The $600 Dogwood tree & the little shovel.

Soon, we will place our home on the market. It's been the plan for about six years now, since we brought the horses home from my niece's forty acres. I simply longed to breathe them in everyday. I'm pretty sure it brings my blood pressure down a few points. We have never been in a hurry, waiting on the real estate market to improve. People say, "you haven't built that house yet?" Which begs the question, why are we always in a hurry?

I'm excited about the prospect of building another home. I will trade my view of the lake in the morning, still and calm, for a view of the horses against the backdrop of the woods where we ride. There are homes there and neighbors we look forward to getting to know better.
Still, it will be a little sad.  Our grandchildren know this house, it will be their early memories of us.  The Easter egg hunts, hide-and-seek among the trees, running in the sprinklers and sitting on the screen porch reading while summer rains fall.  I'm a smidge sentimental. [For Sale - Coming Soon]

While living in the first home we built when our children were small, I begged for a sweet dogwood tree to be saved from the middle of the lot before the basement was dug. It was a beautiful little dogwood, about eight feet with lovely bark and crooked branches. After much begging, Don prepped the corner of the yard. It needed to catch water runoff better, it sloped too quickly. He lay a partial brick wall in a nice half circle and I amended the soil to the perfect mix. [Mama helped oversee this project and helped me plant the Irises]
He moved that tree to the front yard with a rented bobcat. For the duration of the time we lived there, I adored that beautiful tree. Each spring it's white blooms showed out with irises from our childhood home all around it, beaming like a proud child at their mothers feet.
I drive by that tree occasionally, some thirty years later, now in it's senior years with it's large, draping branches still beautifully sets off the corner of the yard, just as I envisioned.  Don sarcastically refers to it as "the $600 tree".

I love forsythia, yellow bells we call them in the South. They came from my grandfathers property originally and grew at our childhood home. I moved several to each home we've built through the years. When my husband gazes out at the yard after it's edged and cut, I know he's thinking about those shrubs he will have to move.  ... and he will.  He always does.
I can't think about the shrubs and flowers without thinking of mama, she always carried a small shovel in the trunk of her car. Just in case, she found herself in the presence of something fabulous in her travels. She once brought me the most beautiful little Hemlock tree from Tennessee. It was about three feet tall and Don planted it for me.  I believe it was about six feet or more when he carefully moved it. [NO, you cannot take it in the back of the truck, the wind will beat it to death]
I tell you this man loves me. He set it in the edge of the woods next to the spot we chose for our home, on the point, overlooking the Warrior River. I would be able to see it out the nine foot expanse of windows in the bedroom, gazing west around the bend in the big river.  Sadly, It was not to be though. A power truck feeding our power up the mountain backed over it and completely destroyed the tree, now well over eight feet tall. The man apologized and told us to turn it in to Alabama Power and they would pay for another tree. Another tree?!  I cried like a baby.
I'm already planning what I will move to the farm- has to be out of reach of the horses and protected while we build. There are Forsythia, Sweet William and Almond shrubs. Don't forget the Irises! There's an ongoing argument between Don and I about the Japanese maple he paid a pretty penny for and the Mock Orange (Philadelphus or English Dogwood) dug up from outside my childhood bedroom. You can probably guess which one I value and will be moved.
My daughters home has shrubs taken from her grandmothers and I am choosing something to move in the spring to our son's new home for his three children.

I believe we had the best world, shielded from adult thoughts, actions and problems, we were allowed to be children. The world is often cruel but there is also beauty everywhere and a need to carry parts of the past forward. The telling of childhood memories and laughter, of perseverance and determination, of hard work and rewards, of love and forgiveness. It flows through the blood of those children as it does in my brothers and I. 

I will make sure they have a piece of the past as they go into the future. They all have a weird, quirky sense of humor and are easily amused. From my mothers little carved wooden box daddy gave her to the wooden dough bowl that was my husbands grandmother's. Our children will carry the past with them, I owe it to them.

Now, I need a little shovel.

Salt. Sprinkle a little over your friends.

This is something I jotted down on a February morning.
I hear the birds sing as the rain falls softly outside my bedroom window. I watch as the drops break the surface of the lake, there's a crisp chill in the air. Will you look at that? The Yellow Bells (Forsythia) are starting to bloom.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and visions of hot coffee began to flood my head. I hate to admit, I have turned into one of those people- I choose not to function until I've had my coffee. Then, before my first sip, God gave me something. Salt. Yes, just salt. "What?" The thought leaves me as I shuffle out of bed... 

  SHUFFLE verb shuf·fle \ˈshə-fəl\  : to slide your feet along the ground or back and forth without lifting them completely. [It's what happens as you get older and especially before coffee.]

I'm ashamed to say I discounted those words at first, so much to do today.  As I go about my morning I ponder, "was that from God or simply a word of my own choosing?" We over-thinkers do that, you know. We run things through our head front and back, back and front...
I find myself in the front yard as the puppy does his business and I keep feeling this word.  Salt.

I keep hearing, "salt". [Are we out of salt? Do I need to buy salt, what?] I half expect to see a text message that says simply, Salt. God.

As my brain absorbs more coffee and I'm able to enjoy my morning devotion, which by the way, is NOT about salt. 

Or is it? 

I begin reading about that "salt" thing, because honestly it's not going away until I do.  I open my Bible and without reference checking or anything, I find myself in Matthew.  I've read this at least one hundred times but today in the fifth chapter it SMACKS me in the head! (13)You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men. (14)You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden…

On to the gospel of Mark. 9:50
"Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt among yourselves, and be at peace with each other."
Then from the same book of Leviticus, the subject of today's devotion comes,

Leviticus 2:13 And every oblation of your meat offering shall you season with salt…  While the sacrifices of Leviticus [Thank you Lysa Terkeurst] do not apply to me today, the message still does.

By now we are all loathing this election year,right?
If I could move into the dark recesses of the world and not hear all the mud slinging, the bickering, divisiveness, the lies and half truths, promises and deceptions, tension with friends approaching from a different viewpoint..   well, I would.
I would rather simply avoid the unpleasant things of life these days and move on. I think to myself. Politicians, what a horrible, selfish lot.  Wait..   [stillness & silence surround me. Tears well and overflow.] 

Oh Father.. when did it happen? When did I give up? When did I become so calloused and tasteless?  At some point along the way, I allowed myself  to become every "less" I can think of. . .  "trampled underfoot by men."
It's so tiring Lord, there's so much evil in the world, so much disdain for you. I can't even watch the news most nights. I can't read about another teacher having sex with a student, I just can't!
Instead of allowing you to heal me, I shut down, closed myself off... became tasteless.

You saved me, rescued me long ago, I was 9 years old. You should by all accounts these days, throw me aside based on my actions. But just as my earthly daddy would scoop me up and hold me tight, make my world right again and assure me I was going to be fine- You God, hold me upright, gently correct and assure me.   Your desire to hold me close is palpable.

"Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." Proverbs 19:21  Wow..  Abba Father, just wow. It is a profoundly humbling feeling to know I am so important to You. In all my imperfection You love me right where I am. I'm feeling the salt.

Several months ago and after I had this experience, someone helped me see myself more clearly and helped me see myself as God sees me. [Thank you Kinsley. God is using you in a mighty way]
I have released all the fear, all the failures, all the disappointments to Him. I feel His love and caressing touch all day. There is indeed, a song in my heart. I pray I never become complacent again.
Today, this day the Lord has made. Today, I'm salty.

The terrible horrible very bad day

It was a beautiful Sunday in spring.
The day started out well enough, there was hot coffee and sunshine.  If you haven't looked outside lately though, there's this

I need a shirt that says "too many smells"
Let's just say there are many 'triggers' for my asthma this time of year. Only discovered less than three years ago I have asthma, since then it's been a learning curve. What sets me off, what doesn't, how many times I can wheeze before I get dizzy? I travel with my trusty rescue inhaler 24/7.  I have one particular bad trigger.. perfume.  Not your average light scent lilting through the room smell but those "grandmother-with-the-deep-red-lipstick, Jungle Gardenia kind of smells" ... which makes me think, what if a burglar broke in doused in heavy perfume? I would be completely powerless. Not pertinent to the story but important to note. 

Sunday morning, we walk in and say hello to friends as we make our way to the fourth row from the back [not the very back row or the second.. I'm a progressive Baptist] We settle in, purse under my feet. I locate two ink pens in my purse (before he has the chance to ask for one) because I'm nothing if not efficient. Reading glasses at the ready and Bible open in the chair beside me. I decide it's all correctly arranged and notice my little setup could probably be in Southern Living magazine.. all I need is a small vase of flowers and a couple throw pillows. 

 Just as I get it all as I like it, my senses alert me to something peculiar.. my right eye is burning... Oh no. My throat gets that familiar itchy feeling, my chest tightens.. The music progresses and I'm trying my best to get to a place of personal worship but it's really hard when you feel like you just walked into a carpet warehouse.  All that new carpet burning your throat, your eyes begin to water.. must. have. fresh. air.  I begin to cough.. [God love her] that one lady, ALWAYS cuts her eyes at me like "can't you be still & quiet?"  I silently think, she's probably the one wearing the napalm. 

Quietly, I tell my husband, "I have to move" and he gives me that look "really?" [he begins fanning me as if I'm overheated] "I'm choking here, Cowboy. I don't think fanning is the answer.  

I gather my goods and after making a couple glances to see who is close.  

Oops, can't sit by her, God love her. Nope, her either-I wasn't aware they still made Aqua net.) I spot two seats back and to the left. Husband follows, looking irritated, as if it's my fault I can't breath?! We settle in and I take a deep breath. He looks at me waiting for the approval cue. Yes, we can stay. I smell nothing, absolutely nothing. Wait. . . did I put on deodorant this morning? I should at least be able to smell my own "Sporty scent" deodorant, right?  I turn to my husband, 

Psstt...  do I smell?

What? I don't smell anything, don't tell me we have to move again.
No no, do I smell bad?
Why would you smell bad?
Oh, never mind.

I have doused my eyes thoroughly with eye drops, I'm beginning to perspire, I hit my inhaler and the burning has subsided a bit. I'm sure no one can tell I'm having an issue this morning. 

The Pastor has begun his sermon as a young couple slip in late trying not to be noticed, they take their seats a couple rows behind us. Before long, "too many smells" begin to permeate the space around me like a cloud. For the love of all that's good, it's happening again.
By the time we make it to the car, I have a pounding headache, I'm wheezing like I've climbed Mount Everest and I'm getting stuffy.  I think maybe people think I'm not friendly but I'm simply escaping the smells. I will spend the afternoon with a massive headache, stuffy nose, wheezing and generally a doctor appointment the next day.
I hit the rescue inhaler a couple times more and turn the car air on full blast at my face, waiting for the napalm smell to disappear from my clothing. Let me say, it's not those precious people I go to church with, it's me. I'm the faulty one. I don't know why? I played in the dirt as a child, had my vaccinations and ate most of my vegetables. It is part of my life now.
As we back out of our parking spot without missing a beat, this man who can't remember what he ate for breakfast says, I didn't know they still made Aqua net. 

There's a little joy here again.

When I began this blog, I shared one of our family members, KittyWitchens.

A wonderful, persnickety, sometime grumpy and misbehaving Maine Coon. He followed you around the house, he fetched and he was very vocal. Simply the coolest cat ever.

 

Then, one day there was another... 

                                             

Our cat of 16 years had died and I was missing her.  My daughter worked for a vet at the time and came across a baby who'd been abandoned. We brought her home/ She was shy around others and if you visited you likely would not see  her. She didn't like crowds. She came alive when it was only Don and I home. She traipsed back and forth across me at night, (my face if I wasn't watchful) there was "rocket butt" runs in the night, skips, tumbles and play that rivaled a ninja.. I had named her Miss Chevious and she certainly was. In her tenth year, she became sick.. after vet stays, tests, antibiotics, fluids and daily subQ's to keep her comfortable, she died quietly beside me in the summer of 2014. Kitty Witchens died early in 2015 from cancer at the age of twelve. For the first time in over thirty years our home was very quiet. No furry friends greeted me at the door.
Time marches on as it has a way of doing and there are grandchildren, new interests and of course, we have the horses. Our home has been lonely still. Don has never needed animals in the way I do but I knew it was time for me to begin looking for a new little friend.

Meantime, the new neighbors moved in across the street. A nice young man with daughters in high school, a significant other in Med school and a business that he works very hard. They are hardly home- we pass in our yards and wave. They have a little dog, black and bouncy. I'm not sure what he is, he's shaggy. He has escaped across the road a few times. (We live on a cul de sac) I dared the grandchildren to talk to or touch him, we do not want him thinking he belongs here. I would take him home each time. He snuggled down in my arms each time I took him home as if he knew me. Little did I know my Don had planted a seed. Quietly, without my knowledge he had shared with our neighbor, "if you ever feel you need to give this dog up... "


One January night I stood in our front door facing our neighbor, while he holds this little black bundle of energy, a bag of dog food in the other hand. [My husband grinning like a Cheshire cat]
He explained, it isn't fair to the puppy, being home all day alone. We are far too busy at this time to have a dog. I want you to have him. Your husband told me you were looking for a pet. What? We tried to pay him and he wouldn't have it. No, he says. You need the dog and the dog needs you.

As I write today, my buddy is beside me. A sweet mini-schnauzer who was not very socialized or house trained due to being alone. [He learned quickly] I think, how kind and loving to do what's right for the dog.
His shots were updated and we got him a good clip where we could see his eyes. His name was Benjamin Button, we call him "Buttons." He's a delightful companion, loves the grandchildren, camping trips and long walks around the neighborhood. As for our home, it feels wonderful again. It makes me think of the Savior. He desires we remain close, depend on and trust Him, spend our days and nights with Him. There's a joy here in our home again, just like with my Savior.
Meet Buttons.

Spring brings gratitude.

Today, God gives me peace.. He grants me peace most days but especially today. 

May 1st 2012.
Just the day before, we all gathered in her room in palliative care. Friends and family streamed in and out, everyone told their best stories, there was laughter- lots of laughter and tears. Her vitals became strong and the nurses even commented how this often happens because they are surround by the love and laughter of their life. I find that completely amazing, don't you? Dementia had taken its toll on mama and it had been years since she remembered and recited stories, felt comfortable in a room full of people or organized and cooked a meal. Yet in her dying days, she felt the love of her family around her. 

Hers was a life well lived. I remember gardens in spring, homemade cakes for our birthday and reading stories from "childcraft" snuggled on the couch. Saturday shopping trips downtown, lunch at Britlings and visiting friends and relatives out of town but never forgetting those around her that were in need. I remember lessons in love, forgiving quickly and often, and never giving up.(She taught us we could do anything.) I remember scraps of pie crust saved for me to make cinnamon-sugar crust cookies, picnics on the porch and masses of food prepared for other people. She was not a perfect woman, (there's the thing with the squirrels and ax) but that's a story for another day.  Today I remember how wonderful she was, how at peace I was when she took her last breath. No more pain, no more fear, no more dementia.
I stood beside my brothers as she was laid to rest. Yet in that moment, as this, I am at peace. It seems I should be very sad ... but more than anything, I am grateful. Grateful she was mine, for the tenacity inherited, grateful for the lessons taught, the laughter shared and the love given so freely.
She would have been checking on her irises this time of year. They grow in my yard now, a constant reminder of her. When I move, I will dig them up and take them with me just as I take her lessons and her love. Yes, today there is peace. Gods complete encompassing peace. 

John 14:27
²⁷ Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.