Day 22 - November 7

Home again, home again, jiggety jig. An overnight flight from Seattle to Grand Rapids, and then work the full day at the hospital.

Occasionally God opens our eyes to see special blessings, and this overnight flight and morning arrival was one of them.  Driving with Andrew to the Seattle airport last night, I commented that I enjoy getting bumped, and we both commiserated that a Tuesday night red-eye was probably not one of the top candidates for getting bumped from.

However, the flight to Detroit was overbooked, and I was the final passenger to be accepted for a bump to an alternate flight through Minneapolis, leaving two hours later but arriving in GR only one hour later than originally planned.  I accepted a $200 voucher and a $10 food coupon, and settled into one of those leather recliners that charge $1 for a massage.  There's no sign that says you can't sit in them without paying, and they sure beat lounge seating.

The flight to Minneapolis was uneventful.  In MSP, I used my coupon to buy a soy steamer, fresh fruit, and nuts from Starbucks--with 5 cents left over!  I arrived in GRR, expecting to take a taxi to pick up my car, but instead had a message from Phil that he could pick me up (lovely, lovely).  Inquiring about my luggage, I discovered that the Detroit flight had been delayed two hours, and I had arrived before my suitcase!  Which they would deliver for free that afternoon.

Small details, each one--but put altogether they reminded me of the unlimited, particular, and detail-oriented grace of God in my life, particularly during times of stress or fatigue.

Day 22 - November 6

This WAS a busy day--cleaning out an old refrigerator, cooking a big pot of chili, shredding veggies for the magnificent beet quesadilla filling, running the dog, shopping, gardening, potting bulbs, assembling the crib and a dresser, taking everyone out for dinner--but still, I regret falling asleep after dinner for the last hour I had with Rachel and Andrew.

I thought later, at the airport departure gate, that I would have liked to pray with her, to pray a blessing over the baby, over the coming delivery, over the last month of her pregnancy.  But instead I slept.  Like the disciples in the garden.

Day 21 - November 5

I rise early here in Seattle--usually by 5 a.m.--to keep my sleep schedule in sync with Eastern Standard Time, which I must return to in two days.

A cup of tea, my Kindle for daily Scripture readings, and Bug sitting on my lap, nibbling at my chin.  Then Rachel gets up, and Rambo races out to greet me and the day.

I've taken on the discipline of running for 30-40 minutes with Rambo when the world gets light.  We run up the hill and into the forested land that surrounds Phantom Lake.  In the cool, moist air, the scent of forest and damp earth and dying leaves is strong.  

I will miss these runs.  I will miss Rambo.  I will miss Bug nibbling at my chin.  And I will miss my daughter, great with child.  I do wish we lived closer.

Day 20 - November 4

Baby showers have evolved through the years into sophisticated events, with e-vites, online gift registries, high-technology gifts (including ingenuous used diaper disposers and complicated bottle-warming devices), and catered food that includes vegetarian, vegan, and allergen-free options.  

One thing that will always remain the same, though, is the stories.  Every mother present--young or old--feels obligated to recount her own birthing experience, to advise on the pros and cons of delivery methods and medications, and to highlight her struggles with pregnancy and with the amazing, squalling infant that found its way into her world.  Older mothers speak with knowing tones about the trials of adolescence.  When all the stories are told and all advice given, the shower is over.

Rachel's shower was true to form.  She has lovely, sophisticated and passionate friends who showered her with generous and creative and useful gifts.  They also showered her with their stories, and I can't help but feel that these were the most valuable gifts--these stories that help prepare a young and inexperienced mother for the unknown, stories that link them all together, that connect them with women from generations back to generations forward.

I probably shouldn't have told Rachel, however, that when I went into labor with her, my husband was thousands of miles away, that the back labor was so intense that I would bang my head against the bed railings to take my mind off the pain, and that when I told the delivery room nurse that I didn't want an epidural, she said, "Well, you're on your own then!"

But reward follows pain. The round, red little face with dark and empty eyes and sleek black hair was finally placed into my arms, and pain and discomfort receded.  It's just difficult to realize that time has fast-forwarded so quickly, and that the infant I held in my arms is now getting ready to go through that same process.  As did my mother before me.  And her mother before her....

There is a long line of us, stretching back in unbroken succession to Eve.  Who didn't have electric bottle warmers or disposable nappies, but who must have had her own stories to pass down to her daughters.

Day 19 - November 3

Well, what sticks in my mind most about this day is not the flawless flight to Seattle (I was bumped up to first class), nor the pleasure of seeing my daughters and the camaraderie of family around the table and the fun of playing Canadian Salad.

What sticks in my mind most about this day is that I forgot the dang shower gift.

All those little garments, stretchy and comfy and boyish, made in Holland, wrapped in tissue, still sitting on my bedroom floor, near the closet door.

Behind the irritation and embarrassment, behind the apologies made and the self-deprecating remarks, lies the thought of Alzheimer's.  Ten years ago it wouldn't have occurred to me.  But now that I'm 60....

Day 18 - November 2

Why are days before trips fraught with interruptions and unforeseen time-takers?  After the long Friday workday, I had promised to meet my husband at a nearby restaurant by 6:30.  Breaking several speed laws, I arrived on time.  We ate a leisurely meal and also visited with four long-ago friends who chanced to be seated two tables away.  Finally coming home, I was greeted by three hungry students who were still waiting for me to fix them dinner at 8:00 p.m.  So, along with laundry and cleaning and packing, there was dinner and dishes.

But by 11:30 p.m. all was packed (including a lovely baby shower gift for my daughter, purchased in the Netherlands, wrapped in a separate gift bag to be carried onto the plane).  I fell into bed and into the arms of my waiting husband, and by midnight was in the arms of sleep.

But what lingers about this day is not the busyness, nor the small rise of irritation at unexpected interruptions.  Not even the restaurant meal (oh, the luxury of having someone else cook for me).  What lingers is the pleasure of seeing friends whom I had not spoken to in ten years.  Of an unhurried, meandering conversation with Phil.  Of the pleasure on the students' faces at the sight a custom-made pizza, savory and piping hot.  Of the warmth of my husband's body.

Day 17 - November 1

A busy day coming up--I will be alone at work today, after the gym workout and then dinner at night, packing, cleaning, getting ready for flying out to Seattle on Saturday morning.

But first:  the daily discipline of reading and prayer.  I am in Genesis and Matthew and the early Psalms, working my way through slowly, without a schedule (I hate those schedules).  I find Genesis fascinating all over again.  And invigorating.  Slowly the light of God filters into my mind, illuminating my interior life and the way I see this world.

Much like the morning light in the dining room, my view every morning as I sit with open Bible and read and think and pray.  I am fed, strengthened, ready for whatever may come in this day.

Day 16 - October 31

I woke early this morning at the cabin, the knowledge pressing down on me that this was my last day, that I would be leaving after lunch, back to the rush of life at home.

So to work on the story!  As I've been wrestling with new chapters and with a fuller outline, I begin to see more solid shape, direction, and form.  Surrounded as I am by the Michigan woods, I find the imagery of the forest very apt right now:

The first stages of writing feel to me like I've wandered off the beaten path and gotten lost in a trackless patch of woods with no clear direction, only some vistas afar off, through the branches and brambles.  But how to get there?  What a mess.

Later, after living with and pummeling the story (and being pummeled by the characters), digging up some delightful scenes and pruning away extraneous details, the direction becomes clearer, the way more orderly, and eventually may even feel like this:

I am somewhere inbetween the two right now.  But thanks to the tranquility and quiet spaces of the past two days, I am closer to the clear path than I was.

An hour's cleaning leaves the Mother Lodge as immaculate as I found it.  I drive back home, sucked into the vortex of refugee needs, a chaotic dinner hour (punctuated by dozens of neighborhood toddlers crying "Trick or treat!" at our door, this being Halloween), piles of unwashed dishes, and long and cheerful conversations with the students.  Yes, I am home again.

Day 15 - October 30

Today I have my heart's desire:  a whole, complete day without structure.  Without time.  Ah, luxury.  I rise as dawn filters through the windows.  I have an apple and tea, read the Bible, go for the usual walk around the labyrinth.  I eat an enormous breakfast of egg and sauteed vegetables.

And now I can write.  I dip my toe into the story I'm writing, then paddle around a bit, then plunge in headfirst.  Hard work, but invigorating.

Another walk at midday, and then six more hours of writing, punctuated by the making of corn bread and roasted vegetables.  There is no one to tell me not to read or write while I'm eating supper, no one to frown at the dirty dishes piling up in the sink.  Only the story taking shape, chiseled out word by word, scene by scene.

I want this story to be a lantern, the way that the stories of my youth were lights to my imagination.  I want it to ring like a bell, sounding in the wilderness.  Well, I really just want it to be a really good story.

Night falls quickly in the north in late October.  The wind rubs trees together, and they creak and complain.  There are strange sounds in the darkness, like someone running across the roof or knocking at the door.  I recall the verse of the Psalm I read in the morning's clear light:

In peace will I both lay me down and sleep,
   for God alone makes me dwell in safety.

Day 14 - October 29

Zoom, zoom.  Clean the kitchen, shop at Costco, make cat food, make phone calls, pack, sort, organize.  Out the door and into the car by 1:30.  An hour and 15 minutes' drive, time to settle, to let the brain fluff blow away, to listen to the hum of the car engine and look at the bare, virtuous trees lifting their arms to the sky along Highway 131.  Till finally exit 159 comes into view, and I take my foot off the gas and coast off the highway.

To a place of uninterrupted solitude, quiet, and grace.  I drive the long, winding track through the pines, and park.  I step into the Mother Lodge, and it is clean and orderly.

The wood stove is already filled with fresh-cut logs and radiates warmth.  I stand and soak in the heat--the backside of my legs, my rear end, my spine.  Oh, the bliss.

Oh my Lord, I am fervently thankful for a place like this, where my ragged edges can fall away in the silence, where there is no voice, no need, no stir and movement.  Only the stillness.  Only solitude.  Pure and simple and healing.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Day 13 - October 28

Life can be too full of good things.  I skipped the James Bible study this morning before church.  I canceled small group this evening.  Life has been piling up, and I need a true day of rest.  Maybe this is what it's like to be 60--to be frazzled around the edges much of the time.  I will go to Morningstar tomorrow and spend two nights in a cabin, alone, silent, with my writing.  I can think of no greater pleasure right now.

Day 12 - October 27

Ernie + Phil

The puppy loves Phil--devotedly. completely.  He follows Phil everywhere.  He waits by the bathroom door during showers or other other activities.  He snoozes on the bed in the evening while Phil lies somnolent with the computer on his lap.  He frisks after Phil down the long sidewalk of Benjamin Street, never racing ahead, always at his heels, intent only on keeping his god in close proximity.

I get affection, yes.  But Phil gets devotion.  I will never measure up to the godlike status my husband has achieved with Ernie.

This does not bother me.  I have achieved goddess status with the cats.

It does make me wonder, though, about God and devotion.  Mine doesn't seem to measure up to Ernie's.

Day 11 - October 26

A quiet day of reading, reflection, prayer.  I previewed a video study on prayer for the church's small groups and began writing discussion questions to go along with the video sessions.  Writing questions for other people is easy.  Challenging others to grow and change is easy.

It was when I challenged myself--or rather, understood that God was challenging me--that I began to get some real benefit out of the day.  I left the comfortable place of telling others what to do, and allowed myself to be uncomfortably honest with God.

The upshot is that I'm beginning a reading plan that will get me through the Bible in a year.  Skimming and dipping does not give the depth and breadth of God's thought and nature needed for Spirit-directed prayer.  All too often recently I've come across verses and think, "Wow, John (or Paul or Isaiah or Mark) really said that?"

So, back to the Word in a daily, disciplined way.

Beyond the written page
I seek you, Lord.
My spirit pants for you,
O living Word.

Day 10 - October 25

We have a minor miracle going on here.  The new puppy, only 10 weeks old, pees and poops outside.  No accidents today. This is so unexpected.

The young technician who came to install our new dishwasher this morning took a look at the plumbing under the sink and said, "We're going to need a miracle."  He was referring to the near impossibility of matching the new Samsung plumbing to our old patchwork of original plumbing.  An hour later, he left with a smile on his face.  "Get your miracle?" I asked.

"We got it," he said.

The third miracle today was the gift of 80-degree October warmth, blessedly clear skies, and a day off from work--all occurring at the same time.

Well, one more miracle.  The Arabic student who was seriously displeased at our having brought home a puppy (most of our Arabic students are terrified of dogs) was on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor tonight, barking and trying to get Ernie to come to him.

It's the small miracles that make life interesting.  It's the big Miracle that makes life possible.

Day 9 - October 24

A warm October evening--unseasonably warm.  Walking to my car after work, I was inundated with the moist, sweet smell of decaying leaves.  Suddenly I was not in Michigan but in California, seven years old, walking along Palm Avenue to catechism after school, scuffling leaves with my shoes in the mildness of an early winter afternoon.  

Research suggests that, of the five senses, smell is the most closely linked to memory.  It is a powerful link; the fragrance of damp leaves pulled me back over half a century into the past. 

Along the sidewalk I passed a building that was once fragrant with the presence of God.  Built in the 1920s, it is reminiscent of the medieval churches in England, with mellowed stone and towers and climbing ivy.

Some years ago the dwindling congregation of Bethlehem Lutheran voted to sell the building and relocate to a rented downtown meeting room.  Contractors began renovating the church building for elite condo living, near to downtown and the hospitals.  But the economy fell, and no one bought.  After a year of halfhearted work, the contractors left too.

Now the church sits empty, the once manicured lawns unkempt, the shrubs overgrown.  The most poignant sight is the doors.

Ivy is beginning to seal them shut, and branches stretch long fingers across spaces that were off limits when the groundskeeper was still around. 

If we opened the doors, would the fragrance of God flow out like a breath of warm air?  Do the angels still worship behind the locks and windows covered with ivy?  I don't know, but the scent of sadness is palpable as I walk by. 

Day 8 - October 23

Today is the birthday of a wonderful young man.  He is kind, intelligent, musical, artistic, patient, generous, loyal, funny, and gentle.

He is a dear friend of a wonderful young woman.

Today, I am thankful for Cass.

Day 7 - October 22

Crossing the threshold of 60, a few inevitable fears start to creep in.  Most of them have to do with the body falling apart or the mind saying, "So long, dummy."  Lately I've had more opportunities to fear the failing of mind and memory.  Here's one:

Last Wednesday I had gotten the mandatory TB test for hospital employees.  It's to be read 2-3 days after being given.  I forgot on Friday to have it read at the downtown hospital where I work.  I forgot on Saturday to have it read at Blodgett on my way to coffee with the girls.  Sunday morning I awoke with the frantic need to have it read, so I drove to Blodgett's ER on the way to church, only to discover I was a day late.  Today I had a retest, and now I must for the next two days constantly remind myself to have it read on Wednesday afternoon.  My only hope is to remember to add it to my online calendar tomorrow at work, so that it will keep popping up on my computer screen on Wednesday.

My mind is normally forgetful.  I like to compare myself (in private only) to Einstein, who would wander outside in his pajamas while cogitating on the mysteries of the universe.  Sunday morning I forgot the stop sign at Fuller and .... (sorry, forgot the name of the street).  I sailed right through, then spent the rest of the way to church asking forgiveness for being such a menace on the road.

When asked how my day has gone, sometimes my mind draws a blank.  What did I do today?  Or, introducing the students who've lived with us for four months to the small group members I've been meeting with for two years, I cannot for the life of me remember their first names.

Well, that could be brain freeze.  I did remember the name of the dog owned by my sister-in-law's in-laws fifteen years ago, a dog we met only once but remember because the entire house smelled like wet dog fur.  His name was Jacob.

On an unrelated note, here is something else we did today:

He's a Bichon-Shih Tzu mix, only ten weeks old.  We drove an hour in the darkness and pouring rain to check him out, fell in love with his habit of putting his chin to rest on  your chest, and drove back home with him.

The nice thing about him is, I don't have to remember his name, because we haven't given him one yet.

Day 6 - October 21

Grand Rapids, Michigan, is known as one of the "Cool Cities"--mainly because of ArtPrize, an annual art contest that involves thousands of artists whose works of art are scattered over the whole downtown area for several weeks in the fall.  People flock to each site and mark down their favorites.  Each year there are heated discussions as to which amazing piece will win the top award of $200,000.

I was in Europe for most of ArtPrize this year and was too busy upon return home to see any entries.  But I made up for it on a walk today.  Phil and I drove to Gaslight Village late this afternoon and walked about five miles through the ritzy neighborhood by Reed's Lake. We like to comment on how unhappy most of the rich people who live there are, and also speculate on how much time or money it must take to clean the expansive homes and manicure the sweeping lawns.

Toward the end of our walk we came upon a work of art that I felt should have won first place in ArtPrize, had it been entered in the contest.  It was vibrant, quivering, alive.  There was no artist name or entry tag, but most people in Grand Rapids knew who made it.  He's pretty well known.  His sense of color and form is amazing, and this work is representative of a lot of other stuff he's done.

Here it is:

It's a temporary piece, but I think we'll see it again next fall, come ArtPrize time.  Maybe I can get people to vote for it.

Day 5 - October 20

This day I am thankful for my three friends, who have been meeting with me on random Saturday mornings for the past ten or so years.  We have settled into Clique Coffee Shop, where we gather at 9:00 a.m. and go around the table, talking about what's been happening in our lives and identifying concerns for prayer.  We have walked with each other through financial crises, depression, grief, self-deception, loneliness, job changes, struggles with children, joys of grandchildren, petty and profound frustrations, marital rockiness, times of dryness, and times of undeserved richness.  We can call or text each other at any time to ask for prayer.  We are about as different from each other as the four seasons of the year are different, yet we are sisters and friends.  Here we are:

At the end of my life, I am quite sure that my regrets will not be that I did not spend more time at the office catching up on work, did not clean my house more thoroughly, or did not get caught up on more TV shows or magazines or bestselling novels.  If I have regrets, they will be of this nature:  that I felt too busy to lend support to a struggling friend, that I was too impatient to listen to a friend in crisis, that I put lists and projects ahead of relationships.

As Sally said, "We aren't related, but we ARE sisters.  We are sisters in Christ.  This is family to me."

Amen.

Day 4 - October 19

Tonight we drove to my sister-in-law's to celebrate my birthday dinner. Mary had spread out a feast: wine, cheese and crackers, nuts and fruit, pumpkin soup, salmon, scallops, cherry nut bread, and a mouth-watering vegetable casserole with sweet potatoes, butternut squash, brussel sprouts, onion, and herbs. And this all on the day after my fast.


To top it off, I had brought along a gluten-free carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.

Everything was, as our students say, "tasty."  I ate far too much (to the point of physical pain), and have decided upon reflection that it was not out of hunger, but because I thought it was polite to do so.  At home I would have had one-quarter of what I consumed at Mary's.  But I felt that would not have been acceptable at another person's table.  Eating a lot is a way of saying, "You're a great cook!  This food is fantastic!"  Which it was.

As my poor 60-year-old body tries to digest the final bites of that sweet, oily carrot cake, I am trying to think of better ways to compliment someone else's cooking.  At 60 I should be old enough to say no if I'm getting too full.

Day 3 - October 18

A day of fasting and fatigue.  I've made it a practice over the past three months to fast weekly--a water fast for 30-36 hours.  Sometimes I think I'm crazy to fast.  Tonight, after a ten-hour workday at the hospital, I came home and lay on the couch before I could get enough energy to face the dishes that lined the kitchen counter.  Other people obviously weren't fasting.  And I was tired.  My feet hurt.

One of our homestay students wandered into the kitchen and began preparing food.  "I'll wait," I thought, "until he's done and then tackle all the dishes at once."  Presently I heard the tap water running and the sound of silverware clinking against the bottom of the sink.  My first instinct was to get up, protest, and tell Abdullah that I was perfectly capable of washing up the dishes.

But then I thought, what a kind thing for him to do.  Should I prevent him from doing a good deed?  Just because I'm the recipient?  So I waited until he was almost finished, and snapped this picture of him:

I told him I am keeping a record of all the things I'm thankful for this year.  And one of them is Abdullah and his kind act of dishwashing.

This morning I had my annual biometric screen.  Unlike last year, the numbers--bad cholesterol, good cholesterol, total cholesterol, weight, triglycerides, blood sugar--are all in the "ideal" range.  In large part, I must admit, because of regular fasting and exercise.  This gives me great satisfaction.  

So, I am thankful for fasting.  For the way that something that is painful and difficult is also beneficial. I will keep at it this year, and give thanks.

Day 2 - October 17

Back to reality today.  My friends ask me if I have set goals for this coming year.  I laugh them off, but my secret goal is to write more.  To be disciplined enough to write every day on my middle-grade novel until it's finished.

Writing is a lonely, solitary occupation--until I become immersed in the story and observe and talk with and try to push around the characters I've created; then it's very social and time ceases to exist for a while.

Today everything conspired to keep me from writing:  the plumbers who took two hours to flush hot water pipes and tell me we need a $2,000 repair job, the morning sunshine that showed all the streaks and spots on my windows (thus necessitating cleaning), the TB test and flu shot required by my employer, the student who needed a ride to the hearing aid repair center, the friend who requested a jar of chicken soup, the rushed trip to Costco for stuff we probably didn't need, the meeting about how to revitalize small group ministry, our students' all-time favorite meal of grilled chicken kebabs, phone calls regarding a painful family crisis....

Sometimes there is too much color to life.

Day 1 - October 16

Today I stepped over the threshold into my sixties.  My birthday falls in the midst of Michigan's October color blaze, and I am reminded of the fact that I am now in the autumn of my life (not winter yet!), and I have a great desire to enjoy the depth and intensity of life's color in this year.  I want to leave a record of it in pictures and in writing.

This day was spent with my dear husband.  Usually we are too busy to do anything together, so this was a great treat.  He drove me down his favorite motorcycle route out to Grand Haven, down Leonard Street.  Trees were burning with color, and we stopped to take a few pictures:

We walked out onto the lighthouse pier at Grand Haven, fighting the wind and dodging waves that broke against the concrete abutment.  In the shelter of the turbine we broke out a clandestine canning jar of plum wine (the same brand we had enjoyed on our honeymoon), and Phil surprised me with a new wedding and engagement ring.  (I had lost my diamond last year in Lake Tahoe.)  This is really romantic for him.  He also okayed a takeout order of Asian cuisine for a birthday dinner with our four Arabic homestay students that evening, then washed up all the dishes, and then—crowning self-sacrificial gift—played a game of Settlers of Catan with me, losing with panache. 

What a dear man.  One of God’s best gifts to me, and completely undeserved.

We go most days to the gym, pommeling our bodies and muscles into some semblance of shape so that we don’t go into old age too weak and sick to enjoy each other and whatever adventures God gives.  We remind ourselves often that the retirement account matters less than our health, when it comes to getting old.  Maybe we’re wrong, but it makes us feel good.

So, at the beginning of my 7^th decade, I want to go on record as saying that my husband is a good man and that I am so, so happy to be able to wear a new, shiny ring that says we still belong together.