Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Childhood’

Recently one of my daughters and I went for a walk with the beast, on my favorite trail. It was not a bright sun-shiny day, but it was not raining, and in monsoon season here, that is great weather!

As we were coming to the end of our walk, there was a woman with a girl, who looked to be about four, coming towards us. As they were getting closer, I experienced a strong case of deja vu. The little girl, clad in a pink raincoat, and matching rain boots, was puddle jumping.

Immediately, I was carried back to the days when my own kids were preschoolers, out for a walk with the sole intend of puddle jumping after the rain stopped. I remembered the various rain boots and coats, the childish umbrellas, and … the smiles of delight as they approached a fresh, undisturbed puddle, as they plotted and planned how to move as much water as they could in one leap.

I remembered their wonder-filled smiles, and I felt that tug on my mama heart, that tug that said ‘I miss that’, ‘I long for that look, that feeling, again.’

Then I realized that my daughter, at my side, was taking the same wonder-filled delight in the experience that we were both observing. She is almost fifteen, and is all teenage girl. But she is not above the delightful moments of life. She is still filled with awe at the sight of a puddle and a pair of rubber boots. She is still filled with wonder.

Sometimes, as a mom of teens, it is easy to allow my thoughts of when they were young, linger in my mind. Sometimes, as a mom of teens, I forget that the inquisitive, wide-eyed, wonder-filled person I knew in them a dozen or so years ago, is still there. What has changed is that I need to readjust my expectations of how that wonder is expressed.

In my nineteen year old, the wonder might be the way she described the group interview for a position at a camp for kids with cancer. In my twelve year old son, it might be the “advanced graphic for it’s time” in an old N64 James Bond Movie. For my fifteen year old, it might be sharing a moment of delight as we watch a little one jump into a puddle, without a care in the world.

Maybe, like how I delight in a day without rain, even though it is still cloudy, I need to look actively for the moments of wonder in my teens days. Maybe then, when I am a grandma, watching my grandchild jumping in puddles, I will see a mom and her teen walking towards us. I will see them delighting in the joy my grandchild is having. I will see the wonder on that teens face, and I will remember the shared wonder I had with my teen, and it will make me long for those days too.

Read Full Post »

 

As the teenage student spoke of his experience in the small South African town, I found myself smiling, knowingly.

He spoke of people on the streets saying hi to him, waving from a distance, knowing him before he had even arrived from traveling the thousands of miles from the Pacific Northwest. He had visited a place, as a stranger, which had immediately felt like his very own community … because he felt known.

That is what it is to be in a small town … you feel known.

Many people who visit small towns speak of similar experiences. Hubby and I are both from small towns on the East Coast. When people we know visit the East Coast they often return with tales of how friendly the locals were. Hubby and I usually smile, knowingly, then tell them the truth … the people are friendly, but they are nosy too.

I realize now that to have grown up in a small town was a privilege that few get to experience.

When I walked down the street everyone, from the postmistress, to the car salesman, to the corner store cashier, to the town gossip knew my name, who my parents were, and where I lived. If I was hanging out with the wrong person, my parents knew it before I got back home. When I graduated from high school, I received cards of congratulations from many of the people in our neighborhood.

Growing up in a small town can provide a great sense of security, support and community. It can provide an ownership and responsibility to all who you share life in the community with. It can make you feel like you are part of something bigger.

Sometimes, when we are in the midst of an experience, we fail to appreciate the blessing of where we are. What a great experience it was to have grown up in a place where everybody knows your name.

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

2882be8451aebb1638aa34e557b138b8

It was a recent conversation with my eldest daughter (who happens to be a Psych. Major) that made me ponder the effects of my being a mother has on my being a daughter.

I had a good childhood, surrounded by a cornucopia of immediate and extended family members.

I lived in a place where community meant everyone (but what else could it mean in a village of less than two thousand people?).

I got a good education, by people who cared about their students.

I was exposed to Christianity, even though my parents did not practice that lifestyle.

I was encouraged that I could do whatever I put my mind to.

I was loved … really, really loved.

If I were to attach one word to my childhood it would be … blessed!

Now, get your imaginations out of Cleverville! I said blessed … not perfect! not flawless! not without tears! or hurts! or disappointments! or damage!

There was a time in my early adulthood that I vividly felt the flaws of my upbringing … the hurts from childhood … the damages. I pondered (too long) the disappointments I felt in some of my memories and experiences.

This is all normal, for we need to go through the ice-cold waters in our memories to start to feel the warmth again. We need to feel the frigid to realize that our parents are not perfect … so as to prepare us for the reality that, as parents, we too are not perfect.

As I look back on my own parenting of our three kids, it is when they were very young, that the warmth of forgiveness began to touch my mother-heart.

Anyone with young children will tell you of the ease with which a child will forgive. I remember going to each of our kids on many (many, many, many) occasions to apologize for some hurt, disappointment, damage … tears that I caused them. Each time my kids would immediately, readily, enthusiastically respond, “it’s okay Mommy.” And there and then, my sins forgiven, it was over and forgotten.

As my kids are growing into the young adult years, I am becoming more and more aware that they will soon be sliding into more reflective, more critical years as they look back on their own childhoods … on their own mother. I realize I will need to grow thicker skin, and discerning ears. I realize I will need to put unconditional love into practice.

It is my own kid’s unconditional forgiveness of me, that helped me to forgive, and forget the imperfections of my own parents. It is through my own kids that I was able to look at my parents as having done what they did, with the knowledge and experience available to them when they were in the deep waters of parenting.

With all that said, they did the best they could … and I was blessed.

bf1e4c019d17dbc85936945e611a2f3d

Read Full Post »

normal

When you hear the name, Bill Watterson, what words come to mind?

comics
artist
Calvin and Hobbes
mishaps
heart-warming
adventures into childhood
childhood …

Calvin_and_Hobbes_1280_Wall_by_LamboMan7

Although Bill Watterson stopped drawing his famous six year old and the stuffed tiger, who came to life, in 1995 (at the age of thirty-seven), his Calvin and Hobbes cartoons are still enjoyed by children and adults alike.

cseriousart

Just this past Friday a documentary, called Dear Mr. Watterson, opened at select theaters (only one in Canada). The dream come true for director, Joel Schroeder, it is “not a quest to find Bill Watterson, or to invade his privacy.  It is an exploration to discover why his ‘simple’ comic strip made such an impact on so many readers in the 80s and 90s, and why it still means so much to us today.”

Dear+Mr+Watterson+Original+Film+Score

In an article in the Pacific Standard, titled Calvin and Hobbes, Bill Watterson, and Separating the Artist from the Art (November 15, 2013), writer Paul Hiebert said, “unlike the actors and musicians and politicians and reality-TV personalities who pursue every opportunity available either to gain or maintain some kind of social acceptance and significance, Watterson doesn’t seem to care. And in his non-caring, the public has only come to care for him more.”

timeout

In honor of the opening of the documentary, and in honor of Bill Watterson, who seemed to preach a simple message … “live. live with adventure and abandon. live the best of life … not the fastest … not the most glamorous … but the best that life has to offer. and live it as you really are, not as the world would want you to live it.”

Although the graphics of the following cartoon link are not original to Bill Watterson, the words are his. Please click the following link, to be reminded, once again, to live!

Click Here: An incredible comic by Bill Watterson – Imgur.

Read Full Post »

Cubes - 379 - INFLUENCE

Influence can be good or bad … lets consider the good.

Who has influenced you?

Who has changed your life?

What you do …

What you say …

How you think …

How you live …

There are many in my life who have influenced me for good. My parents, other family members, friends along the way, teachers, my hubby, my children.

One of the events, the other day, was that the youth pastor of our church was taking our son out for lunch, and it reminded me of a person who influenced me as a teen of about the same age as my son.

I did not grow up as a ‘church kid’ who was marinated in the things of that institution from conception onward. I went to Sunday School, and to the summer DVBS (Daily Vacation Bible School) programs, but I did not know the ins and the outs of church life (some days I see that as a blessing … after all, we church people are so very human).

What I did know about church came from my own observations … old women had VERY hairy legs, my grandmother sang like Lucille Ball, do NOT run in the sanctuary, and that church is a place where you get cookies and juice (truly, feeding my sugar-cravings was the way to ensure I came back).

The most important learning I received at church came from my Sunday School teacher when I was in middle school.

Beth was a lovely, loving lady. Not a nasty word was ever spoken from her mouth, and she greeted each of us with a warm, welcoming and sincere embrace. She was a wife of a pig farmer, and mother to two little boys. They did not have much money, yet her eyes glittered with more joy than any other person I knew. She loved us all equally, whether we were a ‘church kid’ or just some kid from the community who was brought faithfully to Sunday School each and every week.

In Beth’s presence I felt cared for, accepted, and loved far beyond what I expected from someone who was not family. It was the way that Beth loved me, loved all the girls in that class, that made me see the possibilities of a life with Jesus as the model. And, for me, Beth was that model of Christ’s love for me.

She shared of her life as a believer in Christ, she shared of her life as a wife, as a mom. She held nothing back when she shared of her own experiences in those roles.

She lived the life of being patient and kind, she did not envy, or boast, and was not proud. She did not dishonor others, and was not self-seeking, easily angered, and kept no record of wrongs. She did not delight in evil but rejoiced with the truth. She always protected, always trusted, always hoped, always persevered.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7).

In her Sunday School class, Beth taught … from the Bible. My most long lasting memory is a continuing lesson on faith, that was rooted in:

“Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.”
Hebrews 11:1 (NLT)

The teaching of that lesson … teaching about hope, teaching about faith influenced my life even until today. And she communicated love in the most consistent of ways.

I am thankful for this sister-in Christ, who influenced me so significantly.

Read Full Post »

Every once in a while I check out the visual list of top watched videos on YouTube …

I work in a high school, I am a mom of a houseful of teens, and so I desire to be as current and aware of the culture that these teens live in as is humanly possible on my end.

Last weekend I was was drawn to a particular video on the list … not because of the number of views (although over six million is a significant number of views), but because I recognized the face … the face of the man whose shared gift impressed me most at the opening ceremonies of the 2010 img_2012Vancouver Winter Olympics.

“We Are More” is a spoken word poem that Shane Koyczan shared at that opening ceremony. With words and passion he defined all that is the nation of Canada, leaving our nation so stirred by national pride one could have mistaken us for our neighbors to the South. My favorite line from his poem was “so don’t let your luggage define your travels.”

And in the video I watched last weekend, he unpacked more baggage that we humans sometimes allow to defined define us … bullying.

In the first video is Shane speaking at the filming of his TED video of his entire poem. Although it is over twelve minutes, I recommend you watch that one!

This, second video is shorter (about seven and a half minutes), more visual, and I have included it because it is the one with over six million views (it is also the ‘cleaner’ video, the first has one line that ‘may’ be offensive to some) … I still recommend the first one … but, if you are short on time, go with number two … BUT spoken word is best heard when you can see the passion in the speaker speaking … just sayin’

Read Full Post »

As I write this post I am sitting outside, in the shade of the trees behind our house, as the sun is crawling up into the late morning sky.

I am also being entertained by the four individuals in our pool. Their ages are five, eight, almost thirteen 🙂 and fifteen.

Our youngest daughter and son are playing with abandon, with their younger friends. There is no biology shared between them, but their relationship is akin to cousins. The younger pair trailing behind the older, keeping up because they so want to be together, because they so want to do what their older friends do.

They have a relationship that means every greeting and farewell includes a hug. They each get an instant smile on their faces when they see each other. There is total and complete confidence in the love and affection that they have for each other. Together they are like one unit, with no divisions.

The littler ones presence also seems to bring the older ones together in a manner normally unseen in these two VERY normal siblings (aka. fighting, disagreeing, arguing). For all the hours they were together there was none of that ‘normal’ behavior, and I relaxed in my temporary utopia.

The littler girl loves to be paired with the older one, and the littler boy (aka Little Ben) loves to be with the older (Big Ben). That said, they all play together, and when one is missing, their twosome or threesome continue on.

What refreshment they bring to our home and to our day. They provide instant smiles and laughter.

When we see them, I am immediately reminded that the stage of childhood that they are now at (elementary school aged) is completed in our home, and I am immediately satisfied with the return of the joy that their presence brings.

They remind me that washing faces and hands is a must after eating (especially enormous waffles with whipped cream and blueberries). They remind me that half an hour is enough time for any one activity, and don’t try stretching it our too long. They remind me that fights erupt quickly, and are settled and forgotten about just as quickly. They remind me that please and thank you are the most used words in a day. And that when they are with someone they love, their little eyes and hearts and minds are fully attentive to the object of that affection.

This is a privilege, and an honor. To spend time looking at the world through the eyes of children. How much more beautiful, more large, more wonderfilled it is.

Read Full Post »

This is another the final post in a series, about a woman named Amara. Every Friday I will post another segment in this story. Today is the final segment that will be added to this series on my blog. This summer I will be editing and adding to this story, in preparation for publication (hopefully) by the end of summer. When it is completed, and ready for purchase, I will provide information on my blog. I have enjoyed getting to know Amara, Joy and their family, thanks for walking this journey through their story!

Joy watched Joe and Jilly walk slowly down the corridor of the hospital, then disappear as they turned the corner to the elevator.

She let out an audible sigh.

“It sounds like you have more on your mind than just your mother.”

Joy turned quickly to face Dr. Lewis, who had such a gentle, grandfatherly face. Joy was certain that he was most sincere in his concern about what was occupying her thoughts.

“Oh, Dr. Lewis, it has been a stressful time, and so much has happened in just the past week.” Joy said, trying to be both honest, and not fully transparent at the same time.

Dr. Lewis nodded knowingly, but only knowing of the stresses of her mother’s events in that time. He reached into his pocket,  pulled out a prescription pad, and scratched something onto it.

“If you need anything,” he paused, ensuring that Joy was fully engaged in his eye contact with her, ” I mean anything,” he sounded so lovingly firm, yet concerned. “You call this number, and I will return your call before you can hang up your phone. The healer is only helpful if she has a place to go for strength,” and he placed the paper in Joy’s hand, and held it for a moment. Then he smiled, and walked towards the elevator.

Joy watched him for a long time, thinking how she had not been cared for by a father figure for a long time. She missed her father deeply in that moment, and as the doctor turned the corner towards the elevator, tears flooded from her eyes. She could feel the weight that on her shoulders, causing them to sag.

I must keep moving, Joy told herself. She took a deep breath in, and held it for a moment before forcing it out again, ever so slowly.

Then she turned towards her mother’s room, and walked determinedly towards it, where she stopped, took another breath, and slowly, ever so slowly pushed the door so that she could peek in.

Jessica was still curled up on the bed beside her mother, both with their eyes closed. Joy took in the picture before her as she had with the breaths of air … whole, fully, and not wanting to let the image go, in fear that she might never get it back again. It was a beautiful, peaceful image before her. One that put her at ease, at rest, simply by being a voyeur to the intimate moment so close to her, and yet she was so removed from it.

As beautiful at the image was, as peaceful at it was to look upon, Joy felt such regret that it was not she who her mother desired to be close to. As she deeply felt that regret, she also knew that she had been pushing her mother away from her for most of her life. Maybe, at some level, Joy had been punishing her mother for the choice she had to make all those years ago, to give her time and attention to her dying son. Now, as an adult and a mother, she considered what she might have done? What other choice did her mother have, but to leave her healthy daughter’s care to her own parents, so that she might be able to care for her desperately ill son?

Joy so wanted to walk over and embrace her mother, but she could not face the possible rejection that could very well be the response from her mother.

She stared longingly at the pair on the bed, when Amara’s eyes opened, and looked to Jessica.

“Oh my sweet little one, you look so lovely when you sleep,” Amara said, to Jessica, as she continued to embrace the child’s head with her hand. “You fill my heart with love. You make me smile. You are the answer to my prayers.”

Joy could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

Jessica moved in her sleep, closer to Amara, who was smiling with great satisfaction the closer Jessica got to her.

“Oh my sweet, sweet little girl. You bring me such … ” and Amara stopped speaking for just a moment, just long enough to kiss the top of her head. “That is why I called you, Joy.”

The tears that had been welling in Joy’s eyes were now loosed by the realization that her mother did not think that she was holding her granddaughter … but her daughter.

Unfading – Part 1

Read Full Post »

This is another post in a series, about a woman named Amara. Every Friday I will post another segment in this story.

When Joe and Jilly got home from the hospital, Joe realized, for the first time since getting into the car, that he had been so pre-occupied in his own thoughts, he had forgotten that Jilly was with him. As he looked to the passenger seat, he smiled, as Jilly was sleeping peacefully.

How she had grown, from the little girl he often still thought of her as. She reminded Joe of his own mother, with her long eyelashes, chestnut hair, and petite nose. He missed his mother, and wished the Jilly could have known the woman who she resembled most.

Joe unlocked and opened the door from the garage to the house. He then, carefully, opened the passenger door, and lifted Jilly into his arms. He carried her to her room, when he lay her on her bed, and covered her with a quilt. He looked again at his firstborn and noticed how, her sleeping state reminded him of the many times he had carried her from a vehicle in the garage when she was little. The memories caused a smile to spread across his face, as he realized how fortunate a man he was, how blessed a man he was.

He walked from her room with a goal in mind, and now was the time to get going on it.

Joe walked into the small office in their home, and sat in the large, comfortable chair, as he reached in his pocket for his cell phone.

He clicked on the text button, and read, again, the text that Roxanne had sent, the text that Joy had read, the text that may have changed his life forever.

“Call me, I NEED to talk with you about a ‘business trip’ I am proposing. You owe me big time for leaving just when we were so close 😉 . Roxanne” Joe read it over again, and again, and again. Then he realized that this text, and that Roxanne herself, were not responsible for changing his life, his choices over the past months were where the responsibility lay. He chose poorly, and he had to accept that responsibility if he would ever be able to look Joy in the face again, if he were ever to even hope that she might accept his repentance.

When he located Roxanne’s number, identified as R. Baker, he looked at the time, but then realized that it was now or never.

As Joe heard the ringing of Roxanne’s phone, he realized he had not rehearsed anything to say, and started to panic, as he pondered hanging up. Just as he was about to lose his nerve, a familiar voice answered, “well now, I was beginning to think that you were never going to speak to me again.” Joe could almost see her cheeky smile as she spoke, but it did not have the same euphoric affect on him this time.

“Roxanne, I need to talk with you,” Joe was plunging in with both feet, and he wasn’t going to back down.

“Oh Joe, of course you need to talk with me, after all, we are partners … well, we were almost partners,” Roxanne said, with a giggle that insinuated the path that they had been following.

“Roxanne, it is very important that I get this all out, before I lose my nerve,” Joe took a deep breath, then proceeded.

“I need to apologize to you. I have been so wrong in pursuing this relationship with you. My marriage vows to my wife should have meant more to me than my actions have showed. I never should have kissed you …” Joe stopped and realized that there was more “… I never should have even thought of it. I want you to know that I was the one who blew it, not my wife. She could not have pushed me away if I had not been so easily swayed. Roxanne, I plan to put every effort into my marriage. I will die trying to prove that I have learned my lesson, and that I am fully and completely committed to my wife and our marriage together.”

Joe was done, everything that needed to be said, he had said, except … “good bye Roxanne. Please forgive me for bringing you into this sin of my own doing,” and with that, he hung up the phone. He looked out the window onto the front garden. It seemed as though he had never seen it in such detail before this moment. He had a goal, and it was one that he was going to do everything in his power to achieve.

He was going to win back the heart of the woman that he had hurt, deceived and broken.

Now, if only she would allow herself to open her heart up to him again? Then Joe pondered to himself, if I knew this whole story, and I was not the offending me, would I advise her to give me a second chance?

Joe sighed a deep sign, realizing that this was going to be far more difficult than he might imagine.

Unfading – Part 1

Read Full Post »

This is another post in a series, about a woman named Amara. Every Friday I will post another segment in this story.

“Jessica!”

Joy, Joe and Jilly were all calling out her name, when a nurse came over and asked them what was going on. She was kind, but it was obvious that yelling out their daughter and sister’s name in a hospital was not an acceptable thing to do.

“Our daughter is missing, and she is only five years old,” Joe said with a voice absent of any confidence.

“Do you have a photo of her that I can share with the others on this unit, and then maybe we can help you to locate her?” She asked, with great sympathy for the fear that was written over all of their faces.

“I have one in my wallet,” Joe quickly responded while searching for the photo. When he pulled it out, there were three other photos that came tumbling out of his wallet at the same time. The one of Jessica, that he had been seeking in the beginning, followed by one of Jilly, one of Joy and one of their whole family taken last Christmas.

Joy frowned as she picked them off the hospital floor. She had no idea that Joe might have pictures of them on his phone, let alone physical photos in his wallet.

She looked at the the photo of herself, one she had given Joe when they were first married “to look at when he had to be away on business, and they spoke on the phone. So that it was just like they were together when they were apart,” was what Joy had said. Then the one from this past Christmas … everyone smiling, but the unhappiness evident to Joy, as she looked at the perfect, but posed smiles of she and Joe. Jilly had changed so much already, in just a few short months, as adolescents was transforming her from the inside out. And Jilly, that beautiful, innocent smile, so full of joy. Oh, where was Jilly?

The nurse took the photo, photocopied it, and shared it with the nurses and any other hospital employees, including Dr. Lewis, who had still been on the unit, and a search ensued. Joy wandered the halls of the unit, aimlessly.

“I found her,” Jilly’s excited voice echoed down the halls of the hospital unit.

Everyone who heard her voice came running to where she was standing. Through the window of the door of room 201 was a most serene and touching scene. Little Jessica, snuggled up on the bed beside her grandmother. Amara’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, while she petted the top of Jessica’s head.

As Joy slowly opened the door, her heart almost stopped, as she heard a familiar tune being sung by her mother:

“Longing for you all the while, More and more;
Longing for the sunny smile, I adore;
Birds are singing far and near, Roses blooming ev’rywhere
You, alone, my heart can cheer; You, just you.
Let me call you “Sweetheart,” I’m in love with you.
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.
Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true.
Let me call you “Sweetheart,” I’m in love with you.”

Joy was instantly transformed to another time and place. She was back in that special place in the clearing in the woods. Her mother and father, she and Jacob, relaxing and enjoying special family time, after their picnic lunch. Her father standing up, and extending his hand to her mother, who blushed. She took his hand, and he led her in a dance on that grassy, sunlit space, that became the dance floor of a beautiful ballroom. Joy could almost hear her father humming the song, as he plead her mother with his eyes to sing the words … and she did. Then he held her even more closely, as the two of them slipped into a place that was intimately theirs.

Jacob and Joy did not even respond as children often do, with groans and gagging, as their parents showed loving affection for each other in front of them. Even they, at their young ages, were swept up in the moment of beauty, of love, and of a magic that children rarely get a glimpse of anymore.

Amara’s voice was beautiful, solid, and confident. She had a voice like Kate Smith, that sounded like every part of her being was singing along with her voice.

Joy remembered her trip to Disney World, with her grandparents, and how every princess seemed to sound like her mother’s soothing, beautiful voice.

That song that Amara was singing to little Jessica, was the one that Joy had heard all through her childhood. Hearing it now took her back to not only that day in the clearing in the woods, but also to times Joy had forgotten about. Times when Joy was held on her mother’s lap, as a very young girl, and her mother would sing to her. She sang it when Joy was sad, she sang it when Joy was happy. She sang it when Jacob was dying. She sang it when Joy’s grandfather died … but, she never sang it when Joy’s grandmother, her mother’s mother, died. As a matter of fact, Joy could not remember her mother ever singing that song again … until now, in her hospital bed, with her youngest granddaughter in her arms.

Joy felt Joe’s hand on her shoulder, and the magic was gone.

Joy needed to get freed from Joe’s touch. It felt like sandpaper on her soul.

She turned around to see Dr. Lewis standing just off to the side, from where the group of people were watching little Jessica curled up with her grandmother.

“Dr. Lewis, why is my mother not upset about my daughter’s presence? She screamed when her other granddaughter entered the room, and she screamed when I was there, as though she did not know us. Why is she not bothered by Jessica’s presence?”

Joy hoped that what she was feeling was not evident in her question. That feeling was envy. She was ashamed to be feeling envious of her own daughter, but, after-all, she was Amara’s own daughter! Why did she not remember Joy, but she remembered Jessica?

“I really do not know the answer to that,” Dr. Lewis replied. “It could be that she is have a moment where her memory of the present time is clear again. It could be that she is reliving the past with your daughter, seeing her as someone else. Alzheimers is not a predictable disease. The amazing thing is that she is singing clearly, the garbled speech is not at all present right now, and that might be a good indicator in relation to her recent stroke.”

Oh, a bright light! Joy thought to herself. She had not even realized this change when she first heard her mother’s voice. Maybe her mother would recover, and go back home after-all.

“I think that it might be best if we do not disturb them, “said Dr. Lewis. “Joy, if you could stay close. Maybe you could quietly move into the room, just in case your mother’s memory slips, and she scares your daughter.”

“Of course,” Joy said, glad to have something that she could do.

“Is there any danger for Jessica being there?” Joe said, shaking Joy.

“I do not believe so,” the doctor said confidently. “The concern is more for how your mother’s response might scare your daughter. She is really too weak, physically, to hurt your daughter.”

Joy breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at Jilly, noticing how young she looked for a change. Adolescence seemed to have meant the every day she looked older, taller, more like a woman. But right now, the fear in her eyes made her seem more a child than a young woman.

“Jilly, how about you and your father go home, or do something fun together? I will call you as soon as something changes.” Joy could see that Jilly was looking so sad, so lost.

Jilly motioned her mother aside to speak to her privately. “Momma, why does Nanna remember Jessica, but she screamed when she saw me?” Jilly’s tear-filled eyes spilled down her cheeks.

Joy quickly wrapped her arms around her child of adult body, but child-like heart and mind. “Oh sweetie, I know how you feel. Nanna screamed at me too.” Joy’s own tear-filled eyes spilled over as well. “I don’t understand this any better than you do. All I know is that it hurts so much.”

As they stood there, sobbing in each others arms, Joe came over to them. He placed his arms around them both.

Joy quickly moved away from his touch, and placed a hand on each cheek of Jilly’s face, “you go home with your father, and I promise, I will call you as soon as I know something.”

Jilly nodded, wordlessly, and took a deep breath.

Joe was very aware that Joy was not talking to him, that she was not wanting his touch, his words … his presence. He knew that what she had read on his phone had created a flood of imagination in her mind of what might have gone on. He knew that he had killed a part of her, and that with it, a part of ‘them’ had died as well.

And he knew, then and there, that what he had not done did not make him innocent, because he knew, as Joy knew, that in his heart, he had replaced her with another. He knew, what he had not realized in the months of ‘innocent’ conversations, that he was guilty of emotional unfaithfulness, and that may have drive the final nail on the coffin of Joy’s ability to love him ever again.

Unfading – Part 1

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

itsawonderfilledlife

looking for wonder in everyday life

What Are You Thinking?

Theology is life. Learn to live well.

Sixth Seal Ministries

Life and Times Through the Lens of Bible Prophecy

Amazing Tangled Grace

A blog about my spiritual journey in the Lord Jesus Christ.

FisherofMen

Giving a unique view and input on information to help individuals establish a concrete perspective on terms, words, topics and the world around them.

Following the Son

One man's spiritual journey

Fortnite Fatherhood

A father's digital age journey with his family and his faith

Frijdom

encouraging space to think deeply

Life- All over the map

A family journey through childhood cancer and around the world

A L!fe Lived

seeking the full life that only Jesus offers

J. A. Allen

Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins

The Mustard Seed Kingdom

A Blog of the Evangelical Anabaptist Partners