Treasuring and Pondering

December has been a month filled with sorrow, joys, beauty, tears, quiet and bustle. As I grieve the recent death of my father, I sometimes find myself looking at the day's activities as if it were happening to someone I'm observing attentively. I move through the day and reflect on it's occurrence's with quiet reflection, and treasure up the many blessings that come softly and sometimes boisterously my way, my tears often punctuating their beauty.

November 28'th my father was greeted into heaven, and on the day he left this earth my dear friends with whom I was staying, received word that they were new grandparents. I have long held a soft spot for children and seeing the pictures of new life on the very day my father went to greet his, was such a reminder of God's wonderful plan of joy and hope, life and love.

Last week I was privileged to be with my daughter and her husband during the sonogram when they learned they are having a son. A son. My baby is carrying a son. I find myself, like Mary did so many years ago, pondering what God has in store for this new and precious life.

I have kept Christmas decorations to a select few this year, no big gorgeous tree is filling our home. Rather, tree-scented candles, sprigs of holly, a wreath at the door, two small but treasured china angels from my husband's family and a 100 year-old copy of "The Night Before Christmas", that was my grandma Edna's is on display. I'm finding the lack of glitz is calming, and I'm so very thankful for our lovely little home. I even shelled out the big bucks (for us anyway) and had two people come in and paint the main living area and kitchen of our home and I love its new look. I've never had anyone paint for me before and although I had to close my eyes when sending the check, the lack of fuss on my part was well worth it. The two days the painters were here, I sat in my room and wrapped presents, thoroughly cleaned my room, got some correspondence done, did laundry and actually enjoyed being in my little nest while the painters quietly worked.

A few days before my father passed away, I called my husband and asked if he could plan something in Seattle for us to do around Christmas. I needed something to look forward to during that very difficult time.  He rose to the challenge and so far we have gone on a Christmas cruise around Seattle with members of our church, attended the Nutcracker, and the symphony. An embarrassment of riches. The above picture is from our fun walk around Seattle the evening after watching the Nutcracker. The picture below is while at the Nutcracker, where all the many little girls in their beautiful princess dresses were as entertaining as this gorgeous ballet.

My husband and I want to wish each of you the merriest of Christmas celebrations. May you also have time to treasure and ponder the many blessings that God offers us; from the simple beauty of gnarled bare branches, to the splendor that is often a part of this season, to the warmth and love of friends and family. Celebrate the gift of life that was given to us and may peace overflow in your lives.



Saying Goodbye



Me, enjoying my Dad's music just as I did as a child.

My Dad has finally let go of his strong grip on this life and has embraced his new heavenly one where he can walk again, play his spirited music once more, and be filled with such joy that his light heart will perhaps even spill down towards me on days like today, when my tears are flowing and my heart aches for just one more hug.

For the last several years my Dad's health has been in a slow decline.  Two and a half years ago he actually died and was brought back to life, but only to be so weak he couldn't walk anymore and could only eat pureed food that was spooned into his open mouth like a frail little bird being fed by his mother.  He was on hospice for six months before he was booted out because he just kept on keeping on. I often wondered why he kept on fighting, his quality of life was so poor.  Even this last week the nurse said that he only had a few more minutes to live, so I called my brothers who drove to the hospital to say their goodbyes. Dad lived another day. Why?  For what was this thin, frail man still fighting?

My single father and his brood of six. I'm holding onto his leg.

I think it is pretty safe to say, that Dad was hanging on for his kids.  He loved us and we all knew it.  He had adopted three children and had three children of his own, when he found himself a very single parent of six.  He owned and operated a logging company, working hard during the day, then coming home to six children who clamored for his attention. He played guitar and sang to us, held our hands and made us laugh with his silly jokes and funny faces. When he married again, we added a step-sister to our fold, then he and my step-mother broke the long run of girls by having two very loved boys together.  He wrote and sang silly songs about their childhood and attended every game they were in, no matter how tired he was or how much his back hurt.

My dad worked hard, played hard, and loved with everything in him.  When any of us kids would say, "I love you Dad", he would answer back with great emotion, "I love you more than anything". He taught me to love without bounds, to laugh for no reason, to express joy, sadness and tears without reservation.

We shared a love of nature and working hard outdoors.  I helped him set fence posts and tend the garden, and he walked through the forest with me teaching me the names of trees and birds. We enjoyed digging clams together and shucking oysters on the beach. He patiently taught each of us girls how to tie a hook, bait it and catch a fish. Well, he tried. Often he spent the entire day just untangling our lines, never complaining that he didn't get to fish even once. He always had a small boat and I loved to go out fishing with him.  One time he laughingly accused me of "chumming," because the waves of the lake had gotten a bit much for me.

My dad was real,sometimes glibly making bad choices and sometimes he just trusted the wrong kind of people. He wore the two-word title, "A Character" from anyone who had spent any length of time with him.  At one point Dad felt the current sum of his sins just might be getting a bit larger than he was comfortable with. This brought him to the decision to be baptized a second time,because so much had happened since the first one, and he wanted to make absolutely sure of where he was going when his time came!

I'm happy my dad has been released from his tired and broken body, but I find myself trying to adjust to not being tethered to him and feel a bit adrift, and as irrational as it is,maybe just a tiny bit afraid to handle the world again without one of my parents.

Goodbye Dad, I love you more than anything. Thank you for loving me my whole life.