Music

“Before there were any words, there was music. A language in and of itself, music is the background to life, where emotion dwells. Through time, words evolved, and music-while ingrained in the flesh of every living thing-became a language only for those inclined to study it. To mold it into new formations, push the limits of what was known and what evoked feeling- but ultimately, anything created, no matter how technically perfect, has to be imbued with life. And that life, its presence, could be ascertained by the king most high or the peasant most common-because music, no matter the words put upon it, belongs to everyone.”

–Kate Noble

Everything Changes

Change. I don’t like it. It makes everything different. And I don’t adjust well. Someone please tell me why things can’t just stay the same. It’s more comfortable that way. 

Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. 

Bah humbug. 

“Once Upon a Time…”

“Pleeeeaaasssseeee? Please tell me a story?” He looked at me and used his best “puppy dog sad eyes.”

 

“Buddy, it’s past your bedtime and I don’t really know any stories right now.”

 

“Yes you do! Just tell me a little one.”

 

“Here’s what we’ll do, remind me the next time I’m here and we’ll start bedtime early enough that we can make up a story.”

 

“Okay and here’s what else we’re going to do. Every time you’re here, we’ll add to the story. Okay?”

 

“Okay, sounds like a good plan. Goodnight Budd-”

 

“Please just tell me a little bit of the story? Just the tiniest little bit?”

 

“Okay…Once upon a time in a far away land, a land full of dragons, dinosaurs and giant bugs, ther-”

 

“Giant bugs? Really, Miss Elizabeth? They would burn up in the fire.”

 

“Fire? What fire?”

 

“Well, you said it was a fire land.”

 

“No, I said it was a FAR away land.”

 

“OH! That makes more sense. You may continue.”

 

“Thank you…In a land with giant bugs, there was a little boy. A little boy that loved adventures but he had never been on a real adventure until the day of the Grand Adventure…okay, goodnight buddy.”

 

“Wait! That’s it?!?”

 

“Hey, you wanted a little bit so that’s what you’re getting. Also, that’s all I’ve got right now. You’ll just have to wait until next time.”

 

“But, but…” Sigh. “Okay. Goodnight.”

 

 

 

Looks like I’ll be writing a story. I love this kid.

Mercy & Grace

It’s always interesting to me how God brings things to my attention. Sometimes it’s subtle and other times it’s like a huge bomb going off. This time there was no bomb, it was a slow creeping vine that wound its way into my life.

For a year and a half, there have been little ones in our home. Four very precious little people. And what a learning process it has been. I have changed diapers, made bottles, heated up countless chicken nuggets, walked and rocked and cuddled restless babies. Through it all we’ve dealt with the stories that come attached to these little ones. Stories of drug abuse, domestic violence and craziness(sometimes literally). It’s hard, when we hear these stories, to not get angry. How can these people not want their child? How do they justify the situations that they put their kids in? Why do the little ones have to suffer because their parents, the people that are supposed to protect them from things, can’t seem to move beyond their own selfishness? 

I don’t understand. I’m not like them. 

But I am. I am a human being. I am selfish. I am a sinner, broken. Completely broken. But I’m not like them because I have something that they don’t. I have hope, redemption, freedom. 

I have Jesus. 

Maybe that’s too simplistic but it’s the honest to goodness truth. I’m a sinner but He removes that sin. I am selfish but He makes me look outside of myself. I am broken and He makes me whole. But our world isn’t whole.

 I spent 11 days in a mud hut, living life with the poorest of the poor and I didn’t see it. I was in the Ninth Ward after Katrina hit and I missed it. It took a piece of paper with the word “License” on it. It took special investigators, caseworkers, CASA and judges for me to finally see. 

Our world is broken. So VERY broken. How did I miss it? Our world needs Jesus. It needs grace and truth and mercy. 

I came across a blog that was talking about a girl that had run away from home because of how bad her home life was. In her mind, the streets were a better place to be than at home. The police cannot find her and because of where they live, they are most certain she has become a part of the sex industry. The blogger wrote this:

“Please remember, when you think of girls like her, that poverty is more than a lack of money, that they do not know the world as we know it, that they don’t have the resources to make wise choices as we might be able.  Have mercy.  Please, have mercy.”

It’s so easy for me to judge. It’s easy for me to get angry. That is what God has slowly been teaching me. My reaction shouldn’t be anger or judgment. It should be mercy and grace. It should be a desire to love these parents as much as I love their little ones. I should want them to know my Jesus as much as I want those precious babies to know Him. Slowly, slowly I’m beginning to understand what that means. Very. Slowly.

I still get angry when a mom says she doesn’t want her baby or when she’s not willing to walk away from drugs or a violent boyfriend to get her baby back. I want to shake some sense into them. Sometimes, I even want to yell at them. 

Instead, I take a deep breath. Instead, I have to remember to cover them in prayer, in mercy and in grace. 

“Just One…”

For the last week, I’ve spent a lot of time making bottles, changing diapers and soothing cries.  We got placement #2 last Monday; a 4 1/2 week old baby girl. She was precious, beautiful and full of  smiles. Today, she went to live with someone else. It’s family and it’s a great situation. Great. But that didn’t stop the tears from falling as we put her in the caseworker’s van and kissed her dimpled cheeks goodbye.

Since Joanna and I started this process, I’ve often wondered if it’s possible for us to make a difference. When our placements don’t stay for more than a week, when we only get 2 placements in six months, how do we make any difference at all? The need is so overwhelming, how can we make a difference? For my birthday, Joanna got me a book. That’s no surprise to anyone who knows either of us but I’ve been waiting for this particular book to come out for awhile. It’s called “Kisses from Katie” and it’s about a 19 year old girl. This girl decided to take a year off between high school and college to teach kindergarten in Uganda. The things God did in her life during that year and the three years since has turned her world upside down. As I snuggled that precious girl and read this afternoon, I came across this statement:

“Many days, I am still overwhelmed by the magnitude of the need and number of people who need help.  Many days I see the destitute, disease-ridden children lining the streets in the communities I serve and I want to scoop up every single one of them, take them home with me, and feed and clothe and love them. Then I look at the life of my Savior, who stopped for one. So I keep stopping and loving one person at a time. Because this is my call as a Christian. I can only do what one woman can do, but I will do what I can.”

People keep telling us that, to be foster parents we must be sacrificial, selfless or strong. But I’m not any of those things. I wasn’t strong as the tears rolled down my face when the van door closed. I wanted more sleep because I was tired. I was selfish as I packed little clothes and thought that it wasn’t fair, we’d only loved her for a week, we should get more time.

But then I realized what Katie meant. This is what we’ve been called to do.

We have been called to love one at a time, just as Christ loved one at a time. From children to lepers, from the woman at the well to each of the disciples, He loved each wholly and individually. I can’t save the world and that’s not my job. That is what Jesus is for. But I can love one child at a time. One little life after another. It won’t be easy and I should probably buy stock in Kleenex but it’s what I’ve been asked to do.

And I will do what I can to love them just one at a time.

“We thought we were royalty.”

The Artist is another one of my amazing residents. She’s a pen and ink artist that does amazing work even though her hands don’t ever stop shaking because of Parkinson’s. One day I was in her room making her bed and noticed a few pictures of, what I thought was, Westminster Abbey. I asked her if she’d taken the pictures while she was in London and her answer surprised me.

“Oh that’s not Westminster Abbey, dear. Although it looks very similar in those pictures. That is the “Westminster Abbey” of the Netherlands. My cousin was the Prime Minister and I took those on one of my trips to visit him. He was a cousin on my mother’s side and much older than me. He became a lawyer and someone convinced him that he should work his way to Prime Minister, so he did.  When my sister and were young, my mother took us to visit him several times. Whenever we went he would let us use his car. It was a black some-thing-or-other and had all the official flags on it. Wherever we were, people would stop to stare or even wave. We thought we were royalty. Princesses. Due to the stress of his job, he died before he was 45 but I’ll never forget feeling like we were important.”

We talked for several more minutes before I left but  I’ll never forget the conversation I had with the Prime Minister’s cousin.

That’s right, I know people.

“Heart of my heart”

The Longhorns are a couple that I work with. Mr. Longhorn was a pilot in the Air Force and retired a Lieutenant Colonel. Mrs. Longhorn was a stay at home mom until, for reasons unknown to me, she had a few procedures done and they made her crazy. Literally.

Mr. and Mrs. Longhorn are the couple that everyone dreads dealing with. She’s crazy, he’s loud, rude and demanding. You get the idea. No one really enjoys working with them. But for some reason, Mr. Longhorn likes me.

It might have something to with our slight difference of opinion in college football teams. I’m an Aggie and he’s, you guessed it, a Longhorn fan. This has led to some good natured ribbing. For example, the other day during lunch he asked if we had any punch. I reached over, pushed his shoulder a little with my fist and said “yes, there it is.” He laughed then replied, “Smart ass, Aggie. Only they would think that’s funny.” It’s a strange relationship that I’m learning to appreciate.

This morning we had gotten them ready for breakfast and they were headed out the door when Mr. Longhorn stopped Mrs. Longhorn. He turned his chair around to face her, took her hand and said something I’ll never forget.

“Heart of my heart, constant in all of my best memories, more precious to me than all the treasures in the world. I love you more each day and I couldn’t live my life without you.” Then he leaned over, gave her a kiss and walked(wheeled) them out the door holding her hand.

My co-worker and I were left standing in their room with tears rolling down our faces. I’ve never heard anyone say something that precious. We spent the rest of the day quietly smiling whenever we saw them. How wonderful to have a love for someone that strong. So strong that it has survived even though she doesn’t always know who he is, she sometimes asks why he is keeping her here and sometimes she lashes out at him. He loves her. That’s it. And that’s everything.

Now I know that under all that bluff and bluster is a heart of pure gold. If only I could make him an Aggies fan, we’d be golden.

 

Helpful Hint: If you’re making a bed and something suddenly tackles your ankles, do not automatically assume that you’re parents lied when they said the monster under the bed wasn’t real. It’s possible that the cat is playing Commando and didn’t see the need to inform you that you’re enemy #1.

“Folderol and Fiddledeedee…”

“…won’t you please come home with me?”

I’ve never been hit on or flirted with more than I have since starting this job. Some of the flirting is weird, some is awkward and some of it just makes me smile. Today’s flirting made me smile.

It came straight from Mr. B. and this man is so precious! He was in the Army, married for 58 years and has an extensive family. A family that is well  documented on his walls with hundreds of pictures and he loves to talk about them. Actually, Mr. B just loves to talk. And sing. His singing is how he flirts. He sings with such abandon and every 10 notes or so, he’s actually on key. Mr. B also has the early signs of dementia and because of that he repeats/forgets things easily.

“Roses are blooming, spring’s in the air. My life is better when you are  near.”

“What a sweet night to fall in love…”

“Folderol and fiddledeedee, won’t you please come home with me.”

He’s sung all of this to me today. This afternoon,  I went into the dining room to walk him back to his room and, for the 15th time, he sang, “Folderol and fiddledeedee, won’t you please come home with me?”  Without thinking(and rather loudly because he’s hard of hearing), I responded, “No, but I’ll walk you to your door and maybe I’ll even hug you goodnight!” How was I to know that right at that moment every one of the 25 people and 5 servers in the room would stop talking at the same time? How could I know that they would hear every word I said?  With the red began to creep up my neck and the whole room silently staring at me, one of the other residents let a small giggle slip. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The entire room collapsed into gut wrenching laughter and all I could do was stand there with my face as red as a lobster.

Mr. B thought it was hysterical and played it up for all he was worth. He looked around, grinned, waggled his eyebrows and proudly announced, “Woo wee! Today is my lucky day!”  Then, with his head held high, he strutted out the door yelling back, ” Even though you’re red, can I still have my hug?”

Apparently, it’s the one thing today that he HASN’T forgotten. I got a text this evening from a co-worker just to let me know that he was still talking about it. It’s going to be awhile before I live this down.

 

Helpful Hint: If a resident asks you to water her plants, you should probably ask which of the 7 or 8 plants in the room are real. If you don’t, you might end up watering all of them. And only one is real. Oiy.

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

Almost two months ago I left the job that I’d been doing for three years to…well, really, to do nothing.  The job I thought I’d be doing didn’t work out and so for a month I had no job. I think that may be the one of the most uncomfortable feelings that you can have. I was uncomfortable with not working. That’s the best way to describe how I felt. I job hunted for a month before I got a call for an interview that I was excited about. After three hours of interview, I walked away with a job.

And a slight hesitation in my step.

Not about the job itself, though. I am a caregiver at a Senior Adult Assisted Living Community. I clean, take out the trash, make beds, serve meals and just be there for any of the residents that need a little help.  It’s a little like taking care of kids. They’re just taller and they have wrinkles. Some have more wrinkles than others. And some aren’t all that tall. But they are kind of like kids. I really do enjoy the job. So what could possibly be my hesitation?

I have to be at work at 5:55. 5:55AM. Yes, you did read that right. As a friend of mine said, “I spent four years of college avoiding 8 o’clock classes because they were too early and now I have to be at work before the sun does!” As I told friends and family about this new job they were encouraging and excited until they found my hours. Then they just laughed. Hysterically. And then they asked if they should call my new coworkers to warn them about my, umm, slight early morning attitude.  I was not amused.

The time is STINKIN’ early but I’m finding that I really enjoy the job and the people. That’s what this is really about. The people. At the suggestion of an exceptionally awesome blogger/friend, I’m going to tell my stories. They may be few and far between but they’re worth telling. I work with some amazing people. Two Air Force Colonels, an elementary teacher that taught in Cape Cod during the time of the Kennedys, a nurse and a few that will soon pass the century mark.

Excited yet?

“That’s the way we like it. Good times, sunshine and summertime!”

About this time every year the lyrics to Faith Hill’s song “Sunshine and Summertime” start running through my head. It’s the perfect description of summer. Although THIS may be the perfect summer day:

Sleep late then head to pool at 1ish to meet Valerie, Stacy, Lauren, Andrea and Joanna. Spend 5 hours soaking up the sun, laughing at how white I am(with NO HOPE of ever having any color) and me moaning about how jealous I am of the beautiful tan Val is already sporting. Discuss books and movies(Val was there. Duh.) Mention how good a margarita sounds and agree that one must be on the agenda for that night. Dry off and meet at On The Border. Strawberry swirl margaritas, beer-ritas, nachos, tacos, chips and salsa. Oh, so good! The rest of the group goes to see a movie and we’ll end the night with a game of Chicken Foot.

Sleeping in, pool time, sunshine, good food, good drinks and lots of laughter. Is there a better way to spend a beautiful summer day? Yea, I didn’t think so. 🙂

I only wish this was my pool...