when you are watching and waiting

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From my earliest memories, I have loved ladybugs.

I know I am not unique in my affection.

This past year, I have reflected on the ways ladybugs have flown onto my path.

When I was a little girl, we lived in a house on Clifford Drive and I deemed the tallest tree in our yard, the ladybug tree. I remember during the early summer, ladybugs would magically appear all over the leaves, each bearing 2 black spots. Until we moved from the Clifford Drive house, I would watch and wait for green leaves to be dotted with pinpoints of red and black.

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For the last ten years, Carl has been faithful monitored to see if he would fall prey to a genetically predisposed cancer. He has had untold needle pokes and biopsies, each one more invasive and numerous than the last. We have been watching and waiting until a year ago in April, the waiting was over and the diagnosis confirmed.

Even when there is a sense of a possibility, it still can feel like a surprise, as the waiting is coupled with lots of prayers from lots of people.

We sat and listened to Carl’s diligently dear doctor begin to discuss options and he encouraged us to keep the news to ourselves for a bit before the world could have opinions and share stories. But now that I typed the last sentence, I am not sure if I was there. There are many parts of last year I don’t remember and I am sure even more for Carl. But nonetheless after the appointment, we decided to tell our kids and I believe, my parents.  Two days later by the grace of God, we headed to the beach for Caleb’s state chess tournament.

For a girl who didn’t grow up close to the ocean but fell in love with a boy with a blue  pickup, who drove her regularly to the ocean, it is our shelter, our sanctuary and often, our church.

We could have driven down for the day of the tournament but we had the thoughts months earlier to stay for two nights. While Caleb was occupied, capturing chess pieces, Carl and I tried to read and make small talk with other chess families.

The tournament ended and the next day, we were tired and subdued. We ate breakfast at the Pig ‘N Pancake and the guys wanted some arcade time. I asked if they would mind if I took my book and read on the promenade. There was no argument. They fear my skills.

The last traces of morning mist had been replaced by golden rays and kites floating against brilliant blue.  As I gazed at the waves on a bench, a woman joined me and told me she and her group were staying an extra day, I should do the same. Oh how I wanted to text the girls and tell them to cancel life and join us for a week:)

I wished the beach lover farewell as she set out to join her party in the sand below. I tilted my head back and felt the sun tighten my cheeks and forehead. I opened my book, read a few pages and then I was joined by another type of friend.

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The sun was so intensely bright and the ladybug sped along my arms, I wasn’t sure any attempt would prove worthy but I reached for my camera phone and snapped away. I took my index finger and placed the ladybug on the stone railing before me. As I glanced down to the sand at my feet and the stone arched rail in front of me, I saw dozens of ladybugs, crawling along the rail and in the sand. I put my book aside and stared at the ladybugs at my feet.

Even on my best days, I control hardly anything. I can’t conjure the results I want or the scenarios, I would choose. Although all my worrying would prove otherwise. My hands are rarely open in acceptance and surrender.

On that Sunday, God reached into the depths of me. Helen, lover of ladybugs. Many people may happen upon this random fact about me, but God has always known. He knew I look for ladybugs. He knew I felt scared for Carl and what was ahead. He knew ladybugs would speak to me, help direct my eyes to where they needed to reside. The ladybugs could be at my feet but my head could be lifted.  He knew everything because He is the maker of ladybugs. He fashioned ladybugs to be brightly colored with dark spots to ward off predators and as a shield. He has made Carl and me and shields us from every predator that ventures to cross our path. The boys eventually joined me and they were able to bear witness to my ladybug inhabitation. I sat on a hard stone bench weary and defeated but we all rose wearing armor, ready to walk.

*****

As Carl said this week, he’s in the middle place. He is a month shy of a year post-surgery. All his test have come back clean. He has another year to go before he is deemed cancer-free. We would never take this reality for granted and even more so because we know so many who have different stories and prognosis.

This past May, it was chess time at the beach again. The weather was lovely, Caleb made more checkmates and we lingered again. We took one last walk on the beach before heading home. As we headed downhill towards our car, laughter mingled with gratitude is the only appropriate response to such a sighting.

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***I have been trying to write this post for the last several months but I haven’t been able to get myself in front of the screen to type until today. Today, I needed to remind myself of God’s faithfulness. I needed to renew my belief that He sees me in my weakness and weariness. Maybe you are feeling overwhelmed, weary, discouraged or lost. Maybe you are waiting and watching for something dreaded or hoped for. It might not be a ladybug, but what can you look for that shouts your name? He sees you and He is willing to use the most seemingly insignificant ways to draw you to His side, the nearest and dearest place to find His comfort.

Driving Lessons

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It’s Friday. My day off. May I offer you a snapshot of the day?

  • Alarm set a half  hour later.
  • Assembled Caleb’s lunch and attempted to coax some breakfast into him.
  • Left bed unmade as it is time to change the sheets. Later.
  • Hair appointment to straighten the unruly curly and presto change-o the grey, the white, the silver to ebony.
  • Read text from Carl while under the dryer wondering if I can make a 1:30 car appointment to assess low tire pressure. I reply yes.
  • Pay and tip my hair genius.
  • Drive to The Whole Bowl for a speedy lunch, no black olives, cilantro or sour cream please.
  • Sit in cushy chair and read while my tire is being inspected. Diagnosis: a stray nail.
  • Dart to car and dodge every raindrop because you know, my glorious hair.
  • Drive home, make menu plan and grocery list.
  • Drive to store, load up my cart, the cashier asks if I had any trouble finding what I needed, no trouble at all as I glance at the conveyor belt. We talk about his desire to work closer to home due to the long bus ride home when he closes the store, I thank him for his help, tackle the parking lot, demonstrating ninja skills to avoid rain drops.
  • I push a button to heat my seat and sigh that MY day has evaporated.
  • Drive to pick up a pizza to bake at home before we head to a night at the movies.
  • Bed remains unmade.

I grin because there is a parking place at the eternally full lot shared by several businesses. If I can just wait out this stop light and turn quickly, I will have a coveted space. But I am hurrying and the turn is more hairpin than I anticipated so I struggle. I glance up at the front of the pizza entrance and there is a man cross-legged leaning against the window. He is making hand motions with a slight smirk to guide me as I re-position the car. After two tries, I have accomplished the feat or should I say we mastered the parking space. I jump out of the car and say to the man, “I think I could use your help in my life.” He laughs, nods and smiles as I enter the store.

I exit with arms full of pizzas and climb into my vehicle. I pause for a moment and reach for my wallet. I am unaware of its contents as most of it was left at the hair salon but I know there is some so I empty it and as I reflect later, it was a tenth of my hair plus tip. Hmm. I climb out of my car and lean over to my driving instructor, look at him and tell him, I hope he is able to have a hot meal tonight. I place papers into his hands and he says Amen. I drive away, not before glancing back and seeing him extend his hand for a fist bump with a 3-year old who eagerly accepts the exchange.

I wonder why I offered money and not an invitation to  share pizza in my home. The bills were easier to give, I suppose. But isn’t he my neighbor?

This truth haunts me.

My drives across Portland equally haunt me. No matter the path or direction, the terrain is lined with a rainbow of tents. Everywhere. I cannot ignore my heated seat existence in contrast to those who bear the brunt of the elements every moment of their days. There are no days off. There are no clean sheets.

I don’t have answers. What does it mean to offer the excess of my wallet and not myself, my life to someone in need.  I don’t know how to reconcile that I have power to change the existence of my hair type with a phone call and some cash and I feel tongue-tied when faced with multitude of those in need.

I am going to let the question percolate in my soul until I hear with better ears and see with clearer eyes. There are plenty of organizations I can partner with but first a little heart repair is necessary.

I don’t know even a part of the story of the man who helped me park. I didn’t even ask him his name. It is easy to make assumptions. He may or may not be homeless.  But I know he is a son. He could be a brother, an uncle, a husband or a father, a friend. I drew near enough to see he had lost part of his  pinkie finger. I am sure he could write paragraphs of that episode and pain from the loss of a part of himself and the pain which finds him seated by a pizza store window.

Alan Graham says “the single greatest cause of homelessness is a profound, catastrophic loss of family.”

I am grateful for his words as they help lower the pointed fingers of presumed reasons for homelessness. How would any of us survive without the people we name as family? When we lose family, we lose the connecting points of our identity.  I don’t want to imagine the magnitude of being severed, but I see it painted along the highways and the no longer hidden corners of my city.

The man I encounter, asked for nothing. I think he wanted to be noticed, to feel connected, to feel valued. If I am honest,some days, actually most days, it’s hard for me to look because it requires truly seeing myself and my life crammed with stuff. I’d rather try to outrun the rain that might ruin hair than the many who live continually with rain-soaked clothes.

This man, he is my neighbor. This means I am his neighbor.

Would he consider me his neighbor?

All I do know is I needed his help more than he needed mine.

Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word and deed,

by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and forgive us;
that we may delight in your will,
and walk in your ways,
to the glory of your Name. Amen.
~The Book of Common Prayer

 

 

words for the weary

 

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We never put ornaments on our Christmas tree last year.

What I remember most about last December was being weary. I can point to any number of segments of 2016 bearing legitimate reason for fatigue, but last December doesn’t have any claim to fame other than it was simply December and we were tired.

Carl and Caleb found the most exquisite tree which extended to the very top of our ceiling. It didn’t have a bare spot needing camouflage by a handy corner and the fragrance was unmatched. Carl and I decided to string the lights while Caleb was out for the evening. We opened the box and I questioned, “Who put these lights back in the box like this?” Sadly it wasn’t a rhetorical question. We plugged the lights in and several strands had burnt out bulbs. We started to place the lights on the tree and disagreed with the proper method. I thought the tree needed more lights and Carl thought it looked fine. The tree trimming halted with Carl putting on his coat and driving to Walgreen’s for more lights. I am positive neither one of us heard the faint Christmas songs in the background but I will respond to what you are thinking. Yes, I am most definitely a treat to live with.

Upon Carl’s return, we finished lighting the tree mostly in silence. We stowed  the ornament boxes in the dining room to allow Caleb to join in our merriment on another evening. We kept meaning  to hang the ornaments, we talked about it but we never opened a single storage tub. In fact, Caleb deemed the tree perfect simply with lights.

I suppose our souls felt as bare-boned as our Christmas tree and  yet it was beautiful.

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During 2016, it seemed to be a weekly line-up of news stories which shocked, saddened and drew out weariness.  Wouldn’t you agree?  I can pinpoint the places in our family’s life but as I close the chapter on 2016, I am not sure I have ever experienced such a prevailing, unmovable level of every dimension of exhaustion. When added to the election season, the residue of fatigue seems to coat my soul.

Days after the election results, I wrote a quick post on Instagram which I also shared on Facebook. A collection of my raw emotions, the Sunday after the election. Then I closed my phone and other than the writer in me fighting editing what I wrote or adding to what I had omitted, I  forgot about it until my phone started to vibrate with responses and direct messages embodying a collection of thoughts and sentiments. Overwhelmingly, the responses not seen on my page were an outpouring of love or understanding and for the few that were on a different page, I felt shards of grace. I could sense that in my honesty and brokenness, I represented a person of safety and it would be damaging to quickly assemble a fence of opposition. If we don’t allow each other to speak our words out loud to someone who experiences the world differently, how will we see how those words singe the air and the other person?20161209_163015.png

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Will you indulge me with quite a simplistic metaphor?

America has been a tall and expansive tree decked out in sparkling lights and crammed full with ornaments. Every attempt has been made to conceal the bare spots and not reveal the decaying network of branches. We can’t overt our gaze from the deeply ingrained problems of our nation.

America has been stripped bare. We have witnessed this fact and the whole world in tandem. It is quite easy to feel quite downhearted and hopeless. I mean, if after 30 years of marriage, Carl and I still can’t agree how to untangle lights, how can I envision our States being united or it’s people softening their clenched fists towards one another?

We are not a people without hope. I believe there are still lights sprinkled all over America. I think it’s you and me, doing whatever we are called to do during the years to come. Some may write letters and others may have conversations. I think the most powerful words we can utter to one another is “I didn’t realize…”. Some will look at the landscape of their relationships and see only a single hue or experience or class or culture and seek to change this fact. Others will help us see places of injustice and oppression and wave a flashlight over an unseen truth. I hope all of us will seek to have our vision adjusted even when it feels unbearably painful.

We need everyone. No one should be discounted. I  believed during the course of my life, if I simply walked into any situation being myself, leading with kindness and friendliness, even if I didn’t resemble anyone else, leading with love would be enough to change a multitude of people’s minds. I am not sure where I stand on that belief today but what hasn’t changed is my desire to love, be kind and extend grace. Perhaps a more important tenet is to remember and believe is that God is the changer of hearts, not me.

Today I say to you, go forth and be the light you are designed to be in this world. Be one of the strand of lights encircling the framework of the tree. Be the hope that will encompass our country and our world. We all may feel as if we are only one tiny bulb of light, but not when we stay connected and patiently untangle all our knotted emotions.

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That was heavy. Allow me to tell you a few things which are helping mend my mind, my heart and my soul. When we are weary, we need simplicity not complicated ideas.

Several months ago, I realized my reading material was weighing me down as much as perusing the threads on Facebook. I always have a huge TBR list but any title with heavy subject matter is off-limits for now. I re-read Anne of Green Gables in a weekend and how can your rib cage not expand when you read of Anne’s delight over tasting ice cream for the first time? I could walk to any number of gourmet ice cream or donut shops. I want to lasso wonder in my life. So many ornaments in my life, crowding out simply joys.

I joined an online book club (that is called an introvert’s dream) and the first book was Beyond Loneliness: The Gift of Friendship with God. No one wants to admit to loneliness as those around you may feel they need to fix it or believe they have failed or are not enough. If we are honest, most of us are lonely in some way.Social media and technology has given us distant connection and not across the table fellowship.  For me, there is no one who can touch those areas other than God and until I admit to this realization, He can’t tend to those broken places.

I hardly ever give books I haven’t read. But last Christmas, and this past November, I gave a widely praised book. I finally read A Man Called Ove last week and tears spilled onto the last few pages. Not to mention how much I laughed out loud over the course of the book. The themes couldn’t be anymore applicable to our world at the present. Laughter and tears are both wonderfully important components in healing.

When life feels heavy, I tend towards quiet. I forget about music. Over the past few months, I have had the opportunity to get lost in attending live musical performances and it will be a lifelong priority. I was late to Hamilton fever. I knew about the Broadway musical but didn’t take the time to listen. There are not enough adjectives other than to say, it is brilliant and I find it prophetic for these current times. If you don’t think it’s your thing, watch the PBS’ Great Performances Hamilton’s America and you might change your mind. Also the entire soundtrack is available on Spotify.
Although sadly, I can’t find the PBS special online at the present, it had been on YouTube just last week. I will keep you  posted. PBS has been quite stingy with it…just my opinion and they know it 😉

Josh Garrell’s Christmas offering The Light Came Down is getting heavy play time currently. There is something about his tone and the haunting quality of his voice that smooths out the crevices in my heart, this one took me by surprise.

The family has been battling squirrels and watching birds. I continue to love watching the birds at our feeder. It allows me to exhale and consider simple creatures. It reminds me about the importance of provision. We provide food to nourish and it creates a rhythm and an expectation for the birds. I lament whenever forgetfulness causes the supply to run low and yet I see the smallest of birds, rubbing their beaks along the empty suet cages, willing to be satisfied with the memory of seed. How thankful my Father’s supply is without end.

Lastly, I am resting and saying no more often. When I am tired, it’s a mistake to attempt to crowd out the exhaustion with busyness, it is the perfect time to strip away the non-essential and take a nap. Perhaps take a stroll outdoor and then curl up under the comforter.

What is your weariness remedy?

*** I couldn’t crop the top photo any closer because I hadn’t realized that our sweet
Hazel’s paws can be seen. Her favorite place, close to the tree. We miss her immensely.

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He took our humanity, just as it is, with all its wretchedness and ugliness, and gave it back to us just as his humanity is, transfigured by the beauty of his living, filled full of his joy. So that no matter what suffering we meet, we can meet it with the whole power of the love that has overcome the world.

*****

God intimately and silently shares all our secrets, no matter how hidden we may keep them from other people. God knows our hidden selves and still God is pleased to be one with us. God rejoices in our private triumphs and shares the pain of our unspoken sorrows–all in complete and undisturbed solidarity with us. Christ’s humanity remains the point of connection between our human lives–however seemingly petty and small–and the veiled, ineffable and eternal life of God.

~from A Child in Winter (beyond grateful for your recommendation Tonia)

 

what i am loving and learning

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Hello.

The end of August marked the 10th year of A Work of Heart. I stand amazed for a number of reasons but most of all by readers. The content available at the click of a pinkie finger is immeasurable. I never take for granted that even one person would take the time to read a long post, write a comment, share on Facebook or hit the like button.
Initially only my family and a few friends knew the existence of this site, but now there are almost 500 followers of this little ol’ blog. It’s a drop in the bucket for many bloggers but my cup runs over with gratitude as a blogger who doesn’t follow any of the “rules” anymore and only posts occasionally. Thank you from all corners of my heart.

Now to what I am loving and learning:

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I am not different from most, I like the after-effects of cleaning. In the category of frivolous, I love Caldrea countertop spray. I may lose my Oregonian credentials as I should be using a homemade vinegar and water solution but no. I love the fragrance and how it faintly lingers hours after I have cleaned, reminding me that I have indeed cleaned…something.

 

I had heard a bit about Netflix’s original series Stranger Things but it wasn’t until I asked my Facebook peeps to help us find some television/movie ideas while Carl recovered from a recent surgery that it became apparent it was time to check the series out. We felt like we had been transported into the 1980’s in the best possible way. It was such a treat to watch a series that defies age. No spoilers here, just watch it.

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I am not sure why it took me so long but I finally  started a bullet journal. If I am honest, I thought it would bother me if I didn’t do it “right”. What I have learned is that mistakes are a part of the process and this journal is for me alone. I love having everything in one place. I tended towards having many notebooks and lists and never made a lot of traction regarding goal keeping and organization. Be forewarned how easy it is to drool over the creative world of those who keep a bullet journal, perhaps this was a bit intimidating as well. I am loving making my journal feel like Helen and no one is grading my journal 🙂

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Behold the sunflower glory. Our year has been marked by waiting. Waiting is difficult and it is stretching. I fought hard to get seeds into the ground this year. The rest of our yard is a bit challenged and sad-looking. Last summer’s extreme heat devastated most of my perennials and gave us a weak blueberry harvest. Sniff. These sunflowers are beauty and hope in the waiting. This year I planted 10-12 different varieties and then I misplaced the seeds and couldn’t find them for weeks, another delay and more waiting. When I look at each stem swaying in the breeze, being enjoyed by bees or even the very tallest ones the squirrels didn’t allow viewing before they carted the blossoms off, they are my sunrise and sunset. They represent all that is contained in a day and in our lives, a lot of waiting but also such a lot of glorious beauty to behold.
This week, I read this verse:

I can be content in any and every  situation through the Anointed One who is my power and strength.   Philippians 4: 13 (The Voice)

I have read this verse countless times but in this translation, all I could do was say out loud, “Not even.”
I haven’t been very content in most situations lately.
I can be, only through God.
If contentment were easy, God wouldn’t need to help us secure it.
I can wait.
I can be content.
I can lean heavily onto my Maker to make it be so.

My word for the year has been peace. Oh that has been such a great word for many reasons. We all need peace and want it. Sometimes, I have to hunt for peace when I scroll through social media feeds. Another aspect of peace which I didn’t anticipate is my need to finally surrender to taking better care of myself. It encompasses all the things we all know we should be doing but for me it also is simply being kinder and gentler to myself. I don’t have to move at an urgent pace everyday. I don’t have to conquer everything. I can say no or yes. I can rest. If I wasn’t convinced, I need to look no further than how Caleb has gotten in the habit of giving me a neck and shoulder massage. It is the most dear thing ever but he notices. Tight muscles are noisy messengers.

I read Shauna Niequist’s new book after grappling with many of the themes of her book for years. I finished it in a couple of days and wrote all over the margins. It became a journal of “aha’s” and “yes, me too”. This summer, I also started the crazy habit of reading one book at a time. Gasp. After decade of having lot of bookmarked books, I decided to read one book at a time. It makes me feel less cluttered. I think I am loving it.

When this image hit my Instagram feed several days ago, I could not stop looking at the Obamas. It is such a stunning photo of a man and a woman, a husband and a wife. I had so many thoughts and feelings. It gave me pause for all the ways I feel about my body, all the ways I feel it has been less or more than I want it to be. I added it to the running list of “loves”  in my bullet journal (of course). But then I read Deidra Rigg’s post and it was such a slam dunk and a hallelujah, I will let her eloquent words stand. She is a lot braver than I am. I want to be braver. Fist bump Deidra and Michelle.

*****

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Not the best photo (not my car), but remember, obviously you can never have too many car fresheners 😉 

What are you loving and learning during these golden days of September?

 

 

when love is built in parking lots

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Dear Carl,

July marked our 30th year of marriage. We knew it was a big deal yet something about the weight of this number has felt more solid than the past milestone years.

After all this time, you know me and it won’t surprise you that this letter will weave stories to illustrate my point.

I do have a point, I promise.

It’s been a few weeks since we said goodbye to our wonderful Chocolate Aussie Hazel. Recently I recalled that we brought her home on our 14th anniversary. We had waited an unbearably long week because we were traveling. At the time, it was just the four of us, thinking that Hazel would be our last baby. We were enjoying our vacation but now and then one of us would look at the other and express how anxious we were to get back to Portland and scoop up Hazel.

A few years later, Caleb came into the world and he became the object of Hazel’s herding tendencies. Now that there were five of the people variety and a forever-shedding pup, we felt complete.

None of us will ever forget her last morning with us. When you spend a life together, there are sacred moments, horrible ones and everything in between. It was a Sunday, it was sudden and it was a collection of sacred and horrible. All of us navigated our way into the vet hospital parking lot at different times and crazily in 4 different cars. Our time was full of unabashed emotion and words. It’s what happens in the best kind of families, the feelings run deep and there is no way to shield each other from them, nor would you desire.

Carl, I will never forget your strength mingled with emotion.  When none of us could speak, you lavished us with prayer, such a needed balm, bestowing on us peace and comfort.

When there was nothing else to do, you suggested finding a place for breakfast which is always the best solution for five breakfast lovers plus no one wanted to spend much time at the house.

As we were walking to the parking lot, either you or I turned to say something to the other and when we faced forward again, we gazed upon the tenderness of our kids in a tight circle above the raw asphalt. We were close enough to see their lips moving but far enough to not hear their words. We never asked their words, those sentences weren’t ours to know but it was testimony of their overlapping grief.

We shared breakfast and a toast to a good and faithful dog.

The girls took Caleb for the rest of the day and to see Finding Dory.

You and I silently and slowly ascended the stairs at home to complete painting in Caleb’s new bedroom. We might have preferred to curl up on the sofa but we were partaking in a rite of passage, fulfilling a promise, preparing the largest bedroom of our house, where each of his sisters had inhabited, together or solo.

Hazel’s death has shaken us. It has upended routine and rhythm and relationship. We have known plenty of loss over these many year but this one feels central to the core of the family we have built. That pivotal day before the 4th of July when we grieved her caused me to see how our marriage has been built in parking lots.

To be honest, no one really thinks about parking lots until they need a parking place or to find their car. The world would frown at this marriage statement because it’s not sexy or reality show friendly. The world would count our time as worthy only if it contained exotic locations complete with designer bodies and children.

Exotic is defined as very different, strange, unusual, not living or growing naturally in a particular area. It means strikingly, excitingly or mysteriously different or unusual. 

I would say sharing 30 years together is very different, unusual and is not considered a natural occurrence in this world. It truly is mysteriously different.

The course of our marriage has been spent traversing across the varying temperatures of parking lots and not being taxi-ed away on planes. Trips are a short-term landing, sometimes the exotic part of a marriage is lived out day-by-day in the same place, in the same house with the same people creating the most amazing view of the world’s landscape.

The soul of our marriage is you and me.

The heart of our marriage is the extensions we have created in family and friendship.

Marriage is full of parking lots.

I am grateful for the snow-covered airport parking lot when you surprised me to propose.

I will never forget the parking lot you pulled me across when we made our getaway the day we were married.

Do you remember our measured tiptoeing and breath holding from the hospital to the car with each new bundled up baby?

Or how we circled the blocks to find just the right parking place on all those first and last days of school? Or you clasping my hand when I wanted to “take just one more peek” and helped me begin the slow sniffle-filled walk to the car?

All the seemingly endless searches for parking spots for practices, games, concerts, medical appointments, braces on, braces off, entrances exams, graduations and college-drop offs.
Never to be outdone by the most dreaded question asked at bedtime,

“You need what by tomorrow morning?”

Start the engine and proceed to the nearest store.

The frantic dash to any of a number of churches in time to be seated before the first song. After 30 years, it is still a struggle.

We’ve had our favorite work parking spots, some have lasted for years and others came to unexpected endings.

Sadly we have bowed over so many loved ones who have left life’s parking lot for Heaven.

The picture above is actually before we were officially married. I have no idea what you said to me but it made me laugh. I can tell because my cheeks are reaching towards my eyes. You have never ceased to make me laugh even when it seemed impossible.

Thank you for traveling every parking lot with me.

Thank you for trudging through the snow to claim me as your own.

Thank you for shepherding our kids like a champ.

Thank you for believing my wedding day image is the same one you see every day.

For a girl who grew up never locking doors, thank you for keeping us safe.

Thank you for patting the cushion next to you so I will sit closer to you.

Thank you for all the sacrifices you have made, those I know and will never know.

Thanks for  believing in me despite my serious doubts.

Thanks for being my safest place.

For the pocket of parenting days and nights only you, me and God know the depths, thank you for limping through that long, hard season with me.

We are facing a parking lot we wish we could not find a place to park. We don’t ask for Him to take the trials away only that His presence would remain. If there is anything we know after 30 years, God will never abandon us without hope.
He is with us and loving in the midst of every obstacle and triumph of our life together. He is our peace and our guide. He is the Maker and the keeper of our marriage. In Him we can trust and rely. He has been the one who has filled every pot hole and resurfaced every rut. We expect nothing less than Him being God.

You see, I did get to the point.

It required a lot of words to simply say:

I love you and am forever grateful you are my husband,

 

Helen