A Spring of Joy

A little over a month ago, we finally got the ball rolling on selling our Acura and our Wrangler to downsize to one vehicle (other than our van). The main specification was that it had to fit the five of us yet still be able to be driven off-road. We had talked about a Grand Cherokee or a Land Cruiser, but little did I know just what exactly we were getting ourselves into, or rather what I was getting myself into…

I have dubbed it THE TRUCK. Sometimes it’s even just THE MONSTROSITY. Now don’t get me wrong, I love to go off-roading–pack a lunch, load up the kids, call some friends, and spend a Saturday afternoon driving through the woods and climbing a few rocks. Brian’s version of off-roading; however, is to see just how muddy we can get the Jeep and finding the biggest obstacle to tackle in the most precarious positions. The boys’ version of off-roading is to throw rocks in the river, play in the mud, and see how many times they get to pee in the woods.

But I digress. On July 4th, Bessie (yes, I’ve stolen the name from the beastly babe in Cars until I can come up with a more suitable redneck name) entered our lives and immediately into Brian’s heart. She’s black and big and loud. I’m not quite sure how I feel when I’m sitting in THE TRUCK… I mean, with her dark tinted windows, I feel a bit ghetto, especially with the spare tire on the roof rack held on by bright blue bungee cords. But when I start her up (which I rarely do), the roar that emanates from her rear is enough to wake the dead in the next two neighboring counties. Yep, she has no muffler, only a straight pipe. That’s when I begin to feel a bit redneck.

For those of you who know me, you know just how “redneck” I am and how much I love attention to be drawn to me. So whenever we cruise through a parking lot (especially at church) with Bessie’s roar announcing our arrival, I’m ready to sink to the floor hoping the tint is dark enough to hide our true identities. That hope is dashed when I realize that Bri has his window down, sunroof open, and is waving to our friends, and nodding his head to all the yells and whistles. Sigh. I guess there’s no escape.

Actually driving THE TRUCK is always an experience for me. With its 3-inch lift and 32-inch tires, I am afraid to make any sudden movements lest I’ll roll over, crushing the helpless cars beside me miles below. So I creep down the road at a snail’s pace drawing even MORE attention to myself. I especially love to drive her on Sundays when I’m on worship team and Bri is home with the kids and the van. Picture the pink dress, perfectly coiffed hair, pearls, and the ROAR. Not to mention climbing in and jumping out hoping I don’t break my leg (or my high heels) when I land. Ahhhh, THE TRUCK. It makes me long for our van, something which I never thought I’d do (I’m not much of a van person either. Yes, I know, I’m picky.)

As much as I complain about THE TRUCK, I have to admit that I like it. I like it because it gives me something to give Brian a hard time about and hear him laugh (I love Bri’s laugh). I like it because my children delight in Daddy revving the engine loud every morning before work. I like it because I can call Brian a redneck and hear him sputter at me. I like it because it provided a need for us in so many ways. I like it because it’s a tool for fellowship and relationship. And honestly, there’s a big part of me that loves it because it’s part of who Bri is as a man–a way for him to have that bonding time with his boys and teach them about being men, too. I love it because he loves it. And yes, I admit, that baby is awesome off-road! Wait; did I just call THE TRUCK “that baby”?!

That being said, I’m still looking for a good redneck name for THE TRUCK. I’ve already gotten some great ones… Cletus, Lambert, Bodean, Cooter. Oh, and Bri needs a good CB handle (that’s his “electronic pseudonym” or “name” he uses when he’s on his CB for those of you who don’t know the lingo). Any suggestions?

I recently found this poem I wrote a few years ago. How good God is to bring it back to me as a reminder and encouragement to me of the faithfulness of God for me, my family and my friends. It’s not about me, my works and my strength. He is walking with me!

As I journeyed life’s path He was there
Walking with me all along.
And I hopped and skipped, basking in joy;
He was my strength and my song.

I knew His smile, and I sensed His love.
His warming peace filled my heart.
We walked together, my hand in His;
I knew we would never part.

The path grew rough and my breath came short,
As I grasped His hand so tight.
“I must hold on,” I said between gasps,
So I clung with all my might.

But the way became harder and steep.
I no longer sensed His smile.
I was tired of fighting the rocks;
I wanted to rest a while.

I kept on walking, slower each mile.
The path was torture to climb.
I no longer skipped or danced with joy.
I barely remembered those times.

How cruel He must be to leave me alone
And make me walk in this way!
It must be my strength holding His hand
That keeps me from falling away.

The path continued, my grip went weak;
I tripped and slowed to a crawl.
I let go His hand to steady myself
And suffered my hardest fall.

But though I let go, His hand held tight,
He set me back on my feet.
He was there every step, holding me up
So that I would not suffer defeat.

Then I saw how my life doesn’t depend
On how tightly I hold onto Him.
For even when I stumble and fall
He is faithful time and again.

Truly, what manner of love is this!
What joy it brings in its place!
For though I fall, I’ll not be cast down;
He upholds me with His grace.

Last night I held my kids a whole lot tighter before they went to bed. As I snuggled with Bear, I thought about how he climbs into bed with us every so often afraid of the monster in the shadows of his room. He’s had a lot of fear for a 3-year old… recurring nightmares about a mean girl dressed in white who comes up from the floor in his room. I’ve held him so many times and told him there’s no such thing as monsters and that even if there were, his Daddy is big and strong and he’d take care of that mean ol’ monster. Then he smiles contentedly and goes off to his room feeling safe for a while.

Yesterday I found out I have breast cancer. Some monsters are real.

Now I’m the one that doesn’t feel safe and fear lurks in every shadow. There are so many unknowns, so many questions, and so much heartache right now. I mostly think about my children and question who will take care of them? My God is so much more capable of taking care of them and He loves them infinitely more than I ever could. Yet they’re His gift to me, and I love being their mom. Then I realize that taking care of them and caring for them are two totally different things. Even if I’m too sick or too tired to pick them up, fix their supper, play with them, I’ll never stop caring for them…and they will know that.

Already, I’ve seen God working in so many of the details of this past week, and I’m thankful. I’m mostly thankful for my Brian–for his strength that has held me up when mine has given out, for his arms that hug so well, for his mouth whispering prayers and encouragement to me, for his unconditional love that has sat through hospital rooms and procedures when I know he hates being in that environment, for his faith and his ability to take it one day at a time, for his smile and laugh that is so contagious, for his heart for our kids and being with them through this, too. He, too, is my gift from God.

I am afraid. I am weak. I am tired. Yet I have peace… at least today I do. Tomorrow may be a different story, but I’m learning to take it one day at a time. Yes, my monster is very real and big and ugly and very scary, but my God is bigger and stronger and I’m clinging to that. And right now I have a beautiful little redheaded girl holding out a book to me, so I’m going to go care for my daughter. I do love being a mom!

“In my South, you don’t have to be rich to live a rich life. In my South, you don’t need much to have it all. My South is My Heart.”

I read these words by Charlie Geer today, and it made me stop and think about how rich I really am–about how much I have with my family, my friends, my home, my Lord. I watch my kids and fall in love with them even more every day. I sit in companionable silence with my Brian, and realize just how deeply I need his love and how my love grows for him every day. I hold the hand of my best friend and cry with her in her pain, and I love her deeper than ever. I breathe in the thick, honeysuckled air of our backyard and fall in love with my South more every day. And as I fall in love with each of these, I fall in love with my Jesus even more as I thank Him for these blessings.
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Yes, it’s that time of year again when we pack up the kids and head down the road to watch the Fireman’s Parade and the Tractor Parade on Friday and Saturday nights. The streets are lined with chairs and local color is everywhere. Asher remembered the barrage of candy from last year, so he was adamant that we find the best vantage point for watching and collecting the flying drops of sugar. Micah found the trucks and tractors much too loud and Audrey just enjoyed wandering from person to person to make friends. It’s always fun to bring friends along, like Mrs. Lookabill or run into friends there, like Lyric & Anna and the Butler family. Saturday night we got to babysit sweet Maddie Oates for 6 1/2 hours. She was a trooper and made having four very easy, although Audrey wasn’t too sure Mommy should be holding another baby.

Once the parades were over, we trekked on up to the Lawn Party grounds for the boys to ride a few rides and for us to find the funnel cakes; however, this year we ran out of cash paying for rides and missed out on the yummy cake goodness. Asher and Micah were so excited to ride the “Dragon”, a little roller coaster for kids. Once the ride started though, Micah showed serious doubts, screaming in fright every time the coaster went around a curve. He would recover during the straightaway just in time for another curve, and Brian and I watched guiltily while our poor Bear endured the terror. We ran into even more friends up at the rides, and Micah recovered enough from the Dragon to have a great time riding the cars with Alex.

By the time night began to fall on Saturday, we were all grumpy with exhaustion and headed back to the van. We piled into our seats and discovered that we were parked in and had no way to exit the grounds. It was at this particular moment that Maddie decided she had enough and started to scream. Fortunately, we only had to wait about 5 minutes before someone else left and we were able to get home to warm beds and a bottle for Maddie. It was a great weekend… and the boys got their stash of candy… I’m doomed!

It’s been a sad day in our home today. We said good-bye to our kitties of 10 years. My heart ached so badly as I watched each of my boys hug Miles and Meelah and say their goodbyes. Audrey, of course, had no clue what was going on. She was just happy to scream at the cats in delight. We piled Meelah in his carrier and Bri took him and Miles out to the Jeep.

We piled onto the couch to watch Brian drive away with a piece of our life. It was almost unbearable for me to hear Asher and Micah calling, “We love you, kitties!” out the window. Asher just snuggled in my arms and cried, and I thought about how badly I want to protect my kids from the pain of life… yet how unrealistic that is. Hearing Brian talk about how Miles just sat on top of the carrier with Meelah the whole way and knowing how much it hurt Bri to leave them makes the knot in my throat tighten every time I think about it.

Knowing that Asher’s allergies will benefit from this helps me rationalize, but I can’t rationalize the sadness in my heart. I know time will take it away, but in the meantime, we’re lonely for our kitties.