Today is Father’s Day. My father was wonderful in many ways. But, his mental illness had a negative impact on my thought processes. He wasn’t the champion and hero I needed. He loved me. He was proud of me. I love him and miss him very much.
I married a champion and hero. He and I raised a champion and hero. Our son is like him and like me, too. Strong, take charge, fearless and still a sacrificial care giver to his family. Our daughter is the same. The best of both of us has come together in our children. As we see them parent their little girls, it is very apparent.
I praise Him, today. He is the True Source of my joy and happiness. All the time I am wanting to be different, He is making me different. Not my ideas, but His so much better ideas for me are working themselves out. I am not really an adult orphan, after all. My Father is still protecting, guiding, patiently teaching me with His loving ways. Happy Father’s Day, Lord.
Yes, I know it is Thursday. I did not really forget to do Raining Orchids yesterday. I just forgot when it got time to do it. Sometime this morning or maybe late last night when I was almost asleep, I remembered I had not posted. Coming back to reality after the past couple of weeks is taking its toll on me!
I was a little concerned I would not have much to get excited about for a little while. I was wrong.
I got my iPod going last month. He bought me a new one for my birthday. I waited until this week to start walking the track again. Between all the scheduled traveling and the deadly heat, it seemed prudent to wait. Even today, the heat is causing me to delay a while. I need the track time. I sleep better when I have made a few laps. Better sleep makes for better days altogether.
We have a special event coming up at church. I am looking forward to the event and also the preparations I will have a part in leading up to it. There is a vacancy at the church he and I are trying to help cover. I have not worked with youth in years. A couple of girls come fairly regularly and are delightful to engage in conversation. He is trying to cover Sunday School and I am trying to do something Wednesday evening until a regular youth minister can be hired.
A new issue of Bella Grace should be on the rack at the bookstore. I need to pick up some supplies for the activities at church in the big town an hour south of us tomorrow. I have a few items still needing to be packed up and shipped west. The gathering of the girls that was delayed last month due to illness has been rescheduled.
We have weathered heartbreaking losses over the years. We are managing something that is devastating to think about. My mother’s sister has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s for a few years now. I take her sister to visit her and we have a small party with “the girls” so as not to overwhelm her. We dress up and act silly for a few hours every month when possible. When I say dress up: we are dressing up as clowns for our ritual group photo this time. I hope the littlest one isn’t afraid of clowns.
My life is ridiculously simple to most folks. My life is incredibly rich to me. Small delights and great blessings abound. Orchids are pouring down upon me. It doesn’t seem right to not be happy. Not with all I have undeservedly been given.
I always thought somehow we would all finally get well and gather together and live happily ever after. It took me so long to figure out that life is not a destination. I don’t know when I started grasping that idea. I don’t know if I fully grasp that idea. Part of me is still waiting for everyone to come home.
Life is what it is. Someone very dear to me recently told me something his father has been telling me for so many years. We were sitting out on the deck looking out over the mountains behind his house. Talking about this and that. He said: