Connie the Gray

    This post is not about my hair which, under the dye, has gone from gray to white, this is about cleaning. When I think about how much housecleaning I used to do compared to now, it reminds me of the scene in Lord of the Rings where three of the good guys encounter Gandalf the wizard, whom they thought was dead. Apparently, even Gandalf thought he was dead because, when they call his name he says, "Gandalf? . . . Yes, that was what they used to call me . . . Gandalf the Gray." Admittedly, nobody ever used to call me Connie the Cleaner, but it would not have been too inaccurate. I still like things to be clean, I've just lost interest in being the one who makes them that way. Of course, the house does not get as dirty now as when we were full time parents, but I probably do less housecleaning in a month than I did on a typical Friday back then. 

     Today I noticed that my kitchen counters had reached the point where a wipe down with the dishcloth was not enough, so I decided to clean the kitchen. My new best buddy for cleaning is shaving cream. It works well, smells good, and makes me feel like I am finger painting instead of cleaning. While I was creaming the microwave, I discovered two things  I had long forgotten: 

                              1. The microwave has a back.

                              2. The back is not self cleaning.

Those are the type of details one forgets if one doesn't clean frequently. Not that I intend to change anything. My house is one of the many things I will leave behind when I go to my real home--heaven.  So, if the standards I once had for my home are now a distant memory from a cleaner, whiter existence,   

  -if the front of my fridge looks like I am preserving fingerprints for posterity

  -if no sane bird would mistake my front windows for open air

  -if my Norwex cleaning cloths die of neglect

  -if I am content to live with dust until that is what I become

feel free  to call me Connie the Gray. (As long as you're not referring to my hair!)

The Best Day Ever

     When my son-in-law, Luke, told me he wanted to get Britten away for a few days to celebrate their 20th anniversary, I thought that was wonderful. We agreed to watch the girls while they were gone. Knowing "we" meant mostly me, I had a few things I wondered about too. Being decades away from both full time childcare and, most importantly, energy, I wondered if I could keep up with my three and six year old granddaughters. I have a Grandma day with each of my three granddaughters on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but that is only for a few hours at a time, one at a time. On Grandma days, I am at their disposal. No work, just play. And they decide what we play. 

    As a mom, I took care of our three kids along with my many responsibilities at home because we would not have had food to eat, clean clothes, or a functional home otherwise, but as a Grandma, I hate to waste our precious time together on such trivial tasks. Yet, on a two day visit, house chores were bound to come up. Also, Britten's girls have outgrown afternoon naps, which was when I used to study the Bible when my kids were little. Actually, afternoons are still my preferred time for that, so I wasn't sure how to work my BSF lesson in with the girls around. I also wasn't sure what to feed them since their picky eater meters vary by the day and hour. Besides that, on our last experience with Brie sleeping over, she was still awake and talkative at 11:30 p.m. Reed and I, however, did not want to be awake, much less talk, that time of night. And Ren, who sometimes can be consoled only by her Mama, had never slept over anywhere. In many ways, this was going to be an experiment, a test of my dormant mothering disciplines.

     The first activity I had planned after Luke dropped off the girls was painting rocks. Lest anyone think I am either creative enough or crazy enough to use actual paint, we paint rocks with water, an idea I copied from the BSF children's program. Our front yard fountain is lined with river rock and water makes even the most ordinary one look beautiful. It accentuates colors, layers and textures barely noticeable when they are dry. Rock painting was followed by play dough, water painting pictures, popcorn chicken and mac and cheese for dinner, plus umpteen episodes of the Australian cartoon "Bluey". After jammies, brushing teeth, and a stack of bedtime stories, I tucked them in, hoping their day bed and trundle sleeping arrangement would work out. 

    Then Brie asked me, "Was this your best day ever, Grandma? We got to paint rocks, play and have dinner together, then a sleepover." Brie's words were the water that changed my day of childcare responsibilities from duty into beauty. I laid down with an angel in kitty pajamas until she fell asleep and thought about the day. Isaiah 11:6 says, ". . . And a little child shall lead them." Thank you Brie, for helping me see the best day ever.

What Eve Sang

    My pastor might be a little disappointed that, as he began his message on spiritual gifts, this was what I was thinking about. I had never had this thought before. I'm sure after she was a mom Eve sang lullabies, but what did she sing before that? Because I cannot imagine sitting in the splendor of Eden and not singing. This turned out a little more rhymed than I intended, but I have no idea how to fix it, so I will post it anyway. Sometimes, that is how poetry works . . . and my knitting.

 

What Eve Sang

 

What did you sing in the garden, 

mother of us all, Eve in Eden?

For who could not sing in paradise,

in a world that had just begun?

FOR

 

As the morning stars sang at creation,

and the birds sang on their first day,

what did you sing in the garden

before sin took perfection away?

GOD

What did you sing as you waited

for your evening walk with the Lord, 

where you met in the cool of the garden,

heard the love in the voice of God?

SO

 

What was it like to talk with God

             in Eden, Earth's most special place?               

The song my heart sings is of longing

to speak, as you did, face to face. 

LOVED

 

Though I cannot imagine perfection

or a world without dying and sin,

may I sing with you in the garden

that the Earth will become again? 

ME

8/13/23

 

 

 

 

The Lamb's Lament

     Lamentations is a difficult book of the Bible to read. Most of it is bad news, very bad news for Judah and Jerusalem. But it became easier for me to study this year when I found out that it was not just a collection of sad snapshots of the destruction of Jerusalem. Jeremiah organized his lament into acrostics of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet and groups of 22 stanzas. Even the longest chapter, 3, is a multiple of 22, 66 verses. Jeremiah could not bring order out of the chaos in Jerusalem, but he could organize his thoughts about it. I like symmetry in poetry, so when one of the lesson questions asked us to write a prayer of suffering in acrostic form, I was ready to find a new way to express my grief. This does not reflect how I feel every day, but Jeremiah did not wrap a spiritual sounding sugarcoating around his sorrow, and neither will I.

All my life you have been faithful and kind to me, even in hardship,

But now, Lord, I am broken. You have taken away my

Child, my son. I know he lives in heaven, but this hurt is so

Deep, sometimes I cannot bear it.

Even the

Familiar comfort of your words, fail to lift the crushing

Grief I feel in my

Heart.

I love you and I know you love me. You gave

Jesus, your Son, to save mine. I know you

Keep him safe now from the sin that tried to destroy him. Your

Love surrounds him now, but I

Miss my son with a fierceness beyond words. Do

Not let it turn me away from you. You know

Our hearts are

Prone to stray.

Quiet my soul so that I can

Rest.

So many nights I struggle to sleep.

Turn my tears into prayers, and later, praise.

Until I see my son again, let your

Voice strengthen me to

Wait patiently. Help me be an

eXample of trust and faithfulness through the

Years to come. Let my

Zeal for heaven flow from love and not despair.

My heart is yours Lord, but it is broken.

Billings/Logan Slogans

    In honor of the upcoming integration of Logan Health--which has consumed our local health practices like Pac-Man, and Billings Clinic--whose solution to going broke in eastern Montana was expanding into western Montana, I have come up with some possible names and mottoes. The names are a combination of letters from the two companies. The mottoes are a combination of snark and cynicism.              

           Billings/Logan Integration Slogans

BilLo--Because two monopolies are better than one.

BLow--The more we buy, the less we try.

BilGe--Twice the bureaucracy, half the efficiency.

Bi-Lo--A nonprofit, making every practice we buy, a nonprofit. 

B(illings/Logan re)org=BORG--Resistance is futile! You will be assimilated!

BlinGan--Not a merger, just a monopoly.

BLogun--We changed our name, but our care is the same.

BanG--No better healthcare in Montana--Anymore.

LoBall--Where healthcare meets hospice.

BiGone--Our non-compete is now complete.

GamBil--Two big, two fail. 

Billing-Logan--Still paying for the last name change.

ABill--Socialized care? We're halfway there.

LoganIlls--Someday we may dis-integrate.

     If the marketers are not happy with my ideas, the letters in Logan and Billings can be rearranged to spell Billing Slogan or Balls Going Nil. Maybe we will all be surprised to find, in this case, killing competition in healthcare choices does not lead to killing patients. Even though, in every other facet of life competing for business leads to lower prices and better quality, maybe it won't make a difference in something as inconsequential as medical care. 

    Maybe the physicians offices, already backlogged with the 15 minute per patient scheduling required of Logan employees (that the doctors cannot hire, fire, or correct) will start making real time appointments and stop lying about wait times. Perhaps, for the first time, adding an extra layer of bureaucracy will clarify chain of command and simplify paperwork. Conceivably the cost of yet another name change could come from pockets of the ones who actually want it. In this case, I would so love to be wrong, I would willingly shout it from the rooftop. I would much rather die of embarrassment than mis-managed medicine.

 

The Nature of Love

    The personal encouragements God has given me in the months since Tracy died have underscored how deeply I have underestimated Christ's love for me and for those I love, as if God's love is diluted somehow by pouring it out on so many people. And I realize how much I may have hurt Him through the years by thinking He would give up on people that I would not, that He would let those He died to redeem just wander away to destruction, that He loves His children less than I love mine. I do not need to pray to make Christ care about the people I love; I need to pray to make me care about the people He loves.

    I know that nothing I do surprises or disappoints God, but I am disappointed to realize, that though I have known the Lord and studied the Bible for 50 years now, how little I have understood the most basic truth--Jesus loves me. It is our nature as sinners to stray, but He does not give up, He does not let go, because it is His nature not to.

Dear Sam(sung)

Day 1 Sunday

Dear Sam(sung),

    I know it was unconscionable to leave you behind in Kalispell. I was waiting for my ride to take me to the airport for our trip to Boise. My purse was on the kitchen counter, but you were lying on the bed because I had just finished our Bible meditation app. I decided to put the bedroom fan in the guest room for the dogsitter, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door. I assumed you were with me as always, but when I checked my purse and back pocket, you were gone. We were taking off in 10 minutes. I had no choice but to leave you behind. I am so sorry, please don't be angry with me. 

    I asked Reed to contact Britten to come and take you home with her, so if you had something important to say, she could reach me on the hotel landline. But you know my resourceful daughter, she found a way to forward texts to my hotmail account. I know you understand how important your texts are to me. Thank goodness my laptop was in my briefcase. I don't know what I would have done if I'd forgotten you both. Britten also emailed instructions for how to listen to my voicemail from the huge, corded, antique devices in our hotel room. I want you to know that landlines mean nothing to me now. I moved on from that sort of relationship long ago. I was too tired and distraught to even look at your rivals that night.

Day 2 Monday

Dear Sam,

     Sure enough, when I opened my laptop this morning, there were text messages in my email. Most of them were about who was coming to ladies' prayer group that evening. I'm glad that night's meeting was in person, or I would have accumulated dozens of texted prayers on my email in one hour. I miss your texts. I love the way you make them so unobtrusive, a polite little ding to get my attention, like a well trained butler clearing his throat. There were no new voicemails when I checked using the hotel landline, it would be too generous to call it a phone as we understand the word. All it does is make and receive calls. Britten suggested I change my greeting to let people know why I was not answering my phone. It took four tries to leave a greeting I was satisfied with. I know I should have updated our voicemail greeting years ago, but I was counting on you to remind me. I posted on Facebook about our newly separated relationship status, but without you, I can't even send a picture to show where I am.

Day 3 Tuesday

Dear Sam,

    You have nothing to fear from your corded competition on the desk and night stand of our hotel room. I realized that trying to call even the few phone numbers I have memorized would involve something from a bygone era called "long distance". Most cell service providers stopped tracking that, much less charging extra for it, years before we got together. Reed and Britten have the phone number of the hotel if they need to reach me, but the process is rather involved. The call first has to be answered at the front desk, then the caller gives that stranger my room number and they transfer the call to the land line in the room. I try to remember to glance at the red light on the device to see if anyone left me a message, but it is hard to remember such an outdated practice. It is like using a key, instead a a fob, to open a car door. If I want to know whether Reed plans to take me to lunch or when he is coming home from the airport, the only way to find out in a timely manner is to stay in the room and wait for the phone to ring!

Day 4 Wednesday

Dear Sam,

    I think of you a dozen times a day. And it's not just FOMO on things that may be happening in Kalispell, but I wonder about my friends. How are they doing? What are they eating? And what do they think of my uncharacteristic lack of response? I miss the spiritual encouragement you give me from my verse of the day and Bible study apps. I even miss the sales ads and coupons. Fortunately, the company jet is nearly ready and we should be reunited tomorrow evening. I can hardly wait to hold you again. Reed has apparently forgotten my handicap and asked me to let the dogsitter know we will be back early. I have no idea how to reach her without you. You, Sam, are the keeper of my messages, my contacts, my pictures, my secret passwords. 

    I cannot promise I will never love another as much you in the years to come. I know your Galaxy family ages more rapidly than I do, you will not always be there for me. But I want you to know that when you weaken and begin to die, I will transfer all the memories we made together to my new love. In that way we will always be united--unless I forget you somewhere.

                                                                              With speechless anticipation,

                                                                                                          Connie