Beautiful Dance

Pasted below is a piece I wrote for Sally Clarkson about this time last year. It is, right now, the best I have to offer in this space. My precious father-in-love died peacefully in his sleep Sunday morning. I honestly don't know what that means here for the next few days and weeks. Usually, this is my place to think aloud. Yet, I am not at all sure that this is where I will be drawn as my family and I live these moments. Right now, I'm just trying to hold everybody close. He was a giant of a man in every sense of the word and he leaves a giant legacy, a giant memory, and a giant hole. 

Your prayers are much appreciated.

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I stood next to my new sister-in-law and whispered, “Where’s your dad? I’m going to ask him to dance.”  

“Oh,” came the reply, sure and swift, “he won’t dance. He never dances.”  

“I think, perhaps, he will.”

And I floated off in his direction, feeling every bit the princess in a fairytale. I was The Bride that day, eager to share with everyone around me the supernatural joy bubbling up from my very core. Whatever natural shyness and reserve that would have stopped me from asking on any other day was entirely absent that day. I took the hand of my father-in-law and led him to the dance floor. Happily, and without a moment’s hesitation, he danced.

Thus began a love story I never imagined, even in my fondest dreams for happily ever after. My husband’s father, who was 42 when Mike was born, waited a long time to be a father-in-law and then a grandfather. He lives those roles to their very fullest potential. A year from that wedding dance, we did a different dance. I handed him a tiny blue bundle and sat, eyes brimming, while he poured a lifetime of love into his first glance of his first grandson, our Michael.

Shortly after that, I quit my job to stay home with my baby. Granddad retired. We both had a sense that we didn’t want to miss this, not a single moment of this, and we were going to live it intentionally, squeeze every little bit out of the gift we’d been given. We were going to dance this dance with every beat of the music.  

A little over a year from then, I was diagnosed with cancer. My father-in-love and I developed a new cadence. During the months of chemotherapy, he came over to just “hang out.” Truth be told, it sort of annoyed me sometimes. I’m a very independent sort and his presence seemed to shout, “You can’t do this by yourself. I’m here to catch you should you fall.” In hindsight, I couldn’t do it by myself and the hours he spent on the floor playing Legos, or puttering about the house fixing things or taking Michael for grand adventures to feed the ducks were probably as necessary to our survival as a young family as the surgery and the medicine. We had one car in those days and Mike took it to work. His father appeared promptly every morning , buckled Michael into his carseat and drove me to radiation treatments. While I got zapped, he and Michael sat in the car and sung classic children’s songs. Michael was absolutely convinced the outings were just another one of Granddad’s grand adventures.  

With the next few babies, he still appeared, all the time. He’d push a vacuum or trim a hedge, little jobs that were a big help. And so much more. We were a young family who knew that this great bear of a man would move mountains to see us thrive.  

On Father’s Day, when Michael was six, we gave him two blue folding chairs, a tribute to his pledge to never miss a soccer game. He had no idea. We had no idea. In all, there would be five boys and four girls in our family. That blue chair would travel far and wide. Granddad would set up camp whenever, wherever, whatever the weather. From tiny fields in our backyard to university stadiums to watch Michael play--the sidelines where Patrick scored the winning goal in the State Cup, the bleachers where Christian was MVP of the state basketball championships, and the fine manicured fields of Patrick’s National Team play.

 He was there. Always there—dance recitals, doctor’s appointments, play rehearsals. For every baptism, First Communion, and Confirmation. He was with me the first time I discovered the bluebells. He showed us by his presence that we were his first priority.

Someone asked me not long ago what the hardest aspect of middle age is. I quickly answered that for mothers of many, it must be the challenge of meeting the farflung needs of the older ones, while ensuring the little ones have the cozy, careful childhood their siblings did.   Today, I have to change that answer. In the past few weeks, Granddad’s health has declined.   He’s been in and out of the hospital. The strong man who stood behind my huge van and directed traffic every single time I backed out of a playing field parking lot cannot move from one room to another without a walker. He travels with an oxygen tank. His movements are slow and unsteady. But he stills travels.   Last Sunday, a few days out of the hospital, he stepped from our car onto the sidelines where Patrick was playing. Mike helped him to his seat. Oxygen tank beside the blue chair, he watched the game as he always did, 7 or 8 grandchildren on a blanket at his feet. He watched the game. And I watched him, unable to will my eyes away from that beloved face. Today is my 25^th wedding anniversary. As I observe the slow, careful steps of the frail ashen man I have grown to love so dearly, I cannot help but think of the scripture we heard together, all those many years ago.

And Naomi said to Ruth, "Look, your sister-in-law has returned to her people and to her gods; return after your sister-in-law. But Ruth said, "Do not ask me to leave you, or turn back from following you; for wherever you go, I will go; and wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people and your God, my God."

Ruth 1:15-16.

I could not have imagined then, in that church, how tightly knit into my heart would be the father of my husband, how much he is my own. He is almost 89 years old now and though we hardly dare to breathe it, I know that this dance, begun on such a sparkling September day a quarter century ago, is soon to be over. As the music fades, I thank God for the great, good gift of knowing and loving the finest father a girl could ever hope to have. I thank Him for the gift of having danced this altogether beautiful dance.

A Brand New Ending

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I remember telling a friend on my 30th birthday, “I don’t regret a thing. Nothing. I have no regrets.” I was talking particularly about parenting. I can quickly think of lots of other things in life I regretted prior to turning 30, but at that point, I genuinely had no parenting regrets. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

That seems a lifetime ago.

Now, if someone were to pose that question, they’d better pull up a chair and plan to spend the afternoon. Now, I have a lengthy list of regrets. An “if only” list, if you will. A “How dumb could I have been” list. I do not think I am unique in this. Actually, if you have a child older than 10 and if you don’t have such a list, I invite you to contact me. I’ll pull up a chair and sit down. You can take all afternoon telling me all the things you did right and how you avoided doing something you regret.

I suppose there are those folks who look at things that aren’t such good ideas in hindsight and instead of regretting they are grateful for them. They see the lessons learned. They see the growth. They see the great potential for change. I’d like to think I do that, too. And I do. Sometimes. When it comes to my kids, though, I hate to think that my imprudence has somehow hurt them. So, while grateful for the lessons learned, I wrestle around with regret that they were learned at the expense of my children.

I try not to get stuck there. The beauty of a big family is that if a mother regrets something she did when she was young and imprudent, she might just have a chance at a redo with a younger child. The corollary is that I don’t have the luxury of doing what some of my friends are doing as they settle into an empty nest. I can’t look at the regrets, confess the mistakes, be forgiven and relax in the grace. I have more children to raise. I want to figure it out, get it right this time, perfect the process. I try to relax in the forgiveness and beg the grace for the next leg of this long journey. I long to be still and know God, but sometimes, I just keep striving and I forget that God’s got this (Ps 46:10).

A friend who understands this sense of urgency around regret and fine-tuning parenting for the benefit of the younger siblings sent me some wisdom penned by author Carl Bard. “Although no one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending.” He’s right, of course.

A brand-new ending? Now there’s a hopeful prospect. How? How do I write a new ending? By holding the pen and letting God be the author.

We are sinners well practiced in examining our consciences and listing our sins so that we can confess them. But then what? Are we equally well-practiced at receiving showers of grace? Or do we think that somehow in order to get God on our sides we have to be good enough, to be free of stupid mistakes? Do we fill up with self-recrimination and think as if we must merit grace?

We don’t merit grace. Ever. We don’t have to merit grace. God promises that goodness and mercy are ours. Even in the darkest shadows, He assures us, “Indeed, goodness and mercy shall pursue me all the days of my life (Ps 23:6).” He’s pursuing us with the brand-new ending. He’s chasing after us with the story that isn’t filled with regret. This ending is the one where God sees the regretful things and offers mercy. This ending is the one where He sees the dark times and offers goodness. This is the new ending. He is hunting us down with a beautifully bound book of our lives — with the brand-new story to replace the tattered regret-filled one. And this story?

It’s entitled Grace.

needle & thREAD

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I welcome you to needle and thREAD. What have you been sewing lately? Or are you embroidering? Pulling a needle with thread through lovely fabric to make life more beautiful somehow? Would you share with us just a single photo and a brief description of what you're up to? Would you talk sewing and books with us? I'd love that so much. Tell me about it in the contents or leave a link to your blog. I'll be happy to come by and visit!

You can get your own needle & thREAD button here in your choice of several happy colors.

The morning sewing time is working nicely so far. Firstly, I’m motivated to get up quickly. When I hear the alarm, I remember  why I set it—to have quiet time alone in my sewing room with some fabric and some prayer. It’s a great incentive to hop to it and maximize the time. I usually get at least an hour. It’s a little tricky to discipline myself to stop, but for some reason, if I’ve gotten that hour in, it’s easy to go back and pick it up sometime during the day, even if just for a few moments. So, all in all, a fairly good report on the experiment. We’re two days in;-)

Sarah’s top is finished. My model is sleeping as I type, so no pictures of the finished product. I’ll add those later today, perhaps. I made Karoline’s Class Picnic Blouse in a Size 8 this season. I made her a 6 last year. So, since I made Karoline’s two sizes larger I made Sarah’s two sizes larger as well. But Sarah’s is going to be pretty huge on her I think. Oh,well. My plan all along was to layer a turtleneck under it during the colder months anyway. It will be fine.

Now, on to cutting for Katie. I’d love to think I get both the Lisette tunic (for the sewalong) and the Oliver + S Book Report dress finished by needle & thREAD next week but I’m going to be away at a soccer tournament for three of those days. So, we shall see. I don’t really think the morning sewing time is all that efficient.

 

In reading news, my quilting fabric stash welcomed a new friend this week. My friend Marcia lived down the street from me during high school. She moved to Kentucky moved the day after graduation. We re-connected on Instagram and I’ve very much enjoyed keeping up with her family there. Marcia noticed that we had some overlapping circles. First, there was Grace. And then there was Erin from House on Hill Road. I don’t know either Grace or Erin personally, but Grace feels connected through Ginny, who is very much close personal friend. And it turns out that Erin is Marcia’s real life buddy.

So it is that Marcia greeted me at my high school reunion with my very own copy of Erin’s new quilting book. And since big parties are not really my favorite scene and quilting books most definitely are, I think Mike was a afraid for a moment that I would curl up in the corner and just read the night away. I am proud to admit I exercised all kinds of self-control and promptly took it up to my hotel room and left it there so that I wouldn’t be tempted.

The very next day, I huddled my feverish self under a million blankets and contentedly eschewed all the rest of life to read this book.

It’s an absolutely beautiful book. It begs you to linger long over gorgeous photos of lovely quilts and fabrics. Then, when you are properly motivated and want very much to create a piece of beautiful fabric happiness of your own, there is this well-written, everything-you-need-to-know text.  When I first got the book, I flipped around looking for the quilt patterns. Don’t all quilting books have quilt patterns? Not this one.

 QuiltEssential takes the focus off the product and endeavors to teach the process so well that a beginner can confidently design and sew any size quilt. It’s all here—from color theory and fabric choices to how to piece blocks and how to properly bind.

For further inspiration, Erin visits eight talented modern quilters who share their joy for the art. She talks to folks like Anna Maria Horner and Rita Hodge and gives us a real feel for the richness and diversity and pure joy of the art.

A couple of years ago, Carmen gave me a whole bunch of mixed pieces of Very Hungry Caterpillar fabric. There is certainly enough fabric here for a quilt top, but I asked myself which quilt top?  I really couldn’t consider designing the quilt around the fabric I have at hand. Actually, so far, I have always purchased fabric a quilt pattern someone else has written and even then, usually purchased far more than I need because I’m so afraid of messing up and not being able to follow the plan precisely. This book is worth its weight in gold if it can teach me to go confidently in the direction of my own designs. Really, though, even if I never design a pattern of my own, this book is invaluable because it equips me to follow anybody else’s pattern. Nothing in the quilting process will be a mystery any more. It’s all here.

Did I mention that the book is beautiful? Oh. So. Very. Beautiful. Truly, everything you need to know about quilting in one incredibly beautiful volume!

Karoline's Day(s)

I think birthdays are a big deal. It's nice to set aside a time to give thanks for and celebrate a life and if we can do that well once a year, then a child has a nice patchwork of lovely memories with which to wrap herself when she leaves home. It gets a little tricky, though, when a family has four children born within the space of a single week. The child at the end of Birthday Week suffers a bit from a fatigued mama and a sugar meltdown. This year was particularly challenging because we threw in a road trip for UVa soccer and a date night for our high school reunion.

Karoline turned seven on Friday. We did some creative tweaking of traditions to be sure that she had exactly the day she wanted--even if it took several days to make it happen.

The day began with breakfast in bed and many sleepy siblings singing Happy Birthday. She insisted on wearing her new birthday shirt (even though the shirt is flannel and it was ninety degrees). Before noon, Karoline and Mary Beth made cupcakes. And we ate them before noon, too, because we needed to hit the road. For every birthday, our family's tradition is to pray over the birthday girl and to give thanks for something specific we love about her. We sang happy Birthday, said our "what I love" prayers and watched Karoline blow out candles before our pre-lunch cupcake feast. Then, we piled everyone in the car to to head into the Blue Ridge. Since it was her birthday, Karoline got to pick drive-thru the meal.(Chick-fil-a. Please Cchik-fil-a. Please, please, please Chick-fil-a.) She chose Taco Bell. Awesome. Taco Bell in the car--my favorite. We drove first to Harrisonburg to pick up Christian. Christian is Karoline's godfather so she was delighted he'd be with her that day; her delight doubled when she found that he came bearing gifts.

From Harrisonburg we went to Charlottesville, to the home where my father and stepmother live. There, we ate dinner, gathered more presents, and sang Happy Birthday again, over Texas sheet cake this time. That was the third birthday serenade of the day, but who's counting? Back in the car to Paddy's game. She managed to tell several dozen more people it was her birthday and to stay awake all the way home, thereby not missing a single second of the birthday night and falling asleep well after midnight.

On Saturday, after Stephen's soccer and before we left for the reunion, Mike suggested Red Robin for lunch. Why not? They sing a different rendition of "Happy Birthday." She'll take it. 

When Katie had her whole-day-with-mama shopping day for her birthday, Karoline said she wanted that, too. I promised we'd do it the Monday following her birthday since we'd be traveling on her birthday. Monday came and there were tornado watches and warnings, so she opted to wait another day. However, she remembered she'd never gotten to pick a birthday dinner, so we did manage to have chili in her honor that night.

Tuesday came, and with it an opportunity to spend birthday money. After a quick hot chocolate treat, we stopped first at Target and were both disappointed by the proliferation of cheesy bling on little girls' clothes. So, we headed to the mall. Ordinarily, I'm a twice-a-year mall shopper and then only when I have a specific purpose. This was to be the second time in a week!

Lo and behold, there was a Birthday Miracle. Everything at Gymboree was $16.99 or less. That means if a pair of boots had a $52 price tag, they were $16.99. Same with winter coats. Dressy dresses? All under $17. I felt like I'd been dropped in a dream. I have felt that often in the past seven years. It's the Karoline's Charmed Star dream.

After a very succesful shopping spree (where we spent Sarah's birthday moeny for her, too), we went to Whole Foods for lunch and groceries. She twirled in the parking lot. She twirled in the aisles. She twirled between the vegan curry and the sushi. And she said--loudly enough for lots of lunch hour business people to hear--"This is the Best Day Ever!" They don't know that Karoline has a "Best Day Ever" about twice a month. She had the whole place smiling.

Despite my best intentions, there aren't many pictures to document her extended birthday celebration. I seemed to forget the camera at every turn. I'm told the ones I have are blurry (eye doctor again today, folks--a little St. Lucy prayer?). We took lots of snapshots in our minds though and the memories will be lovely patches in her birthday quilt.

Gathering My Thoughts

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I find myself:

::noticing God's glory

Nick and I were later than we’d hoped to be to goalkeeper training Monday night. We made a decision to pull over and capture the sunset. He’s been so desperately wanting to do this that I took iPhone pics and put the big camera around his neck. We’re both very pleased.

I’ve been consciously focusing on home these days, trying to hear God’s call here and to appreciate the beauty in both this time and this place. All the pictures this week were taken at places very much a part of my daily round

::listening to 

ringing in my head. Mike and I went to our high school reunion Saturday night. We got back to the hotel around 1:00. When I found myself shivering and nauseous around 2:00, I thought maybe that’s what happens when I go over my one-glass-of-wine limit (I had two glasses in the space of seven hours, but you never know). I don’t know why I didn’t remember at the time that my girls have recently had what Karoline called “the dizzy fever.” Dizzy fever indeed. Thanks for sharing with Mama. I’m still shivering and sweating and my head’s ringing.

::clothing myself in 

Yoga pants, sweatshirt, and hand knit cashmere socks sent to me by Elizabeth DeHority. The rain and the wind brought cooler temperatures to the evening. Nothing like welcoming autumn weather with a touch of cashmere.

::thinking and thinking

About this:

Unfortunately, experiences of moral failure, group meltdowns, personal pettiness, and partison harshness in congregations and ommunities make us wonder if our efforts in building community are worth the trouble. We often invest great hope in our Christian communities, and when there are serious ruptures, it feels as if part of the kingdom has been trampled. How is it that people who want closer relationships and deeper experiences of shared life sometimes find themselves in terribly difficult situations--sorting out betrayals, broken commitments, and creeping cynicism?

Growing into the likeness of Christ and into the church as it's supposed to be cannot be separated from the messiness and disappointments that are part of human relationships. We can protect ourselves from such difficulties only by cutting ourselves off from our relationships, and that is rarely a satisfactory option. Nevertheless, we can build and maintain congregations--just like we do with marriages, families, monastic communities, and businesses--in better or worse ways. Good communities and lifegiving congregations emerge at the intersection of divine grace and steady human effort.

~from Living into Community.

I have a lot of regrets about community in the last decade. Most about an online community where I invested far too much time and assumed far too much about friendship. Sadly, there has been a fair share of trial and scandal in our local church community, too. In both cases, the scars, particularly where some of my kids are concerned are deep and still painful to the touch. And yet. And yet, try as I might to deny it, I know He created us for community.

Just where? And how?

::pondering prayerfully

“How is it God, that you have given me this hectic busy life when I have so little time to enjoy your presence? Throughout the day, people are waiting to speak with me, and even at meals, I have to continue talking to people about their needs and problems. During sleep itself I am still thinking and dreaming about the multitude of concerns that surround me. I do all this not for my own sake, but for yours. I only hope that for you it is truly a sacrifice of love. I know that you are constantly beside me, yet I am usually so  busy that I ignore you. If you want me to remain so busy, please force me to think about and love you even in the midst of such hectic activity. If you do not want me so busy, please release me from it, showing other how they can take over my responsibilities.” St. Teresa of Avila

::carefully cultivating rhythm

At the beginning of a season, rhythm takes careful thought and quite a bit of discipline. Then, it sort of dissolves into a natural, easy flow. We have finally reached the flowing stage. Alleluia! Amen.

::creating by hand

I bound off on the body of a baby sweater last night. On to the sleeves! And I cut a top for Sarah today. I hope to feel well enough tomorrow to sew early in the morning.

::learning lessons in

Food again. I slacked off on the “no gluten-no dairy-no sugar” resolve. It’s always really hard during birthday week. I’m seven pounds heavier and my joints are stiff and painful. So, if I needed to learn whether food makes a difference, I just did.

::encouraging learning 

in geography. My four-year-old can look at the shape of a state and the outline of the country (with no states outlined) and put her finger on the spot where that state belongs. She can do it for all 50 states consecutively without missing one. I did nothing. Stack the States app is all kinds of amazing.

::begging prayers

for all the intentions of our prayer community.

::keeping house

I think dipping leaves in beeswax and bringing autumn to the mantel are in order this week.

::crafting in the kitchen 

Is anybody else putting pumpkin in everything? I can’t seem to help myself...

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::loving the moments

when we gather with friends and family on the sidelines of a soccer match. On Friday night, we had dinner with my father and stepmother. We went to watch Patrick play. There, we met my friend Sharon and her husband. Sharon went to high school with us and she was a dear friend in my early mothering days. Sitting next to her, sharing mom hearts, it was just like old times. Even better.

::giving thanks 

for our high school reunion, old friends, and warm conversations.

living the liturgy

I’ve moved my morning Liturgy of the Hours time from the closet with my bike to the sewing room. I know I do this at the risk of not being able to squeeze the exercise in at midday, where I now have it penciled. But right now, I need to make a commitment to sewing time and sewing has naturally become a kind of prayer. So let’s see how it works there.

::planning for the week ahead

Colleen arrives tomorrow. After a whirlwind trip all over the country meeting interesting and influential people, she’s going to spend a few days resting and recovering here. I have no one influential lined up for her and nothing especially interesting. Our days will be filled with autumn walks, homemade soup, crusty bread, and the Jane Austen movie marathon Karoline has planned.

The weekend will take the boys and me to Princeton, NJ for a soccer tournament.

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