The Last Day of Summer

I was mourning the passing of summer. Officially we still had weeks still to go on the calendar, and even longer as far as the weather goes, but school was starting, and that meant no more longs days of fun and sun. 

I was sad. 

My baby kid was starting kindergarten. For the next 13 years, school would be in session.

If I think on that too long, I'll be really, really sad.

Instead of being sad, we decided to send summer off at one of our favorite places. This was the first summer that all the kids could swim well, and we spent a lot of time at the pool. It seemed the perfect place to kiss the summer good-bye. 

Consolation

She looked at me appraisingly with bright blue eyes - young, bright and carefree.

"Do you work?" she asked, studying me well.

I was caught off guard. It had been a while since I had heard that question.

"Oh, no. I stay home with them..." I nodded to my kids who were bouncing nearby. 

"Oh," she said. 

She paused a moment. 

"Well, that's a full time job..." 

Her words trailed off (I heard the unspoken "sort of" in there) and I turned my gaze full on her as I decided how to respond. 

How could she know? 

I chose kindness. 

"Yeah, it is. But it's good, and I'm thankful I get to stay home with them."

That's all she wanted to hear. Actually I'm not sure she made it through the entire sentence, but though no fault of her own. Her sweet youthfulness prevented her from even pondering for a moment what it might be like to "stay at home with kids."

And who can blame her?

Later in the day I reflected on the emotions that the conversation had stirred in me.

What I really wanted to say was, "No, actually this is like having four full time jobs (you know, since most jobs are 40 hours and there are 168 hours in a week.)  And there is no clock out time, no sick days, no personal days, no lunch breaks and no monetary benefit. Oh, and no vacation days, and no weekends."

I am so glad I didn't say that. 

(Thankfully I can't do math that quickly, so even if I had wanted to say all that I couldn't have. There you go. My lack of quick math skills actually worked to my benefit. I'm waiting for the benefit of the lack of spelling skills to kick in any day now.)

So why did I feel the need to go there? 

Even to myself?

Was it because it had been a hard week? Was it because I was staring down another school year fully aware of all of my inadequacies as a teacher, much less as a mother? Was it because I was tired? Worried? Stressed? Wondering how my kids were going to turn out in the grand scheme of life?

Probably.

And maybe I was tired of staying at home with my kids being viewed as a second hand occupation. Sort of a consolation prize. 

My second favorite question is, "What will you do after they are gone? Will you work then?"

You know, stop sucking up resources and actually start contributing to society again? Pulling your weight? Do something worthwhile?

That's my other favorite. 

Oh, I already said that.

Usually I tell people (on a good day) that when my youngest has graduated from high school I will be 52 years old. (You don't want to know how long it took me to figure that number out or what that number did to my... everything.)

So at 52 I will have been out of the workplace for a grand total of 23 years. My degree will be obsolete, as will any job, resume or experience I may have had before I had kids.

I'm sure employers will be knocking down my door.

And I thought of all the 50 somethings that were in college with me. They messed up all the grading curves since they were actually motivated to be there and weren't messing around. (I was too, for that matter, but dang, those ladies knew how to study. They blew us away every single time.)

I guess that's why they were there. Their children had sauntered off into the sunset, leaving behind a mother who had cleaned, nursed, chauffeured, cooked, and cared for them for more than 18 years and left behind an exhausted and used up woman who then had to figure out what they were good for now.

Or at least that's what it looks like from this vantage point. 

You know, looking ahead. 

All this doesn't change anything, really. I know with out a shred of doubt that I can where I am supposed to be. I know that no matter how bad at this job I am, no matter how many horrific days we have, no matter how much I ask God, "Are you SURE about this?" and no matter how many times the Accuser tells me that I'm messing my kids up irreparably, I will keep on. 

And no matter how many times people look at me sympathetically when I say I am a stay at home mom, (and boy the sympathetic looks my kids get when I tell them we homeschool) I will stand strong in this calling.

And you know why? Mostly because I know the work God is doing in me because I stay home.

That's the secret that they don't know or probably even care about. 

And He's training up an army in this house. He's going to use it for His glory, and we are simply getting ready for that, working hard while we're waiting, being used all the while, but knowing that our efforts are not in vain. We are creating a foundation in Him that will never be shaken. We are forming bonds as a family that will never be broken. We are seeking him as a family. We are learning about Him and all His ways. We are devoted to Him in thought, word, action and deed. And though it's hard and there are days I want to give up, run and hide, I keep on. I persevere because I know that I am not operating in the temporal. I'm building eternal things in this house. Things that will live on for an eternity. All for His glory. 

So that makes it a little easier to smile when asked this disheartening question. 

To say, 

"Yeah, I get to stay at home with my kids. And I'm glad..."

And really mean it.

Ouch

First let me preface my "ouch" with this paragraph:

"...We don't like people who seem to be enamored with their own intelligence or strength or skill or good looks or wealth. We don't like scholars who try to show off their specialized knowledge or recite for all all of us their recent publications. We don't like businessmen who talk about how shrewdly they have invested their money and how they stayed right on top of the market to get in low and out high. We don't like children to play one-upmanship (Mine's bigger! Mine's faster! Mine's prettier!). And unless we are one of them, we disapprove of men and women who dress not functionally and simply, but to attract attention with the latest styles..."

I already had my toes, which were encased in my most recent favorite pair of new cute shoes, stepped on. 

Maybe I'd better think on this for a minute.

But there was no time. 

It went right on, this book.

"Why don't we all like that? I think at root it's because such people are inauthentic. They are what Ayn Rand calls "second-handers." They don't live from the joy that comes through achieving what they value for its own sake. Instead, they live secondhand from the compliments of others. They have one eye on their action and one on their audience. We simply do not admire second-handers. We admire people who are secure and composed enough that they don't need to shore up their weaknesses and compensate for their deficiencies by trying to get compliments."

So I cocked an eyebrow at myself and asked myself the question, 

"Is this you, Amy?"

And what does my love of social media say to this?

I'm still thinking...

Say what?

100 Most Mispronounced Words

Just bookmarking this here for future reference.

(I hope I pronounced all of those words correctly. Now I'm second guessing everything!)

Gossip

Just putting this here for me to find again later. But it's a good read. Or a necessary read. So read it. And now you know where to find it again!

Gossip (link)

Oddity is genetic

I didn't know my great-grandmother very well. 

She was my paternal grandfather's mother. She wasn't a warm, fuzzy person. I don't recall ever spending time alone with her, and never really got to know her well.

I do remember her obsessions with cleanliness. Plastic coverings on the furniture, plastic runners on the floor. Everything spotless. It's actually how my house might be if I relented for one moment beating back the type A villain that so wants to rear its ugly head in me. 

She loved fashion, and she could whip up masterful creations on her sewing machine. She loved rhinestones, sparkle and bling of all sorts.

Maybe we are more alike than I realized.

But there is that distance that characterizes her in my mind. She was rather disinterested in the grand kids, yet I remember my precious grandmother stirring furiously a pot on the stove after an encounter with her. I didn't understand that then, but now I can slightly imagine what she endured in a difficult relationship with her mother in law. 

Now that I'm older I wonder what in my great-grandmother's past led her to be that way - I so hope she knew Christ, and hopefully my recollections are from that child-like mind that didn't fully understand the adult world I saw at a distance before me. Maybe it's not all as I remembered.

The last memory I have of her is her clutching me to her chest on her deathbed just hours before she died. She whispered furiously in my ear, "You know I love you?" 

Those words encouraged forgiveness in my heart, and regret replaced whatever irritating thoughts that I had about her previously. 

I should have spent time with her. Gotten to know her. Heard her story.

And I think we were alike in more ways than I thought. 

My beloved great-grandfather called her "Baby," and we all did the same. 

She was simply "Baby."

In the years before my aunt Ann tragically died, Ann would comment on something I was wearing and say, "That is so Baby." She would grin at me, trying to convince me that this female legacy I inherited was not a completely unfortunate one.

I came to appreciate the comparisons to this enigma of a woman I was quick to judge, perhaps too harshly. 

When she died, my grandfather was gracious to share with me sweet sentimental mementos from their home.

In some of the precious mementos was a picture that my great-grandmother had drawn.

I loved it, and as I studied it, my aunt turned the picture over to show me a small photograph that was taped to the back of the frame. 

I looked at my aunt quizzically, and I'll never forget the sparkle in her eyes. 

The writing in the bottom right hand corner of the picture is this:

Ann Harbin

Loulie Compton Seminary

May 22, 1923

Thanks to the joy of Google, I was able to see this school, which was billed as the best preparatory school in the South. I even found a year book on Amazon, and had they not wanted over $300 for it, I probably would have bought it. 

It was here that Baby had penned this picture as a 17 year old girl. The odd thing was that she said at the time that it was her husband.

 

I don't know what led her to draw this, or declare that this was her husband, but she did. Knowing what I do of her, she did it with great panache and conviction. 

I do wish I knew what led her to do this, though. I hate that this part of the story is missing. 

And what was taped to the back of the framed sketch?

Why this picture, of course. Dated 1926.

Three years after her sketch.

 

What makes me teary eyed about this picture is not just that she was right about what her husband would look like, but seeing here the apparent love my great-grandfather had for her. 

It's true. This picture illustrates the love he lavished on her for all of their lives together. He was a gentle giant - we called him "Big Daddy" and he was! Towered nearly 6 feet 5 inches but the kindest most gentle man. I adored him.

But nevermind all of that. 

She was right! Look at him!

I just love it. How did she know?

Maybe she had had a vision or something...

Regardless of that, Baby loved to create. That I got from her definitively. Her passion to create was not limited by talent or ability.

I can relate there also. 

This hangs in my dining room, and I do ponder nearly everyday her choice to create blue trees. Never did my aunt pass this painting that she wouldn't pause, with her hands on her hips, and say, "Only Baby would insist that trees should be blue..."

So it hangs there-a tribute to a family that loved me in spite of all of my flaws and a ringing endorsement to my odd creative side.

Ann and Baby

Ann, my sweet aunt.

Another beauty post? STOP IT!

I can't help it. I wanted to reference this comment in one of my other posts, but I got tired of the whole thing and said, "Forget it."

I kept thinking about what this sweet man had written, but couldn't remember how to get back to where it was.

And lo and behold, here it is! A whole post about this sweet man whose words have echoed in my head. 

Yay!!!!


My Wife is Beautiful

 
I have also thought over and over about this beautiful yet oh so vulnerable poem written by Ruth Bell Graham.

She always possessed such beauty to me. Poise and grace. I admired and appreciated her love of the written word. Her creative side. Her love of the Lord and His Word are evident in simply everything about her. Her deep devotion to missions is an inspiration to me. Her apparent adoration of her husband and her acceptance of and devotion to his ministry brings tears to my eyes. Truly. The way her children speak of her inspires me to be a better mother.


I adore this woman.

To say it was a surprise to read her tender and heart felt words is to say the least. She was a humble woman, never wanting attention for herself, but to hear this view of herself gave me pause:

Your eyes
look down at me...
What do they see?
The plainness of me--
plainly built,
not small,
nor calmly poised,
nor quaint,
and, worst of all,
a nose upturned
and hands 
that I have known
for years to be
too long,
too overgrown;
plain hazel eyes,
a face too pale,
not fair,
a mouth too large
 and ordinary hair?
And all of me
tucked in
this homemade dress;
oh, if you look at me
so thoughtfully
will you love me
the less?


 Oh, my heart broke when I read this! I wanted her to know how much I adored her! I wanted her to feel beautiful. Each time I see pictures of her, or video of her, her beauty just shines from her face and her countenance. I wanted her to feel about herself the way I feel about her!

And then I heard the Lord whisper, "And I too..."

Yes, I hear you, Lord. The way Your beauty shines from me is all that matters.




One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple. Psalm 27:4

I hope this is the last of the beauty posts for a bit. I know that charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. {Proverbs 31:20} I know that what I do for Christ is all that will last. I pray that I will continue to seek Him, be conformed to the image of His Son and lay these other things at His feet where they belong.

Poem from "Never Let it End" by Ruth Graham Bell