The Past and the Present: Normandie Life

I snapped a little shot on my phone of the main street of our downtown area. I think it actually gets more charming as you move in a little further towards the church ... but I have been so touched by all of the flag buntings that I see flying on houses and at the entry to this marketplace. Did you notice the nationalities? With the 70 year anniversary of World War II this last summer, there are tributes everywhere.

Our little town here was hit by bombs so severely that 90% of the town was destroyed as the Allied Forces were forced to attack the German occupation. The photos I've seen are so sobering. And certainly, I think of my own Grandfather Stone and his experience.

I had my first language exchange/chat yesterday with a French woman, as we both want to work on our language skills with a native speaker. (Incidentally, her English is far better than my French and she is very patient!) She was surprised to hear that often, Americans think the French don't like us.

Pourquoi? She asked, surprised. She proceeded to talk about Americans as the friends of the French and told me a few stories of her family during the war. This is Normandy. And these events were not that long ago.

Many of the buildings had to be rebuilt from the ground up, some restored expertly, and others have been fabulously patched and mortared back together. We love to drive around and point out buildings that show new and creative stonework that managed to salvage original structures.


But even though the events of the past are not at all forgotten, a resiliency and pride are notable. To see flowers blooming and a monument erected at the spot the tanks first rolled through ... Wow.

We have yet to get to the D-day beaches. Have any of you been? Any tips or things we should definitely do or see? If you have never been, like me, what would you be most curious about?

The Becoming of Memories

 Today was an interesting day. A revisiting and packing up of memories in preparation for future. I was hesitant to begin the removal and storage of all of our wall hangings, decorations, books ... the signs that have made this house our house and not that of someone else.

Is it the thing, the place that is so dear ... or just that it is what, where our memories rest upon? How come memories feel so sweet and yet so tender all at once?

It was hard at first to fill the boxes, but now I am finding it somewhat cathartic. With each bare wall exposed and empty bookcase wiped down, I am reminded of what really makes this house special. Our home and yard have been lovely, yes. But what has truly made it special is that it held us and our memories. The us  part ... well, we are still intact. Ready to be held by a new place ... together. Us.

My mama was here for the day, a regular workhorse she is. She packed box upon box with tetris-like precision. Not only was she a massive help, but it was a treasure to talk about future plans and reminisce over the past. After unloading the attic, we came upon the box marked "wedding dress" and I remarked that after sixteen years, I have never once taken it back out, nor tried it on.

So, guess what we did.

Days of Remembrance

This is one of those photos that encapsulates a memory fully. I remember going to this parking-lot carnival with Grandpa Vanderburg. I remember the cotton candy and the corduroy jacket and the woven raffia headband that dug into the soft spot behind my ears ... but that I loved anyway. And I remember being here with Grandpa and feeling special.

The tanned farmer who raised six kids and took great pride in the grands. A man always good for a raspy chuckle and an eye-roll inducing joke. A man who proudly loved his wife and could grow a pumpkin so large you could sit inside of it and eat your caramel apple. A man who both unabashedly and quietly loved the Lord and those He placed in his care.

These end-of-life days are a brutal business. As believers in Christ, there is a hope and a future that brings very real comfort. But we cling to life and to those we love. Even as we desire to set free, we hold dear. These are the days of remembrance and yet also, anticipation.

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. 

Hebrews 10:23

A Captured Heart

This past Saturday, my little boy turned 13 years old. In my mind and heart, he is still this fuzzy-headed, bright-eyed little boy.

We are all better people for knowing and admiring this young man. He inspires me year after year.

Strength for Today and Bright Hope for Tomorrow

 My grandfather's service was this week. It was hard, as these things are, but so very good, as well. His was a life transformed by and devoted to Christ. What a legacy for us to inherit. What motivation to move us forward.

I spoke at his service. It was not planned ... by me, anyways. But the day before, I had a pressing from the Lord. With trepidation, I decided I was willing. Willing if the Lord did the work. If He gave me words and if it was with purpose. He did, and I believe it was.

I was very emotional, but emboldened. Never before have I spoke with such conviction and strength. I can say that, because it was the Lord at work. Truly. And it is my prayer that His truth stirs hearts towards Him. No better way to honor my grandfather.

"If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved; for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation. For the Scripture says, “ Whoever believes in Him will not be disappointed.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; for the same Lord is Lord of all, abounding in riches for all who call on Him; for “ Whoever will call on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

Romans 10:9-13

A Together Opportunity

I love summer entertaining. There is an ease and casualness that appeals to me. Plus, I love to eat outside. 

Recently, we had my brother and sister-in-law over for an evening of chatting, nerf blow-dart wars (more to come on that) and excited anticipation of their baby due later this month. We had a tasty dinner of salmon, watermelon and salad, but aren't the appetizers always the best? I almost always just yank odds & ends from the cupboards. 

Pull out the wooden cutting board that Uncle Kelly made and add a couple of sharp knives, a hunk of salami, a couple of cheeses, bread and crackers, and some jam. And if it's on hand, some vino or Pellegrino. I was also pleased to use two of my hammered brass bowls I picked up at a little flea-market in France. Perfect for pistachios ... one for the nuts and one for the discarded shells.

The spread? It feels fancy, but it's really just grown-up snacking.




This next week will be full of family moments as we anticipate my grandfather's service. Perhaps not as easy or as casual as the evening with Peter and Allie, but it will be good nonetheless. And isn't it interesting that after emotional events, we like provide a chance for dear ones to sit, eat, visit.

An opportunity to slow down and participate together. 

Victory in Jesus and Muffins to Celebrate

Last night my grandfather went to be with the Lord. And this morning we celebrate the victory we have in Jesus.

It's an amazing thing, faith. In Christ we can experience both sorrow and joy all at once. I don't know that this happens outside of Him.

It's true, I have waves of aching sadness. But my grandfather's hope was in the Lord. He has waited some 60 years to meet his savior and as Jane commented, "Today he has hugged Great-Mother and is walking with God." Yes, my dear one, yes. And because of that I have joy.

This morning the children and I set-up breakfast on the outdoor picnic table. And because it's what we do, we made something tasty to eat. Oatmeal Apple Muffins. And because today is, ultimately, a celebration ... we added chocolate chips.

What a testimony it is to live a life given to the Lord. Not a perfect life. Not even a notable life. But a life of earnest love and service to our Savior. God is good.



Victory Oatmeal Apple Breakfast Muffins

Combine and let soak while getting other ingredients together:
2 c. oats
2 c. buttermilk

Add and mix well:
2 eggs
1 c. brown sugar
2 medium apples, grated
.25 c. oil or applesauce
2 c. flour (white whole-wheat works well)
2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1 t. salt
.5 t pumpkin pie spice (or just shake in some cinnamon and nutmeg)

To make them into "victory muffins" add:
.5 bag mini chocolate chips

Fill 2 trays of muffin pans three-quarters full. Bake for 400 degrees, 16-18 minutes. Cool for 5 minutes then eat with joy.

The Days of Faith

 

It's been a hard past few days. My sweet Grandfather Stone is in his last days. And it hasn't been an easy road for him or any of us. Having watching the suffering of my grandmother just a few years ago, it feels confusing that both of them should face such end-of-life trial after a lifetime of humble service to Him.

Yet. God is still good. God is still faithful.

After receiving call from my mother that he had been given a 12-24 hour window by Hospice, I traveled down Monday evening. I am so very glad I went. The following is an email I sent to a friend:


I was not expecting my grandfather to recognize me and the 1st day and a half he didn't. But Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning he was unaccountably alert, completely recognized me and I could tell understood what I was saying to him. I told him I loved him, read scripture and when I asked if he wanted me to pray with him he nodded his head. Before I left yesterday, I heard him say to me, "love you" and then "bye, hon." It's what he always, always said to me.

Here's something equally amazing. The reason hospice gave a 12-24 hr. alert was because of some mottling of skin on his feet. This, apparently, is a definitive sign that the end is near. At almost 24 hours, exactly, he begins to become more alert and a few more hours later, the mottling is gone. Hospice, the nurse, and the caregivers have never heard of this happening. My Dad arrived home from a 20-hour car trip from Arizona that evening and my brother gets in today.

When I was talking to my husband on the phone he was telling me that at lunchtime, Jane, our six year-old, was praying for "Great-Father" (as the kids call him) and asked God that he would let him live just a little longer. The timeline of her prayer and my grandfather's inexplicable rally coincide. The prayers of a six-year old -- arrows straight to the Lord.

I said my goodbyes to my grandfather and I am at peace with that. It is the Lord's timing when he takes this sweet man home, but it is very soon. I am both joyful and heartbroken. You know how these things go.

Grandad has run his race, as Hebrews says, and run it well. Is there more for him to learn? More room for his faith to be refined? Is that why his time here continues? No. I don't think that's it. This trial God is allowing him to endure is teaching all of us and refining our faith. Grandad's faithfulness is allowing him to be used for the Lord's purposes up until the very last minute when the Lord calls him home. Just like Grandma. What a legacy.

And this is how God is good.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith ..."

Hebrews 12:2

Full of Dreams

Ever had a dream that you've had to let go of ...

Fifteen years ago I took a college trip to Western Europe. That initial trip was a catalyst of sorts for me. Like part of me opened up that I didn't know was waiting to blossom. The travel, the culture, the vistas, the people, the history ... so quietly powerful it felt private, like a secret. In a strange sort of way, it was like falling in love.

In that time since, I feel as though I've traveled Europe many times over. Amazing what books, good movies, and an over-active imagination can do. I plotted and dreamed of many pretend returns. But there came a season where I had to stop taking the travel magazines and watching that darn Rick Steves on his magical PBS adventures. It was too hard. I was flat out jealous and covetous of the opportunities of everyone else. Nevermind that I had three healthy babies at home, a kind husband, and a cozy roof over our head. Wanderlust can be a brazen intruder. Covetousness wreaks havoc on contentment.

So I released the dream.

Before my grandmother died, she called me over to the sofa beside her. Having lost her voice to Lou Gehrig's Disease, she sat with her little typy-machine, Lillian. In her hands, with the familiar knuckles and veins that look so much like my own, she had an envelope. Without words, from her hands to mine, it was passed. Inside, from my frugal and simple-living grandparents, was a check. A completely unexpected chunk of change that left me with my mouth agape. "What do you want to see me do with this?" I asked. She looked at me with her ever-determined eyes and typed one word on her machine: "Invest."

Invest.

But in what? So many ways to interpret that word.

It's now been almost three years since she went home to the Lord. And the gift has been sitting, waiting for the right opportunity. I didn't want to just buy stuff. I wanted it to go towards something that we could say to the children "This was from Great Mother and Great Father." And I wanted it to have purpose in each of our lives. So I waited. Waited for the purpose.

And then one day last summer I was musing over Peter. His love for history and ancient cultures continues to grow and I couldn't help but wonder how God would have us fan the flames of interest that He had placed in our boy. Then it hit me. Family. Invest the gift in the family. Travel. Experience. Bond. Tie ourselves together through a shared journey. Open up God's world to the children and have them wonder what is His intended purpose for them in it.

Since that day, God has given confirmation time and time again. I am so excited I will randomly break out into tears at the very thought of our impending trip. It's like that long-ago blossoming is occurring again. There is springtime in my soul right now and I am so, so overcome with gratitude.

In two months we will take a three-week trip to Europe. And I am full of dreams once more.

Apple Cider and New Joys

 Isn't it fun to have fun friends? You know, the ones who have great ideas and invite you to share in their brilliance?

David and Apricot were pals with Pops and myself when we were all in high school youth group together. Somehow we managed to pair off and get married and still be in touch. Life has led us to different careers, different journeys and even different continents, but old relationships have a sticking power.

Besides. When those relationships are with people who like some no-nonsense fun, you make sure to stay on their invite-list.

 This weekend we went to an apple-cider making shin-dig in their backyard. We all came with apples, mason jars, and portable children ... just to keep it interesting.

 With all the heaving and cranking necessary, the men got to wield the massive strength they are naturally encumbered with and impressed us all. Particularly once the juicin' hit the cups.

  I love meeting new people and going new places. It's a visceral need of mine. But old, dear friends can never really be replaced. So much shared history. People who remember the self-absorbed 16 year-old you... the one with the massive bangs and talent for pretending that you understood all those Monty-Python movies ... and they still like you.

For as the years go by, we get to match up all that we knew we always loved with all that is newly there to love.

And just from making some cider ... there is more joy.

Sweet Memories and Posterity

My mother was amazing. Not only did she create many memorable garments of my childhood ... but she saved them, too. They are treasures.


I, however, have been a consistent noodle-head over the years, forgetting to pull them out for the girls to have their turn. When they were little I was so overwhelmed in general, I just couldn't get my act together. I figured I could do it the next day. Or week. Or kid.

But then they got older and I would just plan ol' forget. 

Until I'd stumble upon them and force my girls into them to take a picture. For posterity and such. Because if you can zip it up, it fits, right?

I remember wearing these coveralls while working with Dad on his white Chevy Nova. (With red vinyl bench seats that scald and stick to your sweaty kids thighs in the summer, thank you very much.)

Dad had a matching set of coveralls with an appropriate "Jack" patch. Naturally, I needed a patch too. Mama made me an "Anna" patch.

I felt so. loved.

So even though I am late, as usual, in appreciating the precious bits of past my mother lovingly saved, they are dearly appreciated, nonetheless.

And actually, overdue as it is, I've taken great enjoyment documenting my Jane for posterity ... because that posterior view is filling me with glee.

Old is New Again

When I was little, I played cards with Nannie. Old Maid, Animal Rummy ... oodles of fun. Especially since the illustrations were so very charming. Imagine my delight when I found a reproduction set of the exact cards Nannie and I used to play with.

Perfect for family game night when the little ones want to participate but aren't quite up to Monopoly yet. And more perfect, still, for an afternoon match between Miss Jane and me.

A Wee Morning Wedding

 It's cliche, I know, but ... I have a thing for the Royals. As a girl, I stayed up in the wee hours to watch Princess Diana get married. I was truly captivated.

 At the time, my Aunt Mary was living in England and would send me little bits of British memorabilia. The books on Diana and Sarah Ferguson's weddings were my most favorites. (I can't help but wonder if they will make a companion book on William and Kate. Dear British readers ... will you keep your eye out for me??)

I particularly loved the back page in each book where there was the official family photo with a key to indicate who was who. And oh, those hats! I believe, actually, that my favorite belonged to the Queen Mother. (That's her on the left in the seafoam green.)

So, while everyone has been rolling their eyes this past month over all of the royal who-ha, I've been secretly thrilled. The anticipation was delicious. What would her dress look like?

Last Thursday night, I set two alarms. One for 1:50am and one for 2:00am. Just in case. I was going to watch William and Kate. In the early morning darkness, I watched Princes William and Harry and various guests arrive and marveled at the stunning transformation of Westminster Abbey. The trees! Inside! And remembered how I once sat for a church service in that very same place, about 20 feet from where the Queen herself was now seated. Sweet giddy-ness!

And right before Kate was due for her appearance, I woke my own girls up. We cuddled up with tea and cookies and took it all in. The soon-to-be princess? Stunning. Her dress? Sheer perfection. We watched every minute until they drove off in their carriage before tucking ourselves back in bed. 

Felt like a bit of a midnight secret ... just for us girls.

A New Life for the Pickle Pot

 

 For awhile now, I've been in possession of a piece of my grandmother's crockery. It's affectionately known as "The Pickle Pot."

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother would brine cucumbers in this crock to make sweet pickles. If it had a lid, I don't remember. She would always just put a plate on top. And when it was time to can the pickles, I'd get a little jar of my own with a handwritten label: "Anna's Sweet Pickles." As a child, I translated the label as "hands off, Grandma made these just for me!" and I would hoard them in the fridge with a complete lack of concern or consideration for my family.

Now that the pickle pot lives at our house, it has not seen any pickle making. It has half-heartedly been holding magazines, as I really haven't been in a pickle state of mind. But then. The thought occurred to me ... potted plants. Now the pickle pot is at the front door brimming with a little garden and welcoming all who enter.

Grandma liked to garden and welcome too. My heart smiles.

The Mark of a Decade

Pride is one of the seven deadly sins; but it cannot be the pride of a mother in her children, for that is a compound of two cardinal virtues -- faith and hope.

-Charles Dickens

Happy 10th Birthday, my son. This decade has brought me more pride, more faith, and more hope than I ever knew to expect.

One of the Best Ever

When Pops and I were still in college, yet separated by geography, he gave me a hot water bottle. One of the sweetest gifts he's ever given me. Why you must wonder?

He bought an old fashioned rubber hot-water bottle, some fabric he thought looked cozy, and took the materials to a little lady who knew how to sew. He asked her to make a cover for it so it would be nice to cuddle up with. Knowing I'm often freezing cold, he thought the water bottle could keep me warm when he wasn't around to do it himself.

While my term-paper writing days are over (thankfully!), I'll often stick it under the bed-covers to keep my feet toasty (although, kicking it whilst asleep will jolt one awake thinking there is a jiggly, heavy, furry animal in bed with oneself). And today, I had my chilly feet perched atop it while paying the bills. A much nicer task, indeed, with warm feet and a cup of tea to boot.

And that, you see, is why it is one of the best gifts I've ever received. What is one of yours?

13 Wonderfully Grubby Years

 Based on the size of Pops' eye-glasses, I figure this photo to be about 17 years ago. I'm not sure I ever really imagined the future ahead of me, but I've been swept off my feet ever since.

Today marks our 13th wedding anniversary. It's a good life to have someone to get grubby with year after year.

A Right Jolly Old Elf

When I was little, I always loved going to Nanie's house at Christmas time. There would be be an appearance of Santa himself ... I never saw him, but I heard his bells, the tromping of hoofs, and Santa's bellowing voice as he filled our stockings and said nice things about us all. Funny. Santa's voice sounded an awful lot like Nanie's.

My stocking would be filled with various bits and bobs, but without fail, there would be cellophane wrapped Christmas nougats. The peppermint kind with a candy cane stripe around the circular edge and a little green Christmas tree in the middle. Marvelous.

I also looked forward to a cuddle or two with a Santa Baby. There were several sizes. All united, however, in their petite, austere cuteness. I'm told they once belonged to Nanie's mama. They had ... and still do have ... a faint smell of wool and nostalgia.

Just my size, these little, sturdy red elves would spend the day taking a ride on my hip or sitting in my lap.

And now they warm the laps of a new generation, just as enchanted as I.

So Much Life

This past weekend I was able to take pictures of one of my dearest friends and her stunning family. Jenny and I were once crib-mates when our parents first met at a church fellowship group. I'm told we napped together, though I'm sure we just tricked them and spent our whole time chatting. It's been our life pattern.

The years have been good to our friendship and we've spent the past thirty-four years invested in the life of the other. What a treasure. And speaking of, this photo of her husband and daughter just melts me. Might be one of my favorite pictures ever.

What a marvel to have shared so much life together.

Reminders of Love

When I was little, Grandpa and Nanie V. lived on a farm. We'd run the cornfields looking for baby kittens, eat our lunches in those big tractor scoops, carve monstrous pumpkins in the fall, and eat Pudding Pops to our hearts content. And always, I remember Nana puttering with plants. Iris by the front window, geraniums in the garage planters, African violets under those funny indoor purple lights. They do not live on the farm any more, but I do cherish those childhood memories.

We had Nanie V. in the hospital for a few days. She is back at home now, recovering well. We are thankful. My sweet Aunt Dawn, who has deep gifting in care-taking, emailed us all to give an update and soothe any worries.

She reported that she spent the night to make sure all continued well. This morning she happened to overhear Grandpa speak to Nana in regards to the night. He said, "I heard you cough and that reminded me that I love you."

 My heart swells.