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Fall is here. Clear, humidity-free days, bright sunshine, gorgeous sunsets and my adventurous friend is back in town.
Janet, along with Deb, went to West Chester with me tonight to pick up two tickets for Lynn and I to see the President tomorrow morning. Sacrificial love is what I call that!
Janet and I have traveled many miles together. I love to drive, she loves to navigate (nice way to say “back seat driver). When she was in California she navigated me around West Chester from her lap top computer. That day, though miles separated us, I felt like we were in the same car. Pure fun.
My life would go a lot smoother if I would stick to a schedule. I would say no to the opportunity of hearing the President of the United States because tomorrow is one of those killer days with very little margin. I had to call and make arrangements for three of my children. When I wake up, my feet needed to hit the road running. Lunches, baby bag to pack, children to distribute, food to purchase for the women who are casting this year’s play.
This day is no picnic and I have just begun to list the tasks to be accomplished. I should say "no" to a friend calling, asking if tonight is all right to hang out and then staying to watch the season finale of the “Amazing Race.” It would make more sense to just say no. But I said "yes."
Some people can actually manage a scheduled life and still be flexible. I can’t seem to swing that. I would rather go to bed with a messy house, exhausted from good fellowship and enduring memories.
One thing makes my life go smooth and only one thing. It is this…waking up at a decent time and crying out to God, “HELP!” Lately I feel at the end of myself. My resources have long been used up. My natural good nature has run dry. My six children have given me a clear mirror to look into and it’s not pretty. This woman is in need, we’re talking bankrupt.
I know this is the “sweet place.” This is the place where Jesus smiles and shines. Lynne is gone ‘cause she can’t keep up and Jesus takes over. Why do we try to clean up to come to Him? Our soap is just rank. There is nothing that we can use to clean us up. It is only Jesus who can do the clean job. It is only Him that can take my conscience and make it clean.
The thought that has captivated me these past couple of days is this: This is the “now” when my children need me. This is the time to snuggle, to talk, to listen, and to give, and to be. This is the easy time. If I don’t do it now, this time will face me again and I will have to look at it with regrets that will last a lifetime. The damage takes more work in the cleaning up than the preventative sacrificial love of now. Putting aside what I want to do to be with my children is like a good low risk investment.
Going to bed early with teenagers in the house is like sticking my head in the sand. They talk at night. Why? I don’t get it. But I'd better be losing some sleep over this because there will come a time when I will be able to sleep endlessly. At that time I want to enjoy it rather than be hounded by regretful memories.
Sundays are effortless days. We rest and relish in people on these days. Today is no exception. We accompany my in –laws to my mother-in- law’s home church in Intercourse where she grew up. The day is clear and the town of Intercourse is one of ceaseless farmlands.
The church is a Beachy Mennonite Church; the women on one side, the men on the other. I have wondered how this arrangement works itself out. Are the men sitting comfortably with no distractions on their side while the disgruntled-worn out women are caring for crying babies on the other side? Not at all, the scene is endearing. Little girls are sitting on their daddies' laps and I see a small infant sleeping soundly on one man’s shoulder.
There was a pervasive persistent peacefulness in the church. The hymns are sung using shape notes in four part harmony. The bishop asks the congregation to kneel. In a flash I am faced by kneelers in the row in front. This is orchestrated better than synchronized swimming. This is community and the fellowship meal in the basement nails that point home.
The anniversary of September 11, 2001 is coming. The three older children and Lynn and I watched a documentary on PBS tonight. This was well done. The footage of the twin towers burning is chilling. I remember the day well when it happened three years ago. I was on the “john.” It’s true that a mother can never go the bathroom in peace!
I hear my husband racing down the stairs and yell for me to come into the T.V. room. (I hate calling it that, I want a more euphemistic word, like library, sitting room, thinking chamber etc..) A friend called to alert us. Thank you, Cindy Swartz. There we all were huddled on the couch watching the events on a ten-inch television set.
“Those towers are going to come down,” I said. Physics is not my forte and my husband quickly informed me that those towers were built to withstand pressure and force. But intuitively I knew they were coming down.
To watch, actually watch, those buildings crumble was something my mind will never forget. We have all watched such horrendous things on TV that I believe we are desensitized to tragedy. But watching them crumble, there was nothing desensitized in my body then. Watching those buildings fall was as surreal as surreal can be. (Surreal: one of those words that when asked to define you wished you wouldn’t have used it) I remember thinking, ‘I can’t believe this, they came down, Oh my goodness, Oh my goodness.’
Such a sunny beautiful September day, it made you wince. It was like a fast ball coming out of nowhere and before you knew it was coming it was there. We were stuck. We couldn’t move. We were together watching the events unfold. We were sitting ducks. The planes were flying near. We were in the middle.
Just three weeks earlier we had picked up our daughter coming in from a trip to Ireland at the Newark Airport. Three weeks ago. You spend countless amount of time talking yourself out of hounding thoughts such as; What if the plane goes down, what if someone harrasses her etc. Then you realize something far worse could have happened.
The tea would go on. My friend was fighting for her life, there was nothing any of us could do but simply wait and pray, wait and pray, wait and pray. The reality of Janet’s struggle hour by hour for life was foggy for me. Had I totally grasped it I probably would have been immobilized. Shock is an interesting state of being, a buffer zone so to speak. I should have been howling, bawling, heaving but instead I was looking around the room and assessing what needed to be done.
The air was electrified. Women who before the news were there to just provide company started rolling up their shirt sleeves and getting to work. The decorations were coming together. Janet was indeed the reason. This was irony at its best. The woman is not present but present. The behind-the-scenes-decorator is still behind the scenes decorating.
Finally it came time to leave the church and go home. As I was driving away from the church so many memories came rushing to me all looking for a spot, a place to relive. I had to think of the countless times Janet and I had driven away from the church after a function long after every one else had left. Would there be more times like that or was this it? Was the party officially over?
My son,Geoffrey, who is a rough and tumbly fellow with a heart he wears on his sleeves, hopped in bed with me that night. I decided to read the birthday/book card that Janet had sent to me just two weeks earlier. He was all ears as he snuggled up to me. This book had made me cry the first read through and now I wondered if this was the last birthday card I would ever receive from her. If it was, what a winner!
When I finished I looked down at Geoff. He looked up at me and said, “That was really sad.”
On any other given day that book/card would not have been sad but I knew what my little man meant. He said, “ I have had some special times with Janet. She can’t die. She’s so far away, Mom. Remember she would come and pick me up and not even bring Johnny?”
This little guy was feeling the feelings, no denial going on here. We cried ourselves to sleep that night, Geoff and I.
