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The Women

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Once again the women gathered. This past weekend my mother’s two sisters, their best friend, and several more of us gathered for dinner and laughs. There were four generations represented. The oldest in their mid-seventies and the youngest at eighteen months.

We ate dessert first. Then after dinner and a lot of talking and laughing, we donned Mardi Gras beads and crazy hats for our group photo. My aunt figures out something silly for us to put on each time for the pictures.

The littlest two girls loved the beads. They loaded all they could around their necks. Our baby girl finally dropped hers down to her ankles and kicked them off!   Big sister’s pile must have weighed half as much as she did!

This is a new ritual for us. My mother’s youngest sister has been diagnoses with Alzheimer’s. One would have to pay attention to realize she is having problems. When we are all together, she laughs and visits right along with us. We will try to get as many laughs and hugs in as we can in the time each of us has left.

What else is there? Love. In the end, that is all that matters. In the end, it is what made us and what sustains us. He is Love. From His Love He created us. Through His Love He saves us. To His Love we will return.

To love and worship Him through Christ. To keep His commandments. To keep His command to love each other. When one really gets to the center of that concept, everything else is a natural outpouring of true love. It is hard to love others. To make our way to true love. It is risky and dangerous to extend the heart and mind to love. To love and be loved.

And so, Lord willing, the women will continue to gather. To love and be loved. To learn to love even more. To teach the little ones how to love and be loved. Just as our mother’s before us taught us to love. In their memory and honor we gather to sustain each other and grow another generation to love and sustain each other.

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Black and Blue

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At times, my heart becomes black and blue from the concerns that come my way.  I find myself overly concerned about my children, about home things, about him.

I say “overly” because I believe worry to be a futile waste of energy.  I want to be concerned enough to pray for them, to spend time helping them, to tell them I love them, to gently guide or present another view.  But, to be so concerned that I become fretful is not a good thing.  It shows lack of faith.

I confess I have been overly concerned about my son and his wife during their recent travels and their island move in progress.  They are managing just fine.  He is just more relaxed about everything than I am.  I like having a detailed plan and definite commitments for big things like they are doing at the moment.  He seems to fly by the seat of his pants, like his father.  They are both successful men and have each other for conferring and helping when needed.  I need not worry a bit.

I encouraged my daughter to try to refrain from becoming distressed about situations in her life.  In fact, I have been doing that a lot recently with her. She is getting married, moving, changing jobs, all this summer.  Just one thing at a time.  Patience.  His timing is perfect.  Regarding a loved one’s illness, I simply said, find out what you can and pray.  Not much else to do for the situation right now.

I am not so very worried about him today.  Things are going well for him.  I am always trying to feed him healthier foods.  He is trying to like it.  I told him I don’t want to be a widow for my last 30 years, since I intend to live to 102!

As for myself and home, I got a few things done.  But, I was too late to salvage one project.  It will have to redevelop.  I am set up to do it now, though.  Our yard is looking so good.  The grass is green from all the rain.  Even in the flower beds!  The rain has been steady recently limiting the opportunity to work on some things.

I started a special project the first of June.  When I get more done on it, I will talk about it.  I don’t want to diffuse my energy and focus by discussing it yet.  Suffice it to say, things are going.  Not as quickly as I would hope, but I am not losing confidence of the final result coming sooner rather than later.

Yes, my heart gets black and blue.  But, then I recall what I have survived and to what I have to look forward.  And my heart feels better.  Great thing about it, I don’t have to wait for the bruises to fade.  Just a moment and the miracle of Mercy can make it rosy red again.

There is one black and blue I love to look at over and over.  On a special day, in the middle of the ocean, where molten rock once met salty sea, I found a perfect black and blue:

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