Farewell to Childhood

Today in our transient society it is no longer common to live in one place for more than 5-8 years. My parents designed and built their house 46 years ago and never planned to move. They raised four kids there and entertain five grandsons. A couple years ago, my eldest sister began to, well, nag the folks about getting a smaller place with a much smaller yard. A four bedroom house on three quarters of an acre full of large deciduous trees was getting to be too much for them and surely they needed to down size. She said that they should move while they were healthy and active. A good idea, but really driven by her aversion to cleaning out a house full of nearly half a century of strange things hoarded by depression era parents. Dad begin to like the idea and even fancied the idea of life in an apartment. Mom was totally against the idea. Her home was her dream home and full of memories, a thoroughly comfortable place set in an unusually beautiful neighborhood. I wasn't too vocal about what I thought because I didn't want them to move, sharing my mom's feelings about the place.

Well, my sister won in the end and my parents accepted an offer on their house today. I thought I was ready for the announcement; eager in fact, after months of emotional turmoil as my parents hunted for a new place and put up with getting booted out of their house numerous times so that it could be shown and never being able to find things because they'd been hauled off to a storage locker. I thought it would be a relief just to know what to expect and when to have a rummage sale and where we would be spending Thanksgiving. I thought that I was past the grief of saying "good-bye" to the haunts of childhood and the places that would evoke fresh recollections every time I saw them. It's really amazing how greatly we can misjudge ourselves at times. The practical, logical side of me is relieved but tremendously overshadowed by the side of me that is mourning, crying over the loss of the physical structure that embodies over 40 years my memories.

My sisters are both trying to get me to take some time off and go to Green Bay to help with the packing and moving. I can deal with Mom better than either of them can and can get her through her worst bouts of stubborn pack rat behavior. Frankly, I don't even want to go home for Thanksgiving and that's a first. I need time to adjust to the fact that "home" isn't really HOME anymore. Of course, "home" is the people and the warmth of family, (yadda, yadda yadda,) and I love my parents and sibs but this whole house thing brings out some really deeply buried fears.

As small children, we believe that our parents are almost superhuman, indestructible and eternal, like a little picture of God. Nothing can or will ever happen to them. Reality sets in when parents get sick or die. The surety we possessed as five year olds fades and we take on the weight of inevitability, knowing that good-byes will come. The longer it takes to acknowledge a parents mortality, the greater the difficulty in accepting it.

I remember reading somewhere that elderly people who live in one place for a very long time and then are forced to move don't live long after that. In my mind, as long as my parents remain in their home, the "soul and body", so to speak, are united. When they move, they will take the "soul" (themselves) from the home and are "disembodied". Not only do I face the loss of my childhood home but the stark reality of the eventual loss of my parents, the thing I dread more than almost anything else. I've had the gift of a very long "childhood". My parents are still going strong at 79 and 80, praise God, and face eternity securely but that doesn't make "growing up" and facing reality, or the thought of saying good-byes, any less painful.

Working Away From Home

Despite a dizzyingly busy schedule I have taken on some part-time work outside the home. I've been helping a friend who does home repair type stuff for people in her "spare time". Currently, we are working in one house with a small job - repairing the plaster work in one room and then painting it and one other room from which we already removed the wallpaper. This "small" job is a 3-day break in the middle of another major job involving cleaning and painting the entire inside of different house and sanding and revarninshing its hardwood floors. The extra cash is, admittedly, a nice thing but there are other equally big benefits to consider here.

I love being on a job where I can really focus completely on one task. I don't get hungry or feel like snacking when I'm facing a goal within a time deadline. That facet of work alone makes me want to take on more jobs! Another important facet is the satisfaction that I derive from taking something ugly or broken or dirty and and renewing it. Oh sure, there are loads of opportunities to do this in my own home but I can't stay focused for any decent amount of time with so many distractions, especially two legged ones, cute as they may be. There are other reasons to get out as well, like just spending time with my friend and learning new skills as I help her work on things like dry wall, plastering, laying tiles and replacing toilets.

My husband has been GREAT with helping fill in at home and realizes that I need some times like this. Of course it helps to know that whatever I learn and earn can go right into our house as well! I just bought a compound/miter saw and have lots of home applications in mind for its use. Maybe this coming weekend....

God in a Bog

For the Christian, singing "America the Beautiful" can be a very spiritually uplifting thing. The "purple mountains majesty" and "fruited plains" conjure images of God's power and His wonderful providence. Nature, in general, has inspired countless people to lift their hearts and voices in praise to our Creator. I wonder how many of them were thus moved after a visit to a bog.

Two evenings ago, my scouts and I were taken on a guided tour by Ray "Gator" Gates from Cornerstone U. We were studying wetland ecology so he took us on a 'bog walk'. First, we learned the difference between a bog and a swamp: a bog has no inlet or outlet whereas a swamp does. Then we learned the 'big three' functions of a bog: as natures 'supermarket', as a protective sponge in floodtimes and as a water purifier/filter. He told us about the abundant wildlife and the balance between species, the unique plant life including the very cool carnivorous pitcher plant, tamarack trees and cotton grass and explained how bogs are deep at the edges and shallow in the center. The biggest thrill was stepping out on the 'mat' in middle and bouncing around like playing on a water bed. The boys were very taken with Gator and bogs in general.

Although I usually frown upon the flippant way the word "awesome" is used, I was in complete agreement when one of my scouts used the word to describe what we had seen. I had a hard time falling asleep that night because I was re-playing, in my mind, all of the neat things we'd learned and the beautiful things we saw, especially the final scene as the sun fell behind the trees in a pink glow and the mist slowly rose from the surface of the bog. More time went into praise and giving thanks that night than into making requests after seeing God so clearly in the bog.

Observing Scripture in My Yard

I was out in my yard today attempting to impose order on a particularly neglected area near the ally. A couple of years ago I'd had big plans for this area including a raised garden using railroad ties and a lot of re-seeding of the grass. I'd invested several days pulling weeds and raking out the soil, sifting through for roots and anything else that I thought shouldn't be there. I probably had 40 sq. feet of beautiful, pristine soil, untainted by any vegetation and ready for the next project phase. Unfortunately, the next phase cost too much to begin right then so I had to wait...and wait. The project was shunted aside for more pressing matters and two and a half years later I was faced with 40 sq. feet of thick weeds.

"How could this be?" I asked myself. "There weren't this many weeds here when I cleaned it out before and it had been neglected for a lot more than two years at that point. There must be at least seven different weeds in this area where I used to have a problem with maybe only one or two!" As soon as the words were out, I realized that my lawn was a living example of Scripture.

"When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, 'I will return to the house I left.' When it arrives, it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes out and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first."
-Luke 11:24-26

Now, I am not saying that weeds are evil and have a mind of their own, but do you see the picture? My yard, like the man, was clean and orderly. The problem was that he, like me, failed to fill the empty space. His final condition, however, was much more serious than mine.

A lot of people attempt to "clean up their act" but once they eliminate whatever their perceived problem was, they often fail to add anything back into their lives. A life that is not filled with the presence of God is a life headed for disaster.

My Boys in Brown

No, I am not talking UPS drivers. I am referring to my Webelos and they actually wear tan uniforms. Webelos are the oldest group of Cub Scouts, 4th and 5th graders. Webelos stands for We'll Be Loyal Scouts. I have only 4 boys in my den this year, which is a relief after the 9 I had last year. I can relax with the boys and have more fun when I'm not so busy trying to keep an eye on so many. The dynamics are also a lot better with some of last years "instigators" missing. Sadly, the term "den mother" has been retired in favor of "den leader". I guess it's OK for a guy, but I miss the more personal and intimate title. They'll have lots of leaders throughout life but you can never have too many good mothers.

I will happily mop up my boys after a "bog walk" and shush them during our library tour. I will take my turn telling a scary story on our overnight camp out. I will make sure that they can properly apply a bandage and a splint and hope that the need for using their skills never arises. We will memorize, together, the Boy Scout oath and promise, because the Webelos path is the path into Boy Scouting. I will quiz them on their faith, because faith in God is part of Scouting. We will endure throughout the season of fundraising, knowing that it comes but once a year. They will carve pinewood cars and cook large pots of chili and decorate cakes. Come April, I will watch as three of them cross the ceremonial bridge to become Boy Scouts, but they'll still be welcomed at the Annual Pack Family Campout in June.

I plan on taking a sabatical after that. I don't know for how long, but it will be at least a year. We have two more boys who will eventually be Webelos and I want to be refreshed and ready.
To work with kids is to work with tomorrow's leaders. Maybe I'll have the honor of being the mom of an Eagle Scout...or maybe, like Mrs. Ford, an Eagle Scout and a president.