journal entry dated April 23, 2012

The peace of yesterday was short lived. What a gift it was to me, and my mother too I might add.

But it left as quickly as it came and I find myself trembling- desiring answers, relief- someone do something.

   God? Please come.

Mother aroused, she's "better", but still not good. More pain, much more pain. But she was more aware and talked some to us. Meds given with applesauce because she chokes with water. She is very stiff and it causes lots of pain to move her. But the fever seems to be gone, not as much congestion. So what will today bring?

Sunshine, I hope, the kind that smiles on you-

journal entry dated April 22, 2012

The train whistle is clear on days like this...people going places.

I went to bed last night beside an opened window. There was the sound of gentle steady rain. Even this morning there is the feel and sight of more rain. But it is a perfect day. A day given to us by a loving heavenly Father. Such peace. I wish it could be bottled and shared; these past two days of peace that truly passes all understanding has been unbelievable. Sweet and flowing. I am so thankful.

                                                            We wait still.

Gail and Tim came for a few hours yesterday afternoon. While they was here, we went out for a short while. Gail helped me change Mother. No aid will be coming tonight because it seems so futile to pay an aid to just sit there. Rose and I will change her and turn her later.

No meds or food , no real pain or discomfort, for the most part.

I believe Mother will be beginning eternity very soon. I woke up this morning- tears- the beginning of the grief process- on a different realm. There are realms of grief. But this was one of the good ones.

It is amazing to me to look back and see His provision in every matter.

I prayed with Mother. I read her scripture, John 14. I recited Psalm 23, and I sang hymns. I even crawled in beside her in bed, but it caused her discomfort, and she did let me know. But I so wanted her not to be afraid. There were times yesterday she was, I think.

journal entry dated April 21, 2012

We wait.

 The things that are in my spirit, almost a numbness. And a peace- a reminder of a child's faith, Charlotte praying for a gentle death, and my spirit bearing witness to this prayer.

journal entry dated April 20, 2012

Friday morning dawns

I awakened early, while it was still dark. Why stay in bed? I needed to check on Mother. A light in the sun room, a "cup" of hot coffee-

There's fear in my heart. To say it is in my soul is correct too. Will Mother pull through this time? She has so often in the past. It is not the fear of her passing, but the fear that she will continue to live. 

There, I said it. I knew it as I walked and prayed on Sunday morning- in the warm sunshine on Sunday morning that bid me to remove my sweater and tie it around my waist. The suffering, the laborious, sometimes, breathing. The inability to talk- she can't move at all. I'm ready for her release, and yes, my release too. Waiting and tending.

Horseback riding lesson at 9:30. Charlotte and I will do arithmetic in the car; some simple tomato sauce to go with the delicious meatballs I made yesterday. 3 T olive oil

                                                                                  5 cloves of garlic

                                                                                  1 large can of tomatoes

                                                                                  1 can of tomato sauce

                                                                                  fresh basil

                                                                                  salt and pepper

Simple, then add the meatballs of beef/pork. Heat up a pot of water for the pasta.

Radishes from my garden...and our first salad greens.

I skitter from the pleasure of peace in simple things. I erroneously believe He is not in those things. I fight my domestic bent and don't delight in those things, thinking He deems it less important. He who created it all- and put me here. I am confused at times, I must admit. Still tryng to sort, not unlike the sorting through closets and sewing baskets. 

LORD, clear my mind to learn truth in this matter.

I do so desire to glorify my Lord, my God, my King, my Creator, my Master, my Savior, in everything. ll Peter 1:3-10 runs strong and true. Reading in Exodus about the building of the Tabernacle. I am amazed every time I read it- the details, which does answer my quandary of what God deems important. ( I like to think He would consider me for some of the needlework!)

God chose to abide in a "tent"- a tabernacle- in the desert with His people- a wandering vagabond group of ex-slaves.

Then in 1 Kings 8:27 comes to mind

"...the heaven and heaven of heavens can not contain Thee..."

                                                   Yet You live in me!

                                                            Amazing!

journal entry dated April 18, 2012

Mother is having a true decline.

It's obvious and different than before, yet there are some definite similarities. She has rallied before- so this might be another pit stop along the way.We don't know- and that is what makes it so difficult. But interestingly enough, I have a peace this time- assurance of His control. Trust in Him answering my prayer. Now, prayer for peace for my mother- no fear. I will pray....continuously.

The Boxer is away- in Atlanta- he will be back later this evening, 8:00 or so-

It rained with thunder, lightening, and extremely hard rains during the night- a deluge. I had turned on the AC because yesterday's warm temperatures had heated up the house, especially upstairs.
But during the night, after getting up to check on Mother, I opened a window. I heard the rains.

Charlotte and I watched "Ladies in Lavender". I love the music! It's in the cart from Amazon.

I pray for fine tuning with Mother...for today. After all there's only today.

Miss Read died several days ago. I love her books.

journal entry dated April 16, 2012

I stayed home from church yesterday. I walked a bit- no guilt- just sadness. By early evening I was unsettled. Don, Charlotte and I went to eat Mexican.

Hormones are playing a huge part of what's going on with me these days. I can't deny that, and the crossover smudges and has no definition of its own. Funny- the LORD knew all this too, and this was His planning. ( I assume His sovereignty can be understood in this matter).

Last night I begged the LORD to be a sleeping pill to me. My subconsciousness arises fierce and won't let go-
It's physical-hot/cold-achy.
    It's emotional.
      It's intellectual.
       It's spiritual.
The whole woman involved, indeed.

If nothing else, I am duty-driven. Not alot of fun, however.

Today:
-Schooling with purpose-
-Rose too- CD Math lesson for her
-Go to Post Office to mail package and letter
-laundry (one or two loads should suffice)
-Smocking Guild tonight at 6:30

Rose got Claire to cut her hair into a bob, of sorts. She looks so cute. I have always said Rose looks becoming in short hair. She looks so young! Of course, I'm so old. I've forgotten what it's like to be young. Multi-generationl living- Christ like ward.

It gets down to the very basics:
Are you going to rely on Him or are you going to rely on something else?
                                                                                                    meds, despair, etc.

Nailing it to the cross, the cross, the only cross.

Fear of disappointing You LORD, of failing YOU- Bare truth? I do and I will fail You.

My only hope is YOU! I should begin by thanking You for these quirky hormones- because the truth is then I have no other choice than to trust You more.

*Joy for and in the journey

• for duty- without that well-built motivation in my life, I would "take to my bed".
• prayer
• His Word
• the Holy Spirit
• lilacs whose fragrance sweeten my sun room
• owls that call out at night
• haircuts- especially Rose's

She's still breathing, not, she's still living. There's something to that, what she is these days is low in actual living.

       

the art of canning peaches...

 at least in one's mind.

Every August my mother and father would roll into the graveled driveway of our then farm home, ladened with two bushels of vine-ripened peaches. They had stopped by the peach orchards on the way to my house while I was at home making preparations by pulling out the pressure canner, the quart-sized jars and the new lids.

So is this why I have had a strong desire to can peaches this season?  It has been at least a decade since my mother and I would spend the last of our summer days canning peaches. We anticipated the joy of canning peaches together every year. I still hear in my mind's memory the dancing metallic sound of the weight as it jiggled atop of the pressure canner and the sight of the many quart jars of peaches stored on my pantry's shelves.

Even before I opened my eyes to the haze of the morning's light spreading into my bedroom this morning, the very first glimpses that stirred in my consciousness were of my mother's face, she was wearing pink and she was smiling. And I thought of those late summer days we would spend canning peaches once again.

 But now September has arrived and the peach season is past.