Coloring Books, Bulletin Boards, and a Puffy "P"

So... we're having a garage sale this weekend. No one is more thrilled than Terrill. He's been telling me for months that there is absolutely NO more room in our attic. I say you can always squeeze in one more box.

This week I've been doing a lot of sifting through closets and drawers and cabinets. This is always a long process for a pack rat like me, but it's made doubly tedious by the fact that I don't want to get rid of anything of Paul's. This means I have to carefully flip through every page of every coloring book. If there is even one picture that he colored, it must go in the "keep" pile.

Even trash isn't trash. In the boys' bathroom drawer I found a puffy purple "P" sticker - no doubt off of some craft that Paul made at church. Can't throw that away. It stays in the drawer right next to the hydrocortizone cream and the q-tips.

A while back we got our carpets cleaned and we moved the boys' bulletin boards into the garage and never moved them back. Yesterday, I was looking at Paul's: covered in Spongebob stickers, pictures from friends, and a photo of a minor-league baseball player who was a hero to Paul. Some of the items I remember helping him put up - carefully finding just the right spot; other things I don't remember at all. And that made me think of how many moments, events and routine days that I've forgotten. So many... and that makes me mad. I'm grateful for Jack - he remembers so much more than I do. I love to hear him re-tell a story about Paul that I've forgotten.

I pulled a framed print out from behind our armoir and dusted it off for the garage sale. Then, in it's place, I put Paul's bulletin board. It made me smile to think that I was selling a work of art for pennies on the dollar and replacing it with a junkie bulletin board littered with precious items taped on by tiny fingers.... far more valuable

Last night, after Whit went to bed, Jack and I returned to the garage to continue sorting and pricing. The radio was on and I heard a song that reminded me of Paul that I haven't heard since he died. Jack recognized it, too and looked at me immediately. I almost turned it off, but decided not to. So there we were, standing in our garage, knee-deep in books, legos and kitchen utensils, hugging each other and crying. I don't think the neighbors saw us, but I can't be sure.

Reaching back in the dark corners of closets and unearthing long-forgotten items brings back some wonderful memories. It made me start to think about what I've missed out on this last year and a half without Paul: how many laughs I've missed (about 952), how many kisses and hugs I've missed (5,674), how many Nascars I haven't had to buy (37), how many times I haven't had to answer the question,"How much bites do I have to eat?" (474), how many hand-print crafts I've missed bringing home (8), how many nights I haven't had to go back to the boys room to tell them to stop talking (162), how many time-outs I've avoided giving (2).

I don't know how much money I'll make at this garage sale, but the time I've spent with Paul this week has been priceless...

Nothing Unusual

A few days ago, I was just minding my own business, doing some benign chores around the house. I remembered a tissue box that was empty, so I went to the bathroom to find a replacement. When I looked under the sink for the tissue, I saw something that reminded me of Paul. So I sat down on the bathroom floor and cried for 20 minutes.

I miss him more today than ever before...

Pray for Ali

I found about about Ali through the Preemptive Love Coalition a "grass roots" organization which facilitates the life-saving heart surgeries for Iraqi children (the medical facilities do not exist in Iraq, so these kids have to be sent to other countries like Israel and Turkey to receive the surgery). It has challenged me to know that the heart surgery that Whit so easily received here in the States is completely out of reach for most Iraqi kids, many of whom suffer from the exact same condition as Whit (Tetralogy of Fallot).

Ali is from Jordan, but for the past year, he and his father have been in Israel receiving medical treatment. Recently, doctors have declared that they have done all they can for him, and his father has decided to take him home to his family. Read about Ali and pray for this precious child of God.

And while you're at it, check out Jack's blog for another piece of artwork...

You know, I have to admit, I doubt myself in this new world of blogging. There are many times when I believe it's ridiculous and just a tad self-absorbed to believe that anyone really WANTS to hear my daily drudgery.

But then, I figure if you don't, then you just wouldn't read it. So, just know that while it's therapeutic for me to be "forced" to think my thoughts through enough to get them in writing, I completely understand the possibility of it all being trite and mundane to the rest of the world.

I guess that's just my way of apologizing for not having anything monumental to say.

The other day, I was working on a picture project, and I went through some old photo albums. Jack was about 2 years old and our only child at the time. It's really difficult for me to even remember only having one son. Paul and Whit weren't even a thought to us yet.

I looked at pictures of Jack sitting in the floor beside my grandmother... my grandmother who packed peanut butter crackers and cokes into a basket and took me on long walks and picnics... my grandmother who told me Bible Stories in bed at night without tiring for as long as I would ask, "just one more." ... my sweet ma-maw who passed away a few years ago.

I saw pictures of Jack in her tiny kitchen... that kitchen where she made countless batches of homemade biscuits for over 60 years... that tiny little area that always smelled of coffee and somehow became the focal point of all the huge family gatherings... that kitchen full of so many memories of my childhood (not to mention the childhood of my dad and his siblings)... that kitchen in the house which has been updated and sold to complete strangers.

I looked at pictures of Jack with my Aunt Ann, who, although she had no children of her own, always bought the perfect gifts at every celebration... my aunt who patiently listened to all my little-girl stories and worries and always had a kind word to return... my aunt who played dress up and rolled my hair like a princess... my Aunt Ann who is now suffering from Alzheimer's and doesn't even remember my name.

These pictures were taken just about 9 years ago. Nine short years, and yet so much has changed... so much that I would've never imagined. It makes me wonder what the next 9 will bring.

I know that God doesn't operate in a "time line" the way we do, and that He knows the future, but I think He was amazingly wise to not afford us that same ability. If I had known then what I know now, I.... well, I don't know how I would've coped. But, God hadn't given me the grace to cope 9 years ago because I didn't need it. He gave it to me only when I needed it.

I have been disturbed this week by a simple verse in Proverbs 31: "She [an excellent wife] smiles at the future." It disturbs me because I fear the future more than I smile at it. I fear that the cruelty of this world is not through with me yet. I fear that the next 9, 18 or 27 years could possibly be more tragic than the last.

And that's because I'm looking at my circumstances. I've got my eyes on the storm - or, in this case, just the possibility of some dark clouds looming in the distance - instead of on my Savior.

The excellent wife in Proverbs 31 smiles at the future not because her future is only full of happy things, but because she sees her future BEHIND the face of God. She knows that whatever her future holds, God's hand of provision and abundance is there. She knows that He collects her tears in a bottle and has inscribed her name on the palm of His hand. She not only knows it, but she BELIEVES it and she ACTS on it.

I know it, too. I know it because the Bible tells me it's so. I also believe it. I believe it because I've seen it in my own life.

Now, I just have to act on it...