Glory in a Firey Gerbera

Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power
and the glory and the majesty and the splendor,

for everything in heaven and earth is yours.

Yours, O LORD, is the kingdom;

you are exalted as head over all.

1 Chronicles 29:11

Poetry Can Be Dangerous

Lucette, you did great at your poetry recitation! Did you have fun?
Uh, not really.
Why not? You did a lovely job!
'Cause my heart was beatin' like a bomb!

--Conversation following performance of "Hey, Diddle, Diddle" at Open-Mic Night

Like a Glove

The suspense continues to mount and I wanted to peek in on my birdies. With the hotel seemingly unoccupied for the moment, I figured I better make haste. No one wants to return home to an unexpected guest nosing about the room. After gathering the unwieldy ladder and smacking my knee on a door frame (golly, that smarts), I thought it best to don some gloves. I recalled some warning of leaving scent, as I believe we don't smell very assuring.


I walked to the closet and pulled out a pair of gloves. Grandma's gloves. Last week, on the day she passed, my dad was rummaging around the garage. Out of all the things to grab, he was drawn to these gloves and handed them to me. "Here," he offered. "These don't need to stay in the garage." I thought it rather odd, to be honest. Why the old gloves? But I took them, packed them home, and didn't think of them again until today.

When I pulled the gloves on, in preparation for my birdie snooping, I lifted them to my nose. Smell. How clever God is. In an instant, I experienced my Grandmother in one of those inexplicable ways. The smell was familiar and comforting. Something like cold cream and hugs.


No eggs yet. But they've been busy. And if they detect some scent, I'm sure they'll understand that it was only Grandma. And Grandma always makes you feel assured.

Dogwood Cuttings

It's amazing how much beauty is free for the taking. Just outside my door and a few snips later, I became possessor of a gloriously large show of salmon-hued dogwood blossoms on green-sprigged branches.

'Tis true, they weren't entirely happy to stay in my (recently thrifted) basket-weave, milk glass vase ($1.99). They kept trying to escape, popping over the edge like one of my children from a too-hot bath. A quick dash to the garage, I returned, armed with a zip-tie from Pops' bountiful stash. I hog-tied those branches in a most unceremonious way and they have yet to reoffend.

Don't mess with a mama trying to pretty-up the dining table.

Juicy Fruits on White Linens

Rooms for Rent

The family went off to church yesterday and I stayed home. It was really good to just be. I sat outside with some tea and my bible and read. I read in 1 Thessalonians and in the Psalms and thought about my grandparents. Yesterday was their wedding anniversary. It would have been 57 years. Later, while I was praying, I heard a thunk, thunk. It seemed to be coming from our bird hotel.

When Pops and I were dating, he helped me build a CD storage tower. It was quite nifty. But in recent years, we've gone mostly digital and decided it was time to re-purpose it. Pops and Peter cleverly removed the knobs, drilled some holes, and attached it to a lone post out by the playhouse and the snowball bush. We all got a good giggle over it and didn't think it would really appeal to our feathered friends. Apparently, we were mistaken.


I pulled out my Stokes Field Guide, and determined that these two industrious parents are Black-capped Chickadees. They are flitting about the yard and readying their nursery with great enthusiasm. I'm not sure how big of a brood they are anticipating, as they are preparing the top two rooms for occupation.


"Good Morning!" they seemed to chirp to me. "Would you like to watch our little burgeoning family?"

Why, yes. Yes, I would.

Celebrating Life

The grief is deep because the love is so great. We celebrated my grandmother yesterday. Old friends and family came to smile, laugh, hug, and cry. She was a dear, dear woman ... and a feisty one, too.

None of us could share about her without commenting on her strength and spunk. The night before she passed, my dad was to carry her up to her bedroom. She insisted on walking halfway up before letting Dad scoop her up and take her the rest of the way. What a determined little Italian lady she was.


She was also a woman who depended on the Lord and trusted His will over her own. Story after story I heard of how her faith and strength of character ministered to the people who found their lives crossing paths with hers.

We're not ready to be fine yet. But we will be.

Death has been swallowed up in victory.
"Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
(I Corinthians 15: 54-58)

Life as a Slideshow

Preparing a slideshow for the memorial service on Friday. My heart is confused lately. Surging with sweet relief and breaking with grief. Memories, however, remain my treasure.

Homecoming

There is the joy of new life that arrives. There is the sorrow of that which departs. We serve a God who is sovereign over all.

My Grandmother went home to Jesus today.

I rejoice. But I miss her so.

I'm an Auntie!

•Baby Michael James•

7 lbs. 10 oz