry got together and came up with the idea of Valentine’s Day to capitalize on our vulnerable emotions.  And it worked.  Many folks believe that Valentine’s Day is just a cruel joke to remind them that they don’t have a significant other and they become irritable and depressed.  I’ve always hated that song Dean Martin used to sing ‘your nobody till somebody loves you’.  That’s not encouraging. What are you gonna do?  I guess you could ignore the day and continue on in your pursuit of unhappiness or you could ‘when in Rome’ the situation. You can probably guess I’m of the latter persuasion. 
 I think Love day is just a great reminder to remind the people in your life that they are loved and it doesn’t have to be just romantic relationships.  We can show grandma we love her.  We can tell our kids we love them.  We can spread the love to our friends.  Of course, it’s always uplifting to be reminded that our spouse loves us. I heard a story about a wife that complained that her husband never told her he loved her.  When she questioned him about it, after many years, he replied ‘I told you on our wedding day that I loved you, if anything changes I’ll let you know’.  Well, that’s just not good enough, is it? 
I feel every opportunity we get to celebrate should be embraced.  Especially in these socially distant times we are living in.  We haven’t seen our friends for months.  And who can get a romantic relationship going from 6 feet apart??? ZOOM dating?  With everyone underfoot at home, irritability can run high.  Not to mention depression.  When you can’t leave the house.  Can’t go to a movie to escape.  Can’t take your loves to a restaurant or for coffee.  Home life is getting pretty dreary and tense.  I say, let’s celebrate.  Let’s celebrate each other.  Let’s celebrate love and togetherness.  Let’s celebrate as an act of gratefulness. We haven’t seen our friends for months.  Many kids in our country  are distance learning and they miss their friends and can’t give out Valentines anymore (is that even politically correct)?  No taking cupcakes and cookies for the whole class to share.  Many of our widowed, divorced or single friends don’t have anyone to acknowledge their value to the world.  Let’s make it our mission to make sure they aren’t left out. 
To enable people to celebrate with flair, I am making and baking Valentines treats and gifts for giving and delivering.  Make Valentine’s special.  Make a special meal at home.  Decorate.  Play games.  Open up free flow of communication.  Encourage love in all its forms.  Romantic love. Family love. Friendship love and the love of God. Research the 5 love languages and try to love people in a way that it will be recognized by them as love.  
Celebrate.  Only hug the ones in your own household though.  I tried to hug my adult son (that has lived with us all of Covid) and he said ‘mom, if you don’t mind, I’m isolating’.  So some will resist, but don’t let that stop you.  It’s great to be alive.  It’s great to be loved and to love.  That what we were made for.