A New Home for Daddy & A New Home for Me

I know I'll look back on this season as one of the most stressful I've ever had the privilege to live through.

Yes, a privilege.

Because I've encountered my Savior's startling grace at each faltering step and every jagged breath of the exhausting, tear-strewn path.  

On one sunny Friday I moved, lock, stock, and barrel, from New York to Massachusetts.  And the very next day, before I could even unpack a handful of boxes, my Dad moved on to his heavenly forever home, called oh-so-very-suddenly by his Maker.

After 40 years apart, I thought we were going to do life together for one final season.

God had other plans.

Moving on to live in a new location is a joyful gift, one waiting to be unwrapped and experienced with the greatest anticipation, an open door into the vast unknown with all its great big possibilities and inviting open-ended opportunities just waiting to be explored, savored, treasured.

When all is said and done, I guess we each got to move on to the exact location our hearts were yearning for.

It makes me smile that we both walk on the shores of crystal seas these days.  Even if those golden spaces are universes apart.

God's Word tells me that there's no tears by your heavenly crystal sea, Daddy.  But the tears are flowing freely on this side of heaven.

It's ok.  Because there's one thing we're sharing right about now.

The Holy Spirit of God is closer than the next breath we breathe.  And I would have it no other way.

* telling my story at Kelly's  .   Holley's  .  Lyli's

In Memory of John Halliday Blackie

It is with greatest sorrow that I share the news that the day after we moved here to Cape Cod, my beloved Dad died suddenly, quickly, peacefully.

We are crushed.  Tim and I were so looking forward to this season of doing life with him and my mom.  But even in the midst of the shock and the whirlwind of decisions and phone calls and planning is that ever-present peace that passes understanding.  

God knows.  He loves us so.  He cares.  He cradles us close.  He bears our grief, he carries our sorrows.

I share with you a tribute I wrote to Dad two years ago.  And the obituary and memorial service arrangements are below.

Please, my friends, pray for our family.

      *      *      *

 

June 2013 ...

I hold you close and stretch my arm way out, camera in hand.  We're still making memories whenever we can.  And I want to capture this celebration before we dive into great huge bowls of chocolate ice cream on the most gorgeous Cape Cod day ever.  Before we laugh the sunny afternoon away as we fill the newly painted window boxes with multi-hued petunias and patch the driveway and cut the rhubarb.  Before we sit and watch the birds explore the bird house and someone who shall remain nameless tracks driveway tar onto the light aqua carpeting.  Before the evening falls and the breeze cools and we watch TV at ear-piercing levels and talk politics and books and you share ancient photos and vividly-detailed stories from Scotland in the century past.

We all know you never expected to hit this milestone.  Ah ... but God had other plans, and here you are, moving around on your own two feet and in your right mind.  Wisdom still comes from your heart and your vast life experience.  You still break into hearty song on a moment's notice ... and I realize in the writing of this that my sister and I do the same.  For the nuts didn't fall far from the tree, did they ...

You still prize hard work and an eye to detail, even though you might be moving just a tad slower.  Your eyes are quick to fill at the most sensitive of moments.  You make us laugh ... and yes, we both continue to make each other crazy from time to time.

And when you confidently pound on heaven's doors in perfect King James English, I know our Redeemer listens.  You have shown us how to be faithful to Him and to each other.  

Please know I value your wise counsel more than ever.  And I know I'm not the only one.  So please rejoice in this season because your legacy is living on, even as we speak.  Through your children.  Children's children.  And children's children's children.

How good is God!

I love you, Daddy ~

  

JOHN HALLIDAY BLACKIE

1928 - 2015

 LINK TO OBITUARY

When Your 10 Year Old Sweetheart Decides to Be Baptized

The phone rings {or was it an email?} and we get the most delightful news that our tender gentle-spirited ten year old granddaughter has decided to be baptized.

In five days.

So we put the finishing touches on the house as we get it ready to sell, tie up loose ends here and there, and shift around a few plans.  After this past week's rather windswept breathless days, we pack our bags and jump into the car for the five hour trek to Annapolis.

For this, the sacred, matters.

It's right up there with the day she was born.  And her someday, far off wedding.  It's that earth shaking, that meaningful, that precious.  Yes it is.

This, her decision to honor to Christ by letting everyone know in a very public way, that her life belongs to Him and Him alone.

I will remember this evening always, surrounded by family and many friends, eager little cousins straining to catch every glimpse of water sloshing over the side of the tank.  Her story of salvation read aloud, her parents, brothers, and sisters gathered 'round the sacred pool, her dad asking her the most meaningful of questions before he oh-so-gently lowers her under the water and raises her up, symbolizing sin put to death, new spiritual life come to dwell forever.

We give her the Bible that was given to me in 8th grade, our own words of love side-by-side with the original inscription.

And all I can do is thank God for this sacred mercy, to see yet one more granddaughter proclaim her forever love for Jesus in a pool of warm water.

The tears pool in my own eyes as I smile with a peaceful joy, as I release another huge sigh of gratitude.

And for the millionth time this week, I can't help but praise the God I adore, whose blessings never seem to come to an end.

* Yes, Kathryn's our sweet girl who created that little video that just about went viral around here, the one welcoming her six month old brother Tyler home from the hospital for the very first time ...

*  Sharing joy with Kelly  .  Mary  .  Holley  .  Lyli  .   Susan

In Which I Finally Introduce You to Our New Grandson

For the longest time, I've been longing to tell you about our precious little 7th grandchild, Tyler Willhite.

We've known that he was destined to be a part of our family since last fall.  But the logistics and red tape of the adoption system and his medical challenges have kept me from sharing his story. 

Our family's story.

December 23, 2014

Tyler was born back in July with skeletal dysplasia along with respiratory and feeding issues.  Along the way, he was diagnosed with an extremely rare genetic condition.  And tragically, most babies with this condition die before the age of one due to either respiratory failure or a high fever, both of which he has struggled with.

December 23, 2014

After hours of tears, prayers and counsel, Jenn and Barry decided to move forward with the adoption.  And this video here?  Well ... it says it all from big sister Kathryn's point of view.

February 13, 2015

Tyler finally came home last Friday after more than five months in the hospital and a month with his foster family. 

Melanie, Lydia, Andrew, Tyler, Kathryn

the 3 Giants fans hanging out

Jenn writes, 'Please pray for our family, especially for Tyler.  We don't know what the future will look like for him, but we know God loves him even more than we do and that He will provide what Tyler needs.'

So welcome to the family, sweet baby boy.  And always remember that Grandma loves ya'.  With many tears and endless prayers ... somehow mingled with a peace-filled joy.

*

Sharing Their Gorgeous Manes

They've been growing out their beautifully thick heads of hair for months years. 
Just for Locks of Love.  And today was the day to finally say good-bye . . .

 

When all was said and done, the energetic, joy-filled blonde prayed

for the little girl who'd be 'wearing her hair' in a couple of months . . .

And when they returned home, the other two sweethearts just had to join in the fun. 

So dad cheerfully wielded the scissors in the driveway.

 

Like mother, like daughters.

 

 

*

 

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/  championing Locks of Love at Kristen's  /

When the Prompt Brings a Smile

Lisa Jo tosses a simple word high into the sky.  And those who love a good prompt to get them writing reach up and grab that word and run with it.  For 300 seconds on Fridays.  As I wandered over to her place just now, I saw that today's offering was the word HANDS.

And I couldn't help but smile.  For the image on my screensaver these days is my mom's hands.  Tender, gentle, just a bit worn.  Soft.  Firm.  Reaching into the damp dark soil, putting the final touches on her new plantings.  This sight, this image, this picture somehow brings me peace.  A sense that all is right with the world.

I honor her today, for no other reason than I love her.  I'm glad to share this photograph, I'm thankful that she is still very much in my life, a faithful presence.  You could say she's a doting wife, the supportive loving matriarch, the dearest friend to many, the guiding star, the knitter of the sweetest little hats for babies she'll never meet.  The one we all turn to for a needed encouragement ... and great dollops of the keenest wisdom, softly spoken firmly.

But all I can say is how much I deeply admire her, and only hope and pray that when I finally grow up, maybe I could have her gentle grace, her kind words, her grateful spirit, and her indomitable strength as she fights the pain her body doles out to her, day in and day out.

For in her I see Jesus.

 

* visiting with Holley

In Which This is Not the Time to Write

This is probably not the day to pull together a post. 

For this is the time, the place to sort through the weekend's myriad swirling emotions, the endless activity.  And process the highs, the lows that swing from grief to joy, apprehension to peace, uncertainty to gratitude. 

These are the precious hours to soak in the quiet stillness, the lilting music of birdsong, gentle wind chimes swaying, the distant spinning whir of laundry appliances joining the chorus song of life.

I begin this week by tidying up.  Clean sheets and towels emerge and playthings are tucked back on vacant shelves while I wait on a most important phone call.  I begin to prepare my heart for the counseling conversations scheduled mid-week with dear clients.

I recall once again Saturday's tender memorial service honoring a life lived well ... and my heart replays many conversations during that sacred gathering.  I recall friendships from decades past that have come to visit us once again, memories awakened. 

My eyes brim. 

And then my mind ricochets over to a crazy mosquito-infested photoshoot with the six little ones, a gentle sabbath walk, a hopscotch board chalked onto the driveway.  Ice cream savored in the hot sunshine's rays, a bag of frozen grated cheese icing an injured foot, and excited young crafters displaying woodshop creations hammered together with Pa.  Images of my daughters cuddling their own children close, an actively swinging hammock, a rainbow of hoola hoops strewn from here to there on newly mowed grass, and the joy of the family table all careen together, making me smile wide.

Shouts of laughter.  And too many hugs to count.

And maybe when all is said and done, this is why I write on the most ordinary of days.  Whether journaling or blogging, God seems to whisper deep as I put pen to paper.  It's there that He invites me to fully recollect and recall, to sort and process well, and to hope and dream the biggest of pictures. 

And from that place I emerge with learnings and peace that overflows and the deepest of gratitudes, even when concerns are deep and tears threaten to fall. 

His Spirit prompts me to remember the glorious sight of a double rainbow filling a very gray sky several dusks ago.  The anticipation of the days ahead beckons me forward.  No matter what those hours may hold ...



*   sharing life with Kristen & Holley & Kelli & {in}courage    *

60 Little Tootsies

Lydia    .    Kathryn    .    Andrew    .    Melanie    .    Alexa    .    Brooke

'Oh, your family must be perfect,' a client sighed as she left a counseling session.  Where she came up with that fallacy I'll never know, as our family is seldom if ever the topic of conversation in that sacred space.  Not a chance, I told her.  Just because grandma has a bunch of letters after her name doesn't mean that she or any of her kin have arrived.  In any way, shape, or form.

We are a typical family in our struggles, our joys, our pain, our celebrations, our concerns, our hopes, our craziness.

This ain't no granny-blog.  Here and there I've shared stories and pictures, but even though these six are the sunshine of my life, they don't appear too often in my writing.  Some things are best left to cherish quietly deep inside, to be pondered and prayed over and not idly or casually broadcast.  But a week doesn't pass when someone doesn't ask me about the gang, so here they are, barefoot in the dead of winter.  I hear that no matching shoes were to be found.

I love this picture.  You can bet it's front and center on my mantle.  Everyone looks so perfect all lined up in their matching gear.  Combed hair!  All looking at the camera!  Gently hugging each other!  Talk about a rare event.  But I hear that one of the shots featured one set of little hands in a death grip around a sibling's neck.  And I'm sure that some level of bribery was required to pull this huge feat together.

We all live hours apart from each other and to have all twelve of us healthy and in one place is a rarity.  Together, we've gone through the agony of brain surgery and the thrill of adoption.  We've read endless piles of books and gathered up oodles of treasures on more walks than I can count.  I've carried and soothed and fed, crooned and hugged and rocked by the hour.  I've been known to speak rather sternly from time to time.  We've painted and colored and created messy masterpieces on kitchen tables, and cuddled up in a tangle of arms and legs and very long hair to watch evening movies.

The name of Jesus is spoken and sung of often in this extended family.  These little ones love Him so, and He's the golden thread that has woven our hearts tightly together.

This is my life.  I love it.  Even though I have been prostrate on the floor in grief or laid in bed awake for hours banging at heaven's door on behalf of one or the other.  When it comes to issues, I try to keep quiet {not always possible, just ask my daughters} and pray til my heart is empty {the only thing I can really do that matters.}

So if you've got 10 minutes to spare, I'd love for you to pour yourself a glass of iced tea, settle in, and page through this online family scrapbook.  Rejoice in birth announcements, catch some creative play days, and listen in on a few one on one conversations.  There's a potpourri of random photo shoots, the miraculous brain surgery saga, some profound wisdom from little lips, and lots of laugh out loud craziness.  You'll also run into a variety of other relations and ancestors who all meld together to form this rather imperfect tribe.

This is my family.  And I love them.

Sharing the gang with Beth   *   Kristen  *   Beth  *  Lyli

 

I'd love to continue to share life with you! Please sign up here to receive every post.

The Imperfect Table

'Although the table is a place for intimacy, we all know how easily it can become a place of distance, hostility, and even hatred.  Precisely because the table is meant to be an intimate place, it easily becomes the place we experience the absence of intimacy.  The table reveals the tensions among us.  When husband and wife don’t talk to each other, when a child refuses to eat, when brothers and sisters bicker, when there are tense silences, then the table becomes hell, the place we least want to be.

The table is the barometer of family and community life.  Let’s do everything possible to make the table the place to celebrate intimacy.'
- Henri Nouwan

*

*

It's circa 1960s, this photo is, with loved ones gathered around the mahogany table, layered in white linen starched and pressed within an inch of its life.  All have donned their Sunday go-to-meeting attire and another homemade feast has been savored.  The main course {savory chicken and dumplings laced with fresh rosemary ... or perhaps a herbed roast leg of lamb with mint jelly} has been polished off.  Dessert is about to be served on the beautiful blue-rimmed china.  Fresh flowers create the centerpiece, and that ain't no store bought cake front and center.  Blue depression glasses are filled with ice cold milk, and smiles and laughter wrap themselves 'round and 'round the crowded room.

This is a feast of love and laughter that somehow springs from imperfect hearts in an imperfect family.  And only by His grace are there seldom tense silences or harsh words as we gather together.  For this is a safe place and this is the stuff that memories are woven of, secure and warm and strong.

*

Fast forward to 2014.  Five of those adults now dine with Jesus in the most spectacular dining room ever.  The little cousins {I am unseen on the far left} are now all in their 50s and 60s and are scattered over five states.  They very rarely gather, which makes any reunions oh so sweet.  

Two generations later, I am now the presiding granny at yet another table.  Sweatshirts and jeans are the Sabbath attire.  A new passel of little cousins gather with their parents and grandparents as we celebrate the sweet nine year old's birthday.  We're talking hot dogs straight off the grill, spinach salad tossed with fresh veggies, hot homemade applesauce, and chips.  Any treasured remnants of Grandma's mid-century china are stashed away in someone's cupboard somewhere, and we dine on rectangular styrofoam plates and glasses hastily pulled from the kitchen cabinet.  A typical dessert at this table?  Rarely homemade.  There is no time or energy for that these days.  Ice cream comes out of the freezer, and Hershey's syrup and sprinkles and whipped cream from a can does the trick.

Yet 50 years later, the barometer reads the same.  It's a different time, a different place, but one central truth remains. 

This is a feast of love and laughter that somehow springs from imperfect hearts in an imperfect family.  And only by His grace are there seldom tense silences or harsh words as we gather together.  For this is a safe place and this is the stuff that memories are woven of, secure and warm and strong.

*

I wipe the spills and the crumbs from my husband's handcrafted table, scarred barn wood redeemed from the scrap heap, marred with scratches, gouges, and knots.  This imperfect heart overflows with gratitude for childhood memories way back in the day ... and this, the here and now.  For a rare Christ-centered legacy that wends its way through the generations.  For those little ones careening through the house, shouts and laughter and occasional tears echoing as bare feet pound on smooth wood in the hall, up and down the stairs.   

I head back to the kitchen, stepping around an assortment of little sneakers and boots kicked to the side and abandoned toys hastily dropped along the way.  I join my daughters in wrapping leftovers and washing dishes.  We wipe down sticky counters and close the fridge and cupboard doors tight. 

But the hearts of those who fill this home today?  As imperfect as they are, by His grace they remain open wide to each other.  And to their Heavenly Father from whom all blessings have flowed.

Imperfect hearts.  Imperfect family.  Imperfect table. 

Redeemed.






>  sharing life with Laura  *  Beth  *  Kristen  *  Beth



In Memory of Lillian Margaret Stoll

Margie, enveloped in hugs from her two granddaughters, Kristin & Jennifer
  a rare photo in this season of her life, taken the day of her husband's funeral
~  October 2012  ~


Lillian Margaret Stoll
1929 - 2014

In her right mind and at peace after the long dark journey
through the shadows of dementia's cruel bewilderment, confusion, and fear

Her body, strong and agile, completely healed

That lovely smile more beautiful than ever before

Freed from life's cares and burdens

Her spirit, vibrant and radiant, rejoicing in Jesus' presence

Welcomed into heaven's magnificent splendor by all those precious loved ones gone before

We released you long ago, Mom

It is a great grief that this season left you unable to know your great-grandchildren
for they are your legacy and their lively exuberance
and love for Jesus would have filled your soul with great delight

Bittersweet tears are laced with a peace-laden gratitude
for our Heavenly Father has finally welcomed His precious daughter Home

Skip, run, dance, and rejoice in His majestic presence for there are no chains that bind you

And thanks one more time, Mom, for shaping your son into the man who became my husband

He is a godly man of great integrity and noble character
and I am forever grateful for your imprint on his life

I love you

 

 

*  Deep Gratitudes  *

 

 The Legacy at RidgeWood Health Campus

 

Our Hospice of South Central Indiana

 

Alzheimer's Association

Cherished Books 4 Little Ones

Hands down, reading has always been my favorite pastime.  I have comforting memories of my childhood years, snuggling close to my sister and cousins and Grandma as she read those wonderfully creased and worn Little Golden Books.  And then there was that moody sullen teenage era, when I closeted myself away in the sanctuary of my room with my own miserable company, escaping in the endless pages that captured my attention.

Along the way, the library was a second home.

As I made my way through the routine dailyness of mothering, cuddling up and reading with my girls was a relaxing way to spend the hours in our little house high on the hill.  We made our way through shelves and bags of books over and over again.  And visits to the library became part of our weekly routine.

During the seasons of education and lengthy periods of solitude that have followed, a growing variety of books have been steady, nurturing companions.  And these days their importance continues as a perfect way to quiet and soothe and refocus our six oh-so-energetic grandkids.

I love reading to my grandchildren.

The nuts haven't fallen far from the tree, as they say.  So I when I asked my oldest daughter what books mesmerize her two cherubs most, she gave me these favorite go-to choices.  For Christmas, a birthday or shower gift, or a donation in honor or memory of someone?  Here you go!  Snuggle close with your favorite little person and enjoy ...

If the fun little Amazon Carousel isn't spinning in your view of this post,
here's the list!

I Love You: A Keepsake Storybook Collection - Baker

The Beginner's Bible: Timeless Children's Stories - Pulley

My First ABC Board Book - DK

Elmo & Friends - Sesame Street

Peter Pan - Luske

Numbers 1-10 - Disney

Buzby, the Misbehaving Bee - Lucado

The Big Blue Book of Beginner Books - Eastman

The Little Engine That Could - Piper

Moo, Quack, Roar and More! - Miller

*

sharing good reads with Kristen & Anne

People 101 : : Day 23 : : Kingdom Kids

 

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

One by one they come to the Savior of their souls.  Young ones, the older ones, accepting His gift of salvation and life eternal.  They become children of the King.

Alexa in August.  Brooke, just this week.

Thank You, powerful Spirit of God, for drawing them to Yourself.  The angels are rejoicing big time.  And oh, sweet Jesus,  so am I ...

 

~     ~     ~     ~     ~

 

The Multiple Giveaways!

Each comment you leave this month puts you in the running for one of the gifts we'll be sharing with our readers on October 31st {9 pm eastern, US and Canada only}!  We'll post the list of winners at that time and then it will be 'first come, first choice' for these readers to claim their prizes!  Limit 1 comment/day, please!

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People 101 : : Day 4 : : Jesus-Lovin' Schoolgirl

Back-to-school night it was.  That hour and a half when parents cram the halls, paperwork in hand, wedging tired bodies into tiny seats, hoping against hope that the teacher/student connection will be a win/win, praying that the year will be relatively painless for all.

 

Artwork and essays line the freshly painted cinder block walls.  And the young mama spies her daughter's creation.  Tears of laughter, pools of joy spill over as she reads her daughter's writing, her bold, yet oh-so-natural testimony carefully printed out for all the world to read.

'I'm lucky to have a best friend like Jesus.  We have some things in common like how we look.  We both have white skin and we both like to read the Bible. And something we like to do for fun is play with little kids.  Even though we are alike in ways we are also different in ways.  He has shorter hair than me and I have longer hair than him.  He lives in Heaven and I live on earth.  I'm shy but he is brave.'

 

This is what Back-To-School Night looks like.  In a public school.  Where an 8 year old girl can tell the world that her best friend is Jesus. 

 

Yes, I'm overflowing with gratitude that Jesus is alive and well in our neighborhood schools.  But I only wish that I would be as courageous as my granddaughter in proclaiming loud and clear, with not an apology in sight, that Jesus is my best friend, too.

 



 

~       ~       ~       ~       ~

The Multiple Book Giveaways!

Each comment you leave this month puts you in the running for one of the books we'll be sharing with our readers with on October 31st {9 pm eastern, US and Canada only}.  Limit 1 comment/day, please!   Details to come.

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Five Minute Friday 

Storytime



These are the best of times.  Kind of sacred, really.  When we cuddle up warm and close, one or two little ones and me.  With a stack of treasured books, carefully chosen, teetering piles hand selected by eager little readers.  They grab the dog-eared ones.  Those special friends, those volumes that have been toted to bed and to the car and to comfy chairs and quiet corners.  Over and over.

We relax into each other, arms and legs lovingly draped all over, paging through, reading word after familiar word.  They point out favorite pictures and giggle with glee at childish humor.  And woe to me if I skip one single page.  'Cause they know the story.  And it will be told.  Each and every single well-worn word.

And I know I will look back some day.  And remember these, the most favorite quiet times with my children's children.  These precious little ones, cherished hearts of my heart, who've entrusted me with these most intimate of moments.

I love storytime.

Fresh Strength

 

'God doesn't come and go. 

God lasts.

 

He's Creator of all you can see or imagine.

 

He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch His breath.

 

And He knows everything, inside and out.

 

He energizes those who get tired,

 

gives fresh strength to dropouts.

 

For even young people tire and drop out,

 

young folk in their prime stumble and fall.

 

But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.

 

They spread their wings and soar like eagles,

 

They run and don't get tired,

 

they walk and don't lag behind'

- Isaiah 40 {The Message}.

 



 

A Crystal Clear Cleansing

He's been working like a crazy man these days.  But what else is new.  Determined he is and there's no stopping him now.  He gets like that when there's a goal to reach.  Tunnel visioned and fully absorbed, he's all about taking care of the business at hand. 

 

 

 

Power washer dragged out of hiding, it's up and running loud, hard spray attacking the accumulated moss glued to roof shingles, loose paint on front stairsteps, and mildew on porch railings, gutters, and that side of the house that gets no sun. 

And then he tackles the windows' sheer surfaces, and a year's worth of storm-driven filth and spring's bountiful greenish pollen is thoroughly washed and squeegeed away.

 

 

 

And I can't help but think that this delayed spring cleaning task is simply a reflection of what's too easily true about the state of our souls.  Busily absorbed in the dailyness that defines our routines, a slow fade can so easily occur.  And untended to, our innermost beings can so easily head south, a build up of sin's filth gathering around our hardened hearts, numbing us to the warm sunlight of our Savior's holy presence.

 

 

And this, the importance of a daily walk with Jesus becomes crystal clear.  The need for close examination, the call for a power-filled heart cleansing, the asking for and receiving of His forgiveness, a fresh start, a gracious empowering to reflect His light to a watching world. 

 

 

Kind of like those power-washed surfaces and newly scrubbed windows, sparkling clear and bright in this morning's sun.

==>  I'll see you over at Kristen's and Emily's