Fire Fragments

We had a fire.
By definition, not a disaster, but to us, it kinda felt like one.
It's been 4 days and today Tom has started the demolition work.
You know how a water doused campfire smells in the morning?  Yup. Filling my nose right now.

I have had some time to reflect and  I'd like to be able to write some deep, profound & inspiring life lessons, but I don't have any yet. Perhaps they will come...
Instead I have a collection of images and sounds burned into my brain, like a bizarre film clip.
So, I will share that 'cause, well, that's all I have right now.

The panic in Tom's voice as he yelled for me to call 911 - the calmness at the other end of the line - the smoke beginning to fill the house.

Chad's intense, calm yet hurried response to his dad's specific instructions; racing through 4 levels of house, pulling hoses, filling buckets...I don't think I have ever seen that look in his eyes. 

Yelling. Lots & lots of yelling.

Lauren curled up in the back seat of a friend's car, clutching her blue blanket, cold, frightened, cell phone pressed to her ear, her best friend on the other end, her huge, beautiful, tear filled eyes taking it all in.

Braden's valiant effort to keep up with his brother, stymied by cold & smoke & asthma, mouth contorted and tight, unable to speak as his oxygen deprived muscles gnarled the fingers on his outstretched hand...scary.

A Bible, laptop and "bunnies"*...neatly stacked in the car, Chad's most treasured possessions, safe.

Firetrucks, filling the road with flashing red & blue, huge white lights shining through the tree limbs and onto the house, groupings of firemen, gathered throughout the yard, eager to help however they could...waiting...

And then there was Tom. Efficient, purposeful, determined not to let the fire win...leaping over the side of the deck, throwing water onto the blaze with one hand, digging embers out with the other...Superman cape flapping in the wind.

Amid it all, I glimpsed Chad's friend Steve, calm, leaning on his car, silently praying to our Father, as huge, fluffy flakes of snow drifted past him.

And then, Tom won.
We were safe; our house was safe.

The firemen left.
Chad went to Steve's for the night.
Grant & Kelsey came and took Lauren & Braden to their house.
Tom was still busily doing.
And I was sipping a cup of tea...overwhelmed.

My house was cold, smelly, dirty...violated.
And empty.
And peaceful.
I thanked God for being good...all the time.
And then I went to bed.



* FYI: "bunnies" is a bunny-covered fabric blanket that I sewed for Chad's crib before he was born. It has been everywhere he has ever gone...including Guatemala &JO tournaments. It is threadbare and its size has been drastically reduced. Usually it is around his neck when he is reading (which is pretty much all the time). Most people aren't even allowed to touch it... and should you try to take it, he will kill you. Seriously.

Age - Ed

The first time I realized I was getting old was the last time I played competitive volleyball.
I was never a fabulous player, but I could cover the back and put up a nice ball to the setter.
This day my mind was fully engaged, ready to go after every ball, focused on what was going on...but my body kinda just stood there...rebelling. It was like mutiny.
So, I hung up my kneepads, well, kinda, and decided that was enough of that.

I am not gonna lie...I am not enjoying getting older.
I like the "wisdom borne of age" idea (I'll let you know when I get some) and most of the life experiences that I have accumulated...and then there are those grandbabies!

But I don't like not being able to do and think and care like I did when I was younger.
I never thought I would be one of those people who didn't always have to do whatever was on their mind.
Used to be, I couldn't sleep until I had accomplished all I had planned, staying up late into the night reading, baking, sewing (usually not cleaning) and then rising early the next day to start all over again.
 These days, I find myself avoiding the thoughts that would necessitate such action and justify it all by being "tired".    
Ugh.

I am not really enjoying looking older either. I mean 49 years, six babies, life does its inevitable thing. And while I'm OK with that, (well...for the most part), I don't like it. 

I think the thing I dislike the most is the expectations that fall upon people my age.
We are supposed to wise, responsible...mature.
But I don't feel like that.
Frankly I feel a lot like I did when I was 20. Really.
I think that might make me a bit 'freakish". I don't seem to be getting this like most of my peers surely already have. I like to call it "child-like" (eh Dez?!) but I wonder if its really just childish.
Maybe I should work at this mature thing a little harder.
Maybe I should talk less, calm down, act more appropriately, walk more slowly,
(definitely no more skipping ),  buy Alfred Dunner clothes...act more like a grandma.
Ugh.

Perhaps I will get this figured out...eventually.
Right now, I have some Facebook stalking to do. ; )

Confessions

I have never been part of one of those 12-step programs, but I am going to try step four:
Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
(Don't worry, I will spare y'all the details)
My name is Nanette.
I am a speeder.
I do rolling stops at all those 4-way intersections... a lot.
I yell at people that drive too slowly; even when they are going the speed limit.
(I seem to have a lot of driving issues)
I don't handle stupidity well...at all. 
I don't always tell the truth.
I am not always kind; in fact, I can be quite unkind.
I am critical and judgmental.
I can be offended.
I don't take everything to God in prayer...but I sure like to sing about it.
I am impatient.
I often talk too much and listen too little.
And the other day, I used scripture to offend someone. Really.

Ok...
I would like to say I feel better now, but I don't.
Seeing it on the page makes it all the yuckier.
I wonder if that is how Augustine felt when he got his Confessions all written down.

So, yet again, I find myself identifying with Paul - 

Romans 7 "For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don't result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time...
I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?
The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does."
AMEN.

My name is Nanette, and I am a sinner...
saved by Grace. 

Focused

So, I'm married to MacGyver.
OK, not really. But if I were going to get stranded on an island, I would bring my husband along.
He knows stuff. Practical stuff about how things work and how to improvise and well, you know "Macgyver it".
And he is the source of one of the most profound, life-changing, practical pieces of information I have ever received:
"Righty tighty, lefty loosey"
Seriously. No more "on" when I really wanted "off"...well, you can imagine.

One day I was on the tractor, (yes, I can do farm girl) raking hay, enjoying the warmth of the sun, looking at the clouds and the eagles and the grasshoppers jumping out form under the tractor's wheels...and then I realized  that my hay rows were kinda wavy. And not up to standard. Oops.

My distressed husband offered this bit of advice...
"Find a focal point and keep your eyes on it."
"You mean like that tree down there", I said.
"Yep" he replied, , "just keep your eyes on that tree as you drive and your rows will be straight."
Well, bingo! He was right.
Soon I was using this handy piece of info to cut wrapping paper straight, pizza wedges, all kinds of things...I am not even kidding. I felt liberated.
(Indeed, I am a dork.)

But I was thinking...
Why don't I apply this concept to my life more consistently?
I weave in and out of my days, distracted by time and its constraints, busyness and schedules, the pressures of now and the regrets of before, the needs of people and my lack of grace. All the while frantically looking  for direction and guidance and rest and frustrated by the lack of each.
So many times I find myself back on my knees, confessing to My Lord that I have lost my focus.
Gently He reminds me that I have allowed myself to become encumbered with the cares of this life, taking my eyes off of The Tree; the place where grace flows, mercy is given, rest can be found.
And paths are made straight.

So, I pray, again, for wisdom and mercy and strength and the desire to follow in the path He has laid in front of me...
Trusting, believing, hoping...
and focused.
For now.

Just breathe.

I can't spin.
Not the stationary bicycle kind of spinning...but the stand in the middle of the room and turn in circles kind of spinning.
I can't swing either. It makes me dizzy.
All that movement, blurriness, inability to focus...yep. I get sick.

What a week.
I feel like I am on a merry-go-round...so yeah...a little woozy.
My emotions have been stretched and pulled and my sleep has been fitful and hurried.
I would like to "exit the ride to your left please"...please.
But I can't 'cause life is just like that. It's the sum of all those factors...the choices I make, the choices others make, the words that go out of my mouth (or keyboard) that can't be snatched back, the physical and emotional pain that ensues.
And yet I must push through, make better choices, guard my heart and my tongue, keep my emotional balance.
Care for those around me, no matter how taxing and difficult. 

And breathe.
In and out. Depending on God and His Holy Spirit to strengthen and enable.
And cover me in grace...
Thank you Jesus.

Momsense

I love being a mom.
Being a Grandma rocks too, but mothering is my first love.
I have been a mom for 31 years.
(I know...maybe I should turn"pro", right?!)
It's kinda all I know...I mean, seriously, I have been a mom longer than I have been an adult...or at least "adult like".  ; )
But sometimes this mothering journey is hard.
Not in the usual lack of sleep-lack of time-lack of order- lack of  privacy in the bathroom way.
Rather hard  in the I don't want to do this-I hate to see you hurting-I would take your place if I could way.
And after all these years, and 3 girls (come on...you know they're harder!) I still want to run ahead,  reach down and smooth their path, pick up the stones...fling them far away. 
Even though I know better.

Somewhere in the summer of '98 God taught me some parenting lessons that I will never forget. And because of His work in my heart, I think am a much better mom...from His perspective.  I know that He has a path for my kids to walk that takes them right out from under my care directly into the rest of His perfectly crafted plan for them.
And I am grateful.
But letting them take those first steps out of my reach has always been the hardest. 
Watching them get hurt, confused or even lost along the way is hard on a mom. 
But I know that God will be there, every step, even when the path disappears into the horizon and I can no longer see them.
I can trust Him to finish what He has started in each of their lives.
So today, I have to let go. I have to allow God to lead and teach and minister as only the Heavenly Father can.
And, by God's Grace, I will continue my attempts to be the mom my kids need me to be, so that God can work His Will in and through them.
I may shed a tear or two along the way.
But that's OK....He is keeping them all in a bottle for me.

Still hungry

Thick chunks of creamy fudge crammed full of walnuts. Cheese, bacon, sour cream and onions molded, baked and spread on endless bread products. Crunchy crab cakes drenched in Chad's aioli sauce. Bacon-wrapped, cream cheese filled jalapenos. Purple, sparkly, juice...bottle after bottle. Every surface laden with platters of cookies and dishes of red & green foil wrapped treats. And then there were the meals....
Yeah, we ate a lot this past week.
It was good. Great in fact. And yummy!
But it didn't seem to matter how much or how often...we just kept coming back for more. And more.
Gluttony? Maybe.

Somewhere in between London broil and Alfredo sauce,God spoke to me about being hungry. Or rather, not being hungry enough.
While focusing on satiating the physical, I have taken an abstemious approach to my soul.
I have neglected the Bread of Life, and His Word.
And I can tell.
Gone is some of the fatness in my spirit; the stuff in my marrow that brings me joy and builds my faith; the richness of His exhortations and the comfort of His promises.
I am lean.
No, you won't see it. Quite the contrary in fact.
( You did read that opening paragraph, didn't you? )
But the nagging emptiness, the vague sense of dislocation, the uneasiness of discontent, all attest.
I miss my Father. And His Word.
So, I resolve to return. And I pray for His help as I attempt (again) to discipline myself to follow through.
And then, maybe, one more piece of fudge.