That Beautiful Smile

I hope my dear friends will bear with me one more time as I try to honor our niece.  All my friends know that we've seen our dear niece, Ashley, go from living life to it's fullest to passing on in death.  It's been a horrible experience.  It's been horrible to see her weaken in sickness.  It's been horrible to see her husband struggling through the experience, and it's been horrible seeing her little boys cry from being heartbroken and not understanding where mommy is.  Oh, Lord, my heart is grieving.

But in spite of it all, there is one thing that God gives in the midst of all our misery, and that is memories.  Ashley was a cute little pixie of a girl who loved pickles more than candy.  She giggled at everything and was always ready for some fun.  She was beautiful inside and out, and the center of all that beauty was her smile.  I wrote a poem for her and about her, and (thank God for his strength) was able to read it at her memorial service today.  I hope you can catch a little glimpse of our Ashley.

                                               THAT BEAUTIFUL SMILE

She arrived in town, on a warm summer day,

  after nine months being snuggled safely away.

She was all pink and girly, with a soft, white downy head

  and as they cuddled together in that hospital bed,
Her mother looked down and told her, "I've been waiting awhile"
  and in her mind, she already knew that beautiful smile.

She toddled through life those first few years,
  falling, laughing, giggling, and shedding very few tears.
She became her cousin's best little friend
  they ran, played, and rode big wheels until each day's end.
Her hair was snow white, her face usually dirty, but all the while
  she captured our hearts with that beautiful smile.

Her days were full of friends and family and Curious George, too
  while most kids ate popsicles, she had a pickle or two.
All of the community was her back yard
  and staying away from Mamaw and Papaw's was awfully hard.
Running through their house like a little juvenile
  they didn't care as long as they saw that beautiful smile.

She grew to be a girl full of action and fun
  How can you be daddy's little girl, a diva, and a tomboy, all in one?
School was easy with science, literature, mathmatics and fractions
  Until one day, way too soon, boys became main attractions.
But she captured one boy's heart, and to resist was futile
  It was too late because he saw that beautiful smile!

She and the cousin, who was her best friend
  came full circle and were together again.
In college, new friends made, old acquaintances renewed
  still playing games, still being silly, just with a new attitude.
These games included water balloons in a stockpile
  but she could get away with anything with that beautiful smile.

She became a professional, a wife and a mother
  she worked hard and loved hard, like no other.
There were days of exhaustion, no makeup, bad hair,
  toys underfoot, kids crying, despair.
Even in disarry, her husband saw the girl who walked down the aisle
  and captured his heart with that beautiful smile.

When sickness took over and no hope was in sight
  her faith wasn't shaken, on and on she would fight.
But finally, when she closed her eyes here for the very last time
  she opened them in heaven with it's beauty, sublime.

Her cousin, her sister, her grandparents await
  they're laughing and waving to her at the gate.
They grab her and hug her and show her around
  never has such beauty in her life been found.
They tell her all pain is over, and never another trial
  and they are amazed at that beautiful smile!

They tell her they have someone they want her to meet
  They take her by the hand to sit at His feet.
She wants to thank Him, and how she tries
  But she's never, ever seen such love as shown in His eyes.
He leans down to touch her, and it's all worthwhile
  when He says He's the One that gave her that beautiful smile.

Just a Little Overwhelmed

I don't know.  Is it just me or does everyone else feel overwhelmed sometimes. 

I'm a fix it person.  I don't like whining or complaining about something if you're not going to fix it.  Just get over whatever it is, pull yourself up by the bootstraps and fix it.  But right now, I can't fix it.

I've got a dear mom who fell and broke her leg.  I can't fix it.  She's dealing with some dementia.  I can't fix that either.  My darling neice is dying a little more each day with cancer.  I can't do a thing.  My  grandson is autistic and is dealing with more things than a little boy should ever have to, and grammy can't fix anything.

So what use am I??  What good is it to see them everyday going through all these trials and I can't do a blessed thing???

I know I'm usually the silly one, the goofy grandma, the one cracking jokes, but today I just can't laugh.  I'm overwhelmed.  However.......

....I have a great big God, who is the beginning and the end; the Almighty God, who is never overwhelmed; the Prince of Peace, who gives comfort when there is no other comfort; He's a father to the fatherless, and watched over me through all the careless years I had without a father;  the Creator of the universe, from the peaks of Mt. Everest, to the little tiny crickets in my backyard, and He knows my name.  He knows how many hairs are on my head and how many freckles are on my face (and that's quite a few!)  He knows the thoughts inside my head, and he even knows when there's absolutely nothing going on in there (which is quite often).  He knows my name. 

 I just can't get over that.  In spite of the bazillions of other things that are so important, and the bazillions of other people, He still knows me.  He knows where I am, He knows my heart is breaking, and He knows that I am a "fix it" person and that I feel helpless right now...and He loves me.

No, nothing is fixed.  Everything is still bleak.  Yet, here I sit with tears in my eyes and a hug to my heart.  No one else can do that.  No one other than my Father. 

But now saith the LORD that created thee; O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.  When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

Day 1, Six Months to Go

Faced one of the hardest days of my life on Monday, January 23, 2012.  I don't think I'll ever forget it.  But first, let me tell you a little about my grandson.

His name is Zachariah, he's 11 years old, he loves gardening (he has his own garden every summer), he loves fishing, he loves electronics and he is autistic.

Zach never comes to my house without bringing me something he's made me or something he's bought me.  Usually, it's a crayon drawing with my name on it.  You see, he's just learned to write a few words and "joy" is one of them.  He's always very proud of those.  Sometimes he brings me plants that he has grown from just a seed, or he brings me something sweet to eat because he loves sweets.

 But Zach has a different side...the autistic side.  He can become agitated over the slightest thing, or over nothing at all.  He becomes aggressive, and sometimes even violent.  He has the strength of a man when these rages take over his little body and can cause harm to anyone it's directed at.  He gets in such a fury that he loses all control of his mind and body.  He becomes someone else.

When it's over, he is saturated in sweat and, most times, doesn't remember what he did.  After such an episode, I was talking to him and he asked me, "Grammy, what's wrong with me?"

Autism is like a parasite affecting the mind, the body, and the emotions of it's host.  It takes a perfectly innocent looking child and turns them into a mean, hurtful person.  Or it makes them slower, not as smart, not as coordinated as other children.  It makes them a target of bullies.

The aggressive behaviour has progressively gotten worse over the last year and our options for help has lessened.  The last option for getting him some help to learn to channel his aggressions was to send him to a program that recommends keeping him for six months.  The most heart rending decision that we could ever experience.  I mean, can you imagine sending your child or grandchild away from you for 6 months?

So yesterday was Day 1 of six months.  We drove for four hours in grief and heartbreak.  The weather was gray and rainy which mimicked our hearts pain.  His mommy, his dad, and his grammy trying to pretend that everything's gonna be okay, while inside we were crumbling.

I knew that I had friends and family that were praying specifically for us on this horrible day, but I had no idea how much God would do.  How often we pray for something and we're surprised when God answers.  This was one of those days.

Zach never mentioned, one time, about not wanting to go, or wanting to go back home, or missing anyone.  When we got to the center, we had a conference with some of the workers who directed all their questions to Zach specifically.  To know Zach, you would know that he is very uncomfortable with direct conversation, especially with strangers, but little by little he started answering the questions without prompting from us.  When we went to the "house" where he would be living for the next six months, we were greeted by another young boy who will be one of his housemates.  He smiled at Zach, said hi, shook his hand and showed Zach his new home.

After looking at his new room for just a few minutes, Zach informed us that he wanted all his bags and toys that we had brought so that he could fix up his new room.  I was speechless.  He wanted to get on with this thing and we were trying to hang on to every minute.  He informed us, also, that he did not want to go look at his new school, and wanted us to go ahead and leave.  He hugged us, kissed us, and sent us on our way.  When I looked back, he was sitting on his bed talking to three strangers about all the stuff he brought.  Amazing.

He told his mom on the phone that night that he had taken a shower by himself (which he never bathed himself before, and never, ever took a shower because it freaked him out),and  he had one of the workers cut his toenails.  hahaha.  I laugh because he absolutely would have never asked anyone to do this for him but his mother. 

He also said that he went for a ride that day to take another boy to get a hair cut.  You think that's something pretty simple, but for Zach to sit still while just watching another boy get a haircut is a miracle. 

I've seen God work.  I've seen him answer prayers.  But that day, I saw a miracle.  I know there will be hard days ahead.  It's not all going to be positive, but it is one step.  It's one big step for a little boy who has autism.  And I'm hoping and praying it's one big step for a little boy to become independent and happy.  This is step one for the miles that are ahead of him.

Proverbs 16:9 "A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps."

Proverbs 3:5,6  " Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.  In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

I love the Christmas season.  I love the music, I love the decorations, I love giving gifts.  I just love it all!  Around our house there is either Christmas music playing or Christmas movies showing on the television.  I decorate the whole house and I put up five Christmas trees (well, this year I only put up two).

However, there is one thing I'm not allowed to do.  I am not allowed to go to the tree farm and pick out the tree.  When the boys were smaller, we would take a day, bundle up and go walking through all the pine trees  until we found the perfect tree.  It was a family affair with Tim leading the way.  We didn't chop it down, we had it dug up and then we would plant it on our property as a reminder of one more Christmas together.

One particular year, I was chosen, because of schedules, to go pick out the tree.  My daughter, Betty volunteered to go with me, so we set out with our mittens and knitted caps to find the most beautiful tree.  We tramped through rows of trees for quite awhile until we spotted it.  There it was, in all it's glory!  Our Christmas tree!

We tied the ribbon around it so the men could go dig it up and we would go pick it up later.  We were quite impressed with ourselves for finding such a beautiful tree and couldn't wait to see it decorated in all it's splendor.

A couple of days later, I got the call.  "Mrs. Workman, your tree is ready."  So, off I went in our truck to pick up our new baby.  When I got to the shop and told them who I was I got some smiles and strange looks.  Hmm, wonder what that's all about??  They told me where to go, so I went outside and saw five men gathered round a root ball the size of Mt. Everest.

Okay, in my defense, when you're out in a field of trees, all the root balls are underground and the size of the tree can be very decieving.

After much straining and grunting, the five men got my tree loaded, so off I drove with half of an enormous tree hanging out the back of my truck and my back tires squatting.  I'm still telling myself "It's really not that big."

When Tim gets home and I meet him at the door, he doesn't give me the regular smile and hug, along with "how was your day".  Instead, his face had a look of wonder on it.  I was sure he was very proud of me for picking such a beautiful tree....well....until his face got all red and he said, "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT THING!!"

So, we went about preparing to get the tree in the house, but instead of five grown men to unload it, there was a dad, who had a glazed look in his eye, a teenage son and me. 

Backing the truck up to the steps...no problem.  Getting it out onto the step...well, not easy, but we got it done.  Getting it up to the next step...impossible.  After straining, pulled muscles, grumbling, and red faces, it wouldn't budge.  That's when someone (not me) decided we could use a jack to jack it up high enough to get to the next step.  We will not be defeated!!  After three hours, we had it up two steps.

I was asked to get out of the way (in not a very nice tone, might I add) and do something else, like cheering them on.  Okay, I can do that.  Afterall, I was a cheerleader all through my school years.  No problem.

So, here we go...grunt, grunt, strain, strain, clap, clap.  While they were straining, I was giving them the best cheers I could remember from high school, like, "Tim, Tim, he's my man, if he can't do it, nobody can!"

Finally!  It's on the porch!  Personally, I think it was due to my cheers, but I'll let them think they did it all by themselves.  After we drag it through the house and into our living room (thank goodness for cathedral ceilings!), I began to appreciate how big that thing was. 

We always set our trees in a wash tub, so as they leaned the tree over, I scooted the tub up under the root ball, they straightened the tree up and squashed the tub flat.  We had to get a bigger tub.

It took lots of decorations, a couple of ladders, and quite a bit of time, it was done.  That is, except for the final touch...the angel.  So, as the drum roll begins, I go upstairs and reach over the balcony to place the angel on the top of the tree.  It was easy, seeing as though I was eye level with the top of the tree from upstairs.

There it sat.  Right in the middle of our living room.  You had to sit around it, walk around it, and watch tv through the branches, but it was beautiful.

Getting it out was so much quicker.  Dig the hole, back the truck up to the porch, attach chain to truck, attach chain to tree, and drive.  There went our tree zipping through the house, bam, bam, bam, down the steps, struggling through the front yard, leaving a small trench behind it, drive over the hole and thump.  There sat our tree in the hole.

So, you see, I'm allowed to decorate all over the place, I'm allowed to have boxes and boxes of decorations, but there's only one tiny, little thing I'm not allowed to do...pick out the tree.

Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving memories.   We all make them.  We all talk about them.  We all cherish them.

The turkey's gone, the families are gone, and most of the leftovers are gone, but the laughs and conversations still echo through the house.

This year is a first.  It's the first Thanksgiving where we had Marilyn, (Princess Marilyn is what she expects to be called).  Marilyn was here, complete with a turkey hat and turkey bib that Gram bought her....

and I know that one day she'll look at the picture and ask who did this to her and I will calmly say, "Mommy and Daddy did it."  It's her first year of seeing what damage a Workman clan can do to a fifteen pound turkey, not to mention the extra turkey breast, the stuffing, the ham, the vegetables and especially the pumpkin pies.  She may be traumatized.

I remember, also, another Thanksgiving at the Workman house.  It included Workman parents, a Workman brother and his family, a Workman sister and all her family, their children and spouses and kids, girlfriends and grandkids.  What fun!

Another Thanksgiving included Borings, (yes, that's my last name and I've already heard all the "Boring" jokes).  My dad was able to come up and the reason this is a special memory is because mom and dad divorced when I was three and he wasn't a big part of my life.  But this particular season, he came up.  It was the first time he had ever been to my house since I moved to WV as a young girl.  I had made all the fixins' and because he was crippled with arthritis and almost completely blind, I was fixing his plate.  I was asking him which things he liked and when I came to the sweet potato casserole, he said he didn't want any because he didn't like sweet potatoes.  But, because I think I make the best sweet potato casserole and my pride wouldn't let me pass it up, I put a little dollop of it on his plate.  So, when he finished his plate of food, I asked if he wanted any pie or anything else.  He passed  on the pie, but he said he wanted some more of "that stuff" pointing to where the casserole had previously been and all that was left there was a little smear of sweet potatoes.  He said, "what was that stuff, again?"  I said, "That was sweet potato casserole, Daddy."  He said, "Oh, I don't like sweet potatoes."  So I promptly went back and put two dollops on his plate.  He ate it all.  No, I don't mean he cleaned his plate.  He ate all my casserole!  I had to keep going back to get more, as we went through the whole "I don't like sweet potatoes" conversation again.

What sweet memories.  Daddy is no longer with us, but Marilyn has a whole lifetime of Workman Thanksgiving memories ahead of her.

There are places at our table that were empty, but are now being filled with the newest generation.  There are memories that we have to look back upon, but there are memories still to be made.

I'm reminded of my pastor's message on family, friends, and faith.  I'm so thankful for my family, who is my strength, who is my happiness, who is my very heart.  I'm thankful for my friends who are the bonus, who are the frosting on the cake, who are the "extra" blessing in my life.  And I am thankful for my faith, which is very small sometimes, but God blesses anyway.

1 Thessalonians 5:18  In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Falling Down

Falling down.  I'm pretty good at it.  I fell out the back door when I was pregnant with my first son.  I fell while carrying my second son, as an infant, going up the steps to church.  My third son was safe...no falls.  I don't even want to mention all the falling that was involved when I was learning to ride a bike.   I fell off a ladder when I was painting at home and had to lay there until someone came home. 

I stopped one day to get some pictures of the lake on my way home from Princeton.  It was a beautiful, sun shiny day.  I got my new camera out, got out of the car to get a good angle.  While I was concentrating on getting a good shot, I forgot to watch where I was going, or I would have seen that big hole before I stepped in it.  That was a broken foot fall.

I fell down the front steps while my puppies ran around like lunatics.  I fell over the flower border when my puppies were dogs, but they were still lunatics.

My latest fall was just the other day.  I was casually walking out the boardwalk in front of our wood shed.  I wasn't hurrying, just strolling, but unbeknown to me, the lunatic dogs run on that walk every day, thus coating it with a thin film of mud.  I'm not sure what really happened, but I think there was a back flip involved and I ended in a split, then pitched forward by momentum onto both my knees.  My thoughts as I was falling was wondering if my lunatic dogs were now grown up enough to be like Lassie.  Would they go running for help and bark incessantly until someone would understand that an old woman was laying somewhere with her legs twisted on backwards?  Would they go get a rope and pull me to safety?

Well, no.  They ran in circles, barking and then ran around the house.  They are still lunatics.  I finally was able to put all my parts back where they were supposed to be and walked in the house, covered in mud, sat down and watched the dogs out the window run around like....well, like lunatics.

Like I said, I'm pretty good at this falling down stuff.  I've made an art out of it.  But everytime I've fallen, I've gotten up.  That's the point.  Anyone can fall, the hard part is getting up.

I've been knocked down alot in my life.  Parents divorced...got up.  Husband lost his job...got up.  Financial hardships...got up.  Betrayed and hurt by friends and family...got up.  Lost a beautiful daughter...got up.

So, it's not how many times you've been knocked down, it's how many times you get up. 

2 Corinthians 4:17  For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory

Going to the Birds

"Going to the birds", "eat like a bird", "birdbrain", "birds of a feather".  How about the Alfred Hitchcock movie, "The Birds?" 

This is my life now.  Birds.  I have had FOUR birds fly down my chimney and get stuck in my wood stove in the last couple of months. And, yes, I know we need to put wire around the top of the chimney, but we have a two story chimney!  I'm not climbing up there.  I fall across flower borders, so I'm not about to take my chances on a ladder to the clouds.

Yesterday, after a tiring day of shopping, I just wanted to come home and sit down and not get up until absolutely necessary.  Like if I need a snack or something.  So, I'm sitting there on the couch, just enjoying the complete quiet (except for the men that are using chainsaws to cut wood outside my house).  Other than that, it's quiet.  Well, except for the washer and dryer running....and the tv on.  Okay, people, so it wasn't quiet, but I was sitting on the couch.

Anyway, I was sitting on the couch and I heard this scurrying sound coming out of my woodstove.  I've heard this sound before and it involves birds.   So, I go open the front and side doors, grab a very long pole, the kind you change lightbulbs with when you have a twenty foot ceiling, carefully open the stove door and......nothing.  Must be losing my mind.

I sit back down on the couch in the quiet house, except for the washer, dryer, tv, and chainsaws and resume resting.  Another scurrying sound,,,,open doors, grab pole, and gently open stove.

Whoosh!  Out went the bird, straight for the door and into freedom!  Yay!  I'm such a hero.

Shut doors, back to the couch, washer...dryer....tv....chainsaws...scurrying sound.  What?  Really?

Open doors, grab pole, open stove....nothing.  So I get braver and stick the pole in and jiggle it around a little and out pops another bird.  Only this bird is freaked out.  It doesn't head for the door, it flies straight into our high windows on our very high wall under our high ceilings.  Well, for heaven's sake.

So, I get the long pole and nudge it a little to try and get it headed in the right direction, but it has direction sense sort of like me and heads for our balcony.  I run upstairs, nudge, and it flies to our ceiling fan on our twenty foot ceiling and perches.  Back downstairs, nudge....back upstairs, nudge.

This goes on for about twenty minutes, I'm dehydrated and the bird is freaking out.  It finally lands on top of the bookcase upstairs, so I slowly creep back upstairs.  Not because I don't want to freak the bird out, but because I'm exhausted and can't breath.  So, when I get up there, it's sitting there, very still, with it's mouth hanging open .  I can relate.

This time I have a sheet to throw over it, so I can grab it and take it outside myself, since it so stubbornly refuses to go on it's own.  But then I stopped and just watched it and could tell it was so frightened.  It wasn't even trying to get away from me at this point.  I just began quietly talking to it (well, what else do you do with a direction challenged bird) and walking toward it.  It flew down beside the bookcase and I covered it with the sheet.  I could hear it's tiny peeps but it didn't try to get away.  I scooped it up and just held it there in the sheet for a minute to let it see I wasn't going to hurt it.

I walked outside, opened up the sheet, and let it gently fly away.

It flew north.  Oh, well.