Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Long Time Passing
It's been two years since I added anything to my blog spot. I can't believe it's been that long! So much has happened I hardly know where to begin to catch up. I've changed the look of the blog and like it much better. I've added some of my favorite bloggers and other interesting links. I highly recommend them.
When I last wrote we had one grandchild, a precious girl who is now 3 1/2 years old and just started going to preschool. She's an intelligent and a happy, precocious, presence in our lives. I'm often reminded how carefree childhood can be, and I'm relearning how to have more of a sense of humor, how to be spontaneous, how to have fun in everything we do, and how to live each day at a time. I know some of these very things I love about her are likely frustrating to her parents...she gets too enthusiastic in hugging her little brother, she babbles on to anyone who will listen and we never have to guess what she's thinking because she thinks out loud, and she has spurts of energy where she runs wildly around the house neighing like a horse. She likes to help set the table, cut up watermelon or honeydew with a plastic knife, but she doesn't always like to pick up and put toys away anymore. She's perfect company for anyone who may be feeling a bit lonely.
Her little brother joined the family in January, 2007. He has the same blue eyes, but blonder hair than his sister (he's what you call a real towhead), is quieter, and keeps most of his thoughts to himself. But his face is a dead giveaway as to what he's feeling or thinking. He lights up my day with the sunniest smile, a smaller imitation of his sister. His pout almost breaks my heart, and he seems to know it. I often find him in a pensive mood but he won't tell me what he's thinking. Of course, he hasn't learned all the words he needs to talk to us, but I have a feeling even when he has a good handle on language he will still keep a lot of things to himself. He takes more risks than his big sister, a lot of times because he's trying to keep up with her, but isn't old enough to do what she's doing. He raises quite a fuss when we won't let him do what could be quite harmful to him. He sits quietly reading a book or building a tower with Legos, that is if his sister doesn't interrupt him. Then it's time for Nana to read a book with one or both to help diffuse over-enthusiastic sibling rivalry.
Being a Nana is more wonderful than I ever imagined it would be. Even on days when my chronic pain is at it's worst, just getting a call from my daughter which often includes a hello from Alana or Derek helps me forget what's bothering me. Hours of pain are erased when I spend time playing with, and caring for, our grandchildren. It's afterwards that I groan, moan, and limp around like an injured horse (who's lost its neigh), and complain to my hubby, Papa, that I can't budge another inch. But it's all worth it. Yes, and yes, grandchildren are real gifts from God, and also our children, who are the first blessing. But sometimes I've wished it could be lived backwards...if we would have our grandchildren first (I know, it's impossible), then we could hopefully enjoy our children as much as we now do our grandchildren. I remember it was the sense of responsibility, perfectionism, and constant vigilance to protect them that hindered me from just letting go and enjoying the moments each day, week, month, and year.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy our son and daughter. There was real joy in those times of spontaneous connection in the moment. There was a feeling of great reward when they responded to our love which included times of discipline and consequences not to their liking. We all survived those times and we had fun in spite of them. I just hope that our children mostly forget the struggles and remember the good times. Going to the pizza place in Spring to celebrate the beginning of Summer. Going back to the pizza place and shopping for school needs and clothes in Fall. Having popcorn and watching a rented movie on a stormy winter's night. I especially want them to know we have always loved, and always will love them. I think our relationships have evolved more to a friendship level now. At least that is my hope. Is it possible to stop being a parent, or a child of parents? Hopefully, we can reach a level of maturity where we put those roles in perspective and let go to experience and enjoy each other as the individuals we are.
On the lighter side: Kansas has had a mild and wet summer. Having grown up on the farm and having a farmer for a son-in-law I find that the growing seasons still influence my life. I love Spring and Fall, especially Spring since I was born in April, and Spring is a life-enriching time. Everything is reborn in Spring. As a child I loved summer. School was out, and I could bask in the long sunny days as I read a book or helped my mom freeze or can garden produce. Any hot weekend was an occasion for home-made ice cream served with angel food cake, lemonade and iced tea. Chewing on ice cubes while reading or working was a pleasant way to cool down. It still is a pleasant way to cool down, but better than ice cubes are the low-cal, low-sugar fruit smoothies I make to subdue a hot day. Mmm-Mmm!
I like Fall because it's a time to slow down and think. Cool, rainy afternoons are just right for catching up on journal writing, setting goals and planning, considering what I can do on those cold winter days when snow keeps me housebound. Will I attempt to get out my scrapbooking materials and finally finish the album I began soon after Alana was born and is still only half done? Maybe I'll write that short story or start a novel. Saturdays might be spent baking some bread or cinnamon rolls to warm up the kitchen and enjoy the scents that remind me of pleasant memories from the past. It's time to get out the full-spectrum lamp that I can sit under while I read or work on the computer to drive away the gloom of SAD. That's the main thing I dread about winter--the short and cloudy days that keep away the sunshine which I absolutely need to feel happy.
I guess I can always come to my blog here and surf the links and favorite other blog spots to drive away the gloom. I'm feeling better already because I have something to look forward to. I wonder if anyone will read this blog and find something that speaks to their heart and will inspire them to share or comment so we can carry on a conversation about life? I can only hope and pray that will happen.
When I last wrote we had one grandchild, a precious girl who is now 3 1/2 years old and just started going to preschool. She's an intelligent and a happy, precocious, presence in our lives. I'm often reminded how carefree childhood can be, and I'm relearning how to have more of a sense of humor, how to be spontaneous, how to have fun in everything we do, and how to live each day at a time. I know some of these very things I love about her are likely frustrating to her parents...she gets too enthusiastic in hugging her little brother, she babbles on to anyone who will listen and we never have to guess what she's thinking because she thinks out loud, and she has spurts of energy where she runs wildly around the house neighing like a horse. She likes to help set the table, cut up watermelon or honeydew with a plastic knife, but she doesn't always like to pick up and put toys away anymore. She's perfect company for anyone who may be feeling a bit lonely.
Her little brother joined the family in January, 2007. He has the same blue eyes, but blonder hair than his sister (he's what you call a real towhead), is quieter, and keeps most of his thoughts to himself. But his face is a dead giveaway as to what he's feeling or thinking. He lights up my day with the sunniest smile, a smaller imitation of his sister. His pout almost breaks my heart, and he seems to know it. I often find him in a pensive mood but he won't tell me what he's thinking. Of course, he hasn't learned all the words he needs to talk to us, but I have a feeling even when he has a good handle on language he will still keep a lot of things to himself. He takes more risks than his big sister, a lot of times because he's trying to keep up with her, but isn't old enough to do what she's doing. He raises quite a fuss when we won't let him do what could be quite harmful to him. He sits quietly reading a book or building a tower with Legos, that is if his sister doesn't interrupt him. Then it's time for Nana to read a book with one or both to help diffuse over-enthusiastic sibling rivalry.
Being a Nana is more wonderful than I ever imagined it would be. Even on days when my chronic pain is at it's worst, just getting a call from my daughter which often includes a hello from Alana or Derek helps me forget what's bothering me. Hours of pain are erased when I spend time playing with, and caring for, our grandchildren. It's afterwards that I groan, moan, and limp around like an injured horse (who's lost its neigh), and complain to my hubby, Papa, that I can't budge another inch. But it's all worth it. Yes, and yes, grandchildren are real gifts from God, and also our children, who are the first blessing. But sometimes I've wished it could be lived backwards...if we would have our grandchildren first (I know, it's impossible), then we could hopefully enjoy our children as much as we now do our grandchildren. I remember it was the sense of responsibility, perfectionism, and constant vigilance to protect them that hindered me from just letting go and enjoying the moments each day, week, month, and year.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy our son and daughter. There was real joy in those times of spontaneous connection in the moment. There was a feeling of great reward when they responded to our love which included times of discipline and consequences not to their liking. We all survived those times and we had fun in spite of them. I just hope that our children mostly forget the struggles and remember the good times. Going to the pizza place in Spring to celebrate the beginning of Summer. Going back to the pizza place and shopping for school needs and clothes in Fall. Having popcorn and watching a rented movie on a stormy winter's night. I especially want them to know we have always loved, and always will love them. I think our relationships have evolved more to a friendship level now. At least that is my hope. Is it possible to stop being a parent, or a child of parents? Hopefully, we can reach a level of maturity where we put those roles in perspective and let go to experience and enjoy each other as the individuals we are.
On the lighter side: Kansas has had a mild and wet summer. Having grown up on the farm and having a farmer for a son-in-law I find that the growing seasons still influence my life. I love Spring and Fall, especially Spring since I was born in April, and Spring is a life-enriching time. Everything is reborn in Spring. As a child I loved summer. School was out, and I could bask in the long sunny days as I read a book or helped my mom freeze or can garden produce. Any hot weekend was an occasion for home-made ice cream served with angel food cake, lemonade and iced tea. Chewing on ice cubes while reading or working was a pleasant way to cool down. It still is a pleasant way to cool down, but better than ice cubes are the low-cal, low-sugar fruit smoothies I make to subdue a hot day. Mmm-Mmm!
I like Fall because it's a time to slow down and think. Cool, rainy afternoons are just right for catching up on journal writing, setting goals and planning, considering what I can do on those cold winter days when snow keeps me housebound. Will I attempt to get out my scrapbooking materials and finally finish the album I began soon after Alana was born and is still only half done? Maybe I'll write that short story or start a novel. Saturdays might be spent baking some bread or cinnamon rolls to warm up the kitchen and enjoy the scents that remind me of pleasant memories from the past. It's time to get out the full-spectrum lamp that I can sit under while I read or work on the computer to drive away the gloom of SAD. That's the main thing I dread about winter--the short and cloudy days that keep away the sunshine which I absolutely need to feel happy.
I guess I can always come to my blog here and surf the links and favorite other blog spots to drive away the gloom. I'm feeling better already because I have something to look forward to. I wonder if anyone will read this blog and find something that speaks to their heart and will inspire them to share or comment so we can carry on a conversation about life? I can only hope and pray that will happen.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The Pain of Heat vs. The Heat of Pain
Leaving the cool environment of our air conditioned house and tentively stepping through the door to the outside is like walking into an oversized oven where the oppresive heat smothers each successive breath. I imagine what it feels like to be a loaf of bread as it slides into the hot yawning mouth of my kitchen oven. The temperature may be only 105 degrees but with the added ingredient of humidity it feels more like the 350 degrees needed to bake me a crusty brown. Like that loaf of bread I'm trapped in an oven of summer heat.
I can't believe I grew up on a Kansas farm without air conditioning. We knew better because some business places and a few homes had air conditioning, but we couldn't afford the unit or the cost of electricity to keep it running. Besides, we worked outside much of the time and were used to the heat. I think people suffer from the heat more today because we've become acclimated to air conditioning and don't tolerate the heat as well. We've become slaves to our lifestyles and are driven to work regardless of the heat. I remember lazy summer afternoons when we ceased our labors and read a book or took a nap until the sun began its descent and the evening air became tolerable. We often slept outside on the picnic table or the swing on those nights a cool breeze failed to come through our bedroom windows. If mosquitos, coyotes howling too close for comfort, or a thunderstorm chased us indoors, we would sleep on the cool, hard linoleum of the living room floor. Our upstairs bedrooms which were under the eaves of the uninsulated roof took all night to cool off. One by one we five siblings would stumble sleepily up the stairs in the early morning hours of dawn and catch a couple hours of complete rest on our soft mattresses. A cool morning breeze flirting with the curtains at the open window finally sent a sensuous wave of cooling air over our sweaty bodies. But a few hours of sunshine would heat up the day as hot, or hotter, than the day before.
Most of August we could smell the vegetation scorching. The road passing on the south side of our farm was layered with white rock which had been pulverized into fine dust by car, truck, and farm machinery wheels. Each passing vehicle raised clouds of white dust that would race with the wind for our house and garden and spread a layer thick enough to obscure the distinctiveness of flower and leaf, and create a chalk board on every flat surface so I could practice writing my name. The dust and the packed, cracked earth under our feet had the scent of baked pottery. Cumulus clouds would gather and bump into each other splitting the air with lightening and thunder but nary a drop of rain would fall. Sometimes, a small quick shower would dump enough water to soak our clothes as we ran out and danced with the rain. The heat gave us an excuse to have water fights. Just as we walked past the corner of the house we would suddenly be hit with a blast of cold water from a well-aimed bucket-full pumped up from the cistern. No one was exempt, not even our mother, who took the assault good-naturedly. After the first shock wore off it was a welcome relief and most times we were able to forgive the perpetrator. Of course, we always found an opportunity to retaliate with the same enthusiasm.
Finally, the day came when clouds began to accumulate more frequently until they were heavy enough to dump a respectful one or two inches of rain on the parched earth. It was the first sign the summer heat was abating and we could soon look forward to cooler days and nights. The cows started giving more milk, the chickens increased their egg production, and we were all less irritable with one another. We had survived another Kansas summer.
After a particularly hot summer like the one we're enduring now, my husband and I would talk about moving somewhere else instead of enduring another summer in Kansas. Though we often vacationed in Colorado where the humidity is less and the nights are blissful, we've never pulled up stakes and moved. Our resolve weakens when the next summer proves to be more mild. Family roots are more important than physical comfort. And so we endure the pain of heat, yet not without the comfort of knowing it's temporary. Fall inevitably follows summer.
I remember walking barefoot as a child on our cement sidewalks, feeling the burning heat on the bottom of my feet. Today, I have the same burning pain in my feet, but it's not from walking on sun-baked cement. The burning pain I feel these days is from the damaged nerves of peripheral neuropathy. I'm trapped in this body of pain, and the only relief is the daily regimen of pain medications that make the pain tolerable. I'm living one long summer since there's no cure for neuropathy, and there are no seasons of spring, fall, and winter to bring relief from the burning pain. Half the battle is won since I've accepted this pain will probably be with me the rest of my life, unless the nerves completely die and numbness replaces the pain. But that doesn't seem likely since the pain is as intense as it was when it began seven or eight years ago. I'm not talking about this to elicit sympathy. That's the last thing I need to give me the strength I need to rise above the pain. Rather I talk about it to try and make sense of it, to convince myself that what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. And maybe someone else who suffers chronic pain will read this and not feel alone with their pain.
Everyday, I ask myself, "What am I learning from this pain?" "What is the purpose of pain in my life?" So far I've learned that suffering does teach us about who we are, what kind of stuff we're made of. I don't have to understand why I have painful neuropathy to endure it and learn from it. Perhaps it's been given to me to keep me from becoming proud, like Paul in
2 Cor. 12:7-10, and to depend on God's grace. Maybe, like Job, I'm being tested. Or because of my pain I can be of help to others through understanding and encouragement as suggested in 2 Cor. 1:3-7: "...for when we are comforted, we will certainly comfort you."
Living in the furnace of trial by fire we need not be without comfort, for God has promised to be faithful to those of us who have faith in His love and believe in our friend, Jesus, and the constant comfort of the Holy Spirit and The Word. There are days I feel sorry for myself. But then I read or hear of someone who experiences and triumps over worse adversities than I. (See my link to "Check This Out!") I'm reminded that we are all trying to survive whatever situations or circumstances we find ourselves in this life. Who or what we rely on for strength and comfort can make a huge difference on how we make it through each day, how we endure the Heat of Pain. Earthly pain is temporary and will be gone when this life is over and we move on to our eternal home. Here's a song that expresses my thoughts today:
This World Is Not My Home
This world is not my home I'm just-a-passing through
My pleasure and my hopes are way beyond the blue
Many friends and loved ones have gone on before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Cho.: Oh Lord you know I have no friend like you
If heaven's not my home oh Lord what will I do
The Angels beckon me to heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Over in gloryland there'll be no dying there
The saints are shouting victory and singing everywhere
I hear the voice of those who've gone on before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
My Lord's expecting me that's one thing I know
I fixed it up with Jesus a long time ago
He will take me through though I am weak and poor
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Author: na; Version: na
Lyrics provided courtesy of Bluegrass Lyrics.Com!
I can't believe I grew up on a Kansas farm without air conditioning. We knew better because some business places and a few homes had air conditioning, but we couldn't afford the unit or the cost of electricity to keep it running. Besides, we worked outside much of the time and were used to the heat. I think people suffer from the heat more today because we've become acclimated to air conditioning and don't tolerate the heat as well. We've become slaves to our lifestyles and are driven to work regardless of the heat. I remember lazy summer afternoons when we ceased our labors and read a book or took a nap until the sun began its descent and the evening air became tolerable. We often slept outside on the picnic table or the swing on those nights a cool breeze failed to come through our bedroom windows. If mosquitos, coyotes howling too close for comfort, or a thunderstorm chased us indoors, we would sleep on the cool, hard linoleum of the living room floor. Our upstairs bedrooms which were under the eaves of the uninsulated roof took all night to cool off. One by one we five siblings would stumble sleepily up the stairs in the early morning hours of dawn and catch a couple hours of complete rest on our soft mattresses. A cool morning breeze flirting with the curtains at the open window finally sent a sensuous wave of cooling air over our sweaty bodies. But a few hours of sunshine would heat up the day as hot, or hotter, than the day before.
Most of August we could smell the vegetation scorching. The road passing on the south side of our farm was layered with white rock which had been pulverized into fine dust by car, truck, and farm machinery wheels. Each passing vehicle raised clouds of white dust that would race with the wind for our house and garden and spread a layer thick enough to obscure the distinctiveness of flower and leaf, and create a chalk board on every flat surface so I could practice writing my name. The dust and the packed, cracked earth under our feet had the scent of baked pottery. Cumulus clouds would gather and bump into each other splitting the air with lightening and thunder but nary a drop of rain would fall. Sometimes, a small quick shower would dump enough water to soak our clothes as we ran out and danced with the rain. The heat gave us an excuse to have water fights. Just as we walked past the corner of the house we would suddenly be hit with a blast of cold water from a well-aimed bucket-full pumped up from the cistern. No one was exempt, not even our mother, who took the assault good-naturedly. After the first shock wore off it was a welcome relief and most times we were able to forgive the perpetrator. Of course, we always found an opportunity to retaliate with the same enthusiasm.
Finally, the day came when clouds began to accumulate more frequently until they were heavy enough to dump a respectful one or two inches of rain on the parched earth. It was the first sign the summer heat was abating and we could soon look forward to cooler days and nights. The cows started giving more milk, the chickens increased their egg production, and we were all less irritable with one another. We had survived another Kansas summer.
After a particularly hot summer like the one we're enduring now, my husband and I would talk about moving somewhere else instead of enduring another summer in Kansas. Though we often vacationed in Colorado where the humidity is less and the nights are blissful, we've never pulled up stakes and moved. Our resolve weakens when the next summer proves to be more mild. Family roots are more important than physical comfort. And so we endure the pain of heat, yet not without the comfort of knowing it's temporary. Fall inevitably follows summer.
I remember walking barefoot as a child on our cement sidewalks, feeling the burning heat on the bottom of my feet. Today, I have the same burning pain in my feet, but it's not from walking on sun-baked cement. The burning pain I feel these days is from the damaged nerves of peripheral neuropathy. I'm trapped in this body of pain, and the only relief is the daily regimen of pain medications that make the pain tolerable. I'm living one long summer since there's no cure for neuropathy, and there are no seasons of spring, fall, and winter to bring relief from the burning pain. Half the battle is won since I've accepted this pain will probably be with me the rest of my life, unless the nerves completely die and numbness replaces the pain. But that doesn't seem likely since the pain is as intense as it was when it began seven or eight years ago. I'm not talking about this to elicit sympathy. That's the last thing I need to give me the strength I need to rise above the pain. Rather I talk about it to try and make sense of it, to convince myself that what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. And maybe someone else who suffers chronic pain will read this and not feel alone with their pain.
Everyday, I ask myself, "What am I learning from this pain?" "What is the purpose of pain in my life?" So far I've learned that suffering does teach us about who we are, what kind of stuff we're made of. I don't have to understand why I have painful neuropathy to endure it and learn from it. Perhaps it's been given to me to keep me from becoming proud, like Paul in
2 Cor. 12:7-10, and to depend on God's grace. Maybe, like Job, I'm being tested. Or because of my pain I can be of help to others through understanding and encouragement as suggested in 2 Cor. 1:3-7: "...for when we are comforted, we will certainly comfort you."
Living in the furnace of trial by fire we need not be without comfort, for God has promised to be faithful to those of us who have faith in His love and believe in our friend, Jesus, and the constant comfort of the Holy Spirit and The Word. There are days I feel sorry for myself. But then I read or hear of someone who experiences and triumps over worse adversities than I. (See my link to "Check This Out!") I'm reminded that we are all trying to survive whatever situations or circumstances we find ourselves in this life. Who or what we rely on for strength and comfort can make a huge difference on how we make it through each day, how we endure the Heat of Pain. Earthly pain is temporary and will be gone when this life is over and we move on to our eternal home. Here's a song that expresses my thoughts today:
This World Is Not My Home
This world is not my home I'm just-a-passing through
My pleasure and my hopes are way beyond the blue
Many friends and loved ones have gone on before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Cho.: Oh Lord you know I have no friend like you
If heaven's not my home oh Lord what will I do
The Angels beckon me to heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Over in gloryland there'll be no dying there
The saints are shouting victory and singing everywhere
I hear the voice of those who've gone on before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
My Lord's expecting me that's one thing I know
I fixed it up with Jesus a long time ago
He will take me through though I am weak and poor
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore
Author: na; Version: na
Lyrics provided courtesy of Bluegrass Lyrics.Com!
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