Temporary Home

Catching the last few lines of a popular song by Carrie Underwood the other day brought me back to saying goodbye to my Grandpa in the hospital, many years ago.

While it was difficult to let him go, and I still miss him to this day, we'd watched him suffer from kidney failure and other complications for years.  He needed the peace that comes with leaving this earth.  At a certain point we even prayed it for him and gave him permission to leave, our family circling his bed in unison and love.

And I will never forget the serenity in the room when, after weeks of holding on but in a lifeless state, he raised his arm, smiled that unforgettable grin of his, and said, "Jesus."  There was no doubt Who was in the room with us -or where he was about to go.

I've had similar experiences with elderly loved ones.

I sat with my Grandmother the night before she passed.  Her children had been taking turns for weeks at the hospital and I offered to give them a break.  My goal wasn't just to let them have rest but to be there specifically to pray for her to have peace.  I knew the only way that would come for her, is if she left us.

Hers was the first I actively prayed for her passing.  Suffering from COPD, she struggled for every single breath.  And with each new shift, she was adamant the nurses rewrite in bold red letters "DNR" on her erase board.  When I left her that morning, I knew it would be the last time I hugged and kissed her goodbye.  My phone rang telling me of the news within minutes of making it home to bed.

And I had the priviledge to sit at mother-in-law's side, hours before she transitioned from this world.  Stage 4 cancer wrecked havoc on her small frame and I pained along with her as she tossed and moaned from her hospital bed.  Pulling out my Bible app, I began to read scripture aloud.  Instantly peace fell upon the room.  Again, where before there was only mutterings, the name of "Jesus" was clear upon her lips.  Her body was at ease and restful as her sons arrived to visit.

In all of those situations, though I grieved the loss of their presence in my life, I was at ease in knowing they'd moved to a better place.  To their Home.  And it is perhaps why I often don't feel sadness at funerals of those who have lived a long and good life.  I knew that for them, there was no more sickness, no more pain, only peace.

Though I knew the same for my son, the grieving process is so very different when losing a child.  A child's death is sudden, unexpected, even if they were ill.  In our case, it was a total shock.  And that made the timing even more difficult to let go and move forward.

He was so young....

There was so much life ahead for him...

Wonder what he would have become...

As a momma, you want your babies HOME with you, even long after they've grown.  A struggle I'm feeling in a new transition, as my baby is counting the days to be college bound.  His plans include being home less, which is a difficult adjustment for this mom.

It's an internal, magnetic pull to want family together in your home.

My favorite time of the day is the end, when we're all back and settled from our outside lives and gathered together under one roof.

Even back then, I desired this.  My last words to Austin were, "Be home...before midnight."
I just didn't expect he would arrive in his Heavenly home instead of ours.

With another birthday under my belt, I'm aware of a shifting.  I find myself studying older people, pondering on the life they've lived.  When visiting with people decades older, I'm now gauging their health against mine.  I know with each year, it is more important to have quality over quantity.  I feel a responsibility to be the best me I can be for as long as I'm here.

Yet I also realize a change in the pull to be home.  The older I get, the more I appreciate the gift that is each day but the more I'm focused on my someday permanent home.

It's not that I am ungrateful to be here but rather the opposite.  I realize how precious life is.  I'm filled with wonder at the beauty of another sunrise and the blessing it is to spend time with those you love.  I'm driven to fulfill my purpose for as long as God deems fit but drawn more often to things not of this world.  My soul is expectant for that day I will forever be Home.

In the waiting, my prayer is that I make the most of every moment and honor God in all I do.  Though this home is temporary, it is given to me with a heavenly expectation of purposeful service.

Day 11: Flowering Joy

Every spring one of the first things I itch to do is plunge my hands into a pile of dirt.  It is one of my favorite yearly activities.  And although the work probably lasts less than a hour, it brings me happiness all summer long.

I call it my dirt therapy.

Now, I am certainly no gardener and haven't a green appendage on my body, but I do like planting flowers in my window boxes.  Lazy gardening, I guess.

I can stand to plant them and other than dead-heading them every few days and ensuring they have water (which hubby helps with) they really are maintenance free.

The rewards pay off about this time of year when everything is in full bloom and my beds are bursting with color.

This is what greets me each day as I enter or leave my house.

They just scream happy hellos to me.

As you can see from the plants below the boxes, my theme of low-maintenance continues.  I literally do nothing to those poor plants, other than maybe remove last year's shells before the new plants bud forth.  

My love of flowers comes from my Grandma McGuffin.  She had beautiful displays that lined her driveway and sidewalk.  So many fond memories I have of us sitting at her kitchen table looking over her daylilies and watching the birds feed.  Like my sweet hubby, Grandpa helped her care for them.  She's been gone several years but her flowers still continue to bloom and every season I go and cut a bunch to enjoy.

If I had the time and ability, I would have a yard full of flowers, each one strategically planted so that when one season ended, a new batch would pop from the earth.  And every few days I'd replace fresh cuts of flowers in vases throughout the house.

Instead, I'll settle for my pretty window boxes and a beautiful fake arrangement that adorns my table, scattered in with the occasional flowers that might find their way home for a vase.

And in case you're thinking of nudging hubby he ought to send me some, don't bother.  He knows I'd rather he stop on the roadside and pluck up something wild than pay for flowers that'll fade in a few days anyway.

My favorites are daffodils and dandelions because that is what the boys picked me when they were little.  What's your favorite flower and why?

Day 7: Grandma Giggles

It is a pure blessing to still have Grandma in my life.  She turned 87 this past May.

this was her 85th surprise party

I've always looked up to her, although I surpassed her in height while still in grade school.  Of all the things she taught me, the most important has been her example of faith.  She is among my biggest Christian role models.  And there is no doubt the prayers she has said for me helped shape who I am today.

One of the strongest ladies I know, though to look at her she often seems frail or fragile.  I guess in some ways she is, as she's currently in the hospital for a fracture on her back.  Stubbornly she sat on the injury for a full day before letting my aunt take her to be checked.

Today she was moved to transitional care and fitted for a back brace.  I was able to go see her and while her spirits were high, it pained me to see her in that condition.

Of course our family is one of many jokesters, so the room was full of laughter, despite the situation.  And like the trooper she is, Grandma kept up with the banter.  She even had the nurses tickled with her wise cracks.  Each one that came in had nothing but nice things to say about her, no surprise to us.  Although Grandma joked she was paying them to say those compliments.

I don't see her as often as I would like due to our busy schedules and that saddens me.  There was a time when I had lunch with her almost daily, as I worked in the same town.  She fed me through college and was a home base while I commuted back and forth for nearly 20 years.

While I would have preferred a better reason for our get together, any time spent with Grandma (and my crazy Aunt Becky) is always a joy.

I'll close today with some of my favorite posts about her...

Grandma's Couch

Grandma's House

Grandma's Place

Cinco de Gma

Easter at Gma's

Please continue to pray for quick healing for her.  

She's looking at "several weeks" in TCU and potentially a few months in her brace.  

We've promised to bedazzle it for her though.  ;)

Under Pressure

There's a new love in my life.

Actually, in my kitchen.  Sometimes, I'm embarrassed to talk it about though, for fear it makes me sound like I'm a grandma.

My husband found it for me.  He's a sucker for anything that sounds like a good deal.  Salesmen see him coming.  For this reason I get a little antsy when he visits EBay or there's an unexpected knock at the door.  And I keep the remote clear of the shopping channel. But somehow, we fell upon an infomercial several weeks ago.  It was a lazy Saturday morning and I'll blame it on the fact that I hadn't had enough coffee.

Because, I have to admit, even I got sucked in to the selling points.

"Dinner in 20 minutes?"

"All day flavor in less than an hour"

Tim called to see the cost, not wanting to wait until the "but wait there's more...."  They didn't answer so he hung up.  I googled it.  Then, miraculously they called back.

Discovering I could drive to the nearest store and purchase it gave us negotiation power.  We ended up getting our power pressure cooker with free shipping and accessories.

Last weekend we tried it out for the first time.  I made Tim help me.

Normally I'm very confident in the kitchen but pressure cookers take me back to my childhood and the stern warnings of my grandma that if I came near it, my skin would peel off.  Now she didn't nearly give that graphic of a picture but that's where my imagination went.  When the whistle would steam, I'd scamper to the other room.

But together we tackled it and put a solid brick of frozen deer roast inside the metal container.  15 minutes later, we were enjoying moist succulent roast.  I was amazed!

I've been a lover of slow cookers for years and literally own more than I have storage space for.  And I'll probably still turn to them for an easy meal to come home to.  However when the pressures of the day leave even a planner like me at a loss for what's for dinner, this gal is turning on the power!

It really is incredible the transformation that takes place when you toss in a frozen, jumbled mess and end up with something wonderful to serve your family, just because of pressure.

And it kinda reminds me of life.  Because it's when we're put in moments of pressure, that we're shaped and transformed.  It is when we're under pressure, that we're most likely to give up - or give it God.  If we do the latter, He'll turn our mess into something beautiful.

Going in, we might find it hard to believe that any good can come out, but God never falters.  His Power will transform us under pressure.  His Power always, always brings good.

You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open 

and shows its true colors.  So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. 

Let it do its work so you become mature and 

well-developed, not deficient in any way.

If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. 

You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. 

Ask boldly, believing, without a second thought.

James 1:2-5 The Message 

Grandma's Table

Growing up, the dining room table was the gathering place at my Grandma's house.

It didn't matter that there normally was delicious food of some kind she wanted to feed you, it's just where we lingered.  Where family was.  Sometimes the room would be so full, there'd be two to a chair, elbows rubbing, laughter overflowing.

Often, as young kids we'd get booted from the chairs to sit under the strong oak table and play amongst the legs of adults, or we'd crawl to the nearby hall. At times we would "spy" on their conversations, as if swapping fishing stories or the ribbings during a Rook game were anything for us to hear.


As an adult, I treasured visits with my grandparents and savored their undivided attention.  We'd chat about everything and sit in silence watching the birds over a glass of sweet tea.  As they aged and health problems grew, I'd bring them treats and even meals to keep Grandma from having to cook.  And they'd enjoy them with me at the table.

But in her better days, could she ever cook.  Home-grown, fried with love, good Grandma cooking.  The kind I've never been able to duplicate, even with the help of her hand written recipes.  How I long to sit at Grandma's table and savor fresh bass dipped in ketchup, her famous wine chicken, or ooey-gooey eggplant Parmesan.  The only dish I've somewhat mastered is Grandpa stew and this cooler weather certainly has me longing for a steamy bowl!


All these memories are stirring within my stomach - and my soul - after lunch with family today.  Grandma's sister, Mary, and Grandpa's sister's children, whom we rarely see, along with my mom and her siblings took up the back half of a local diner.  Plates of meat and three passed around, with room saved for a homemade Italian cream cake, brought with permission.  Watching these familiar but aged faces, comfort of family falling so easily into place, I was reminded of days gone by. 

More than the meals of my childhood, I miss the familiar.  I miss the regular gathering of that side of the family, as our grandparents were the central magnet that brought and kept us all together.  I miss Grandma and Grandpa and all that they were.  But I'm thankful for the moments and memories I can now hold dear.

And I'll joyfully await our next family gathering, already planned before we parted. Until October...

Three Wise Men

October is Pastor Appreciation Month.  I'm very appreciative for three pastors in my life, one from my childhood, one from my past, and one in the present.

The first, and most important of which, was my Grandpa Coons.

I've shared bits and pieces about my Grandpa on this blog.  In fact, one of my very first posts was about him and JOY.  Grandpa and joy just went together.  He exuded it.  You rarely saw him without his sweet smile, which lit up a room.  There are so many fond memories I'll always treasure of him... from late night sneaks for something sweet in the kitchen (ice cream and Sprite), to playing pool, to his milk delivery and a surprise visit to my school, to the weekends spent with him at church.   

My fondest and most grateful memory of my grandfather though is the faith foundation he gave me.  Those roots, from days spent playing in the pews while he prepared a sermon, to growing up hearing him in the pulpit, to witnessing his character, faith and how he lived his life, are most assuredly what helped me become who I am today. 

I still recall going forward as a child, into the arms of my smiling Grandpa, as I accepted Jesus into my heart.  His face - loving, tearful, proud, joyful, expressed everything he felt at the time, and I will forever remember that moment.  Hugging me into salvation...  It's a memory that comforts me each time I see someone else make that step.  It's a memory of what I know awaits me again, when I see his precious face in Heaven someday.

My children didn't get to grow up knowing my Grandpa Coons, but I'm blessed that they knew and loved our pastor, Brother Armstrong.  We joined the church under his leadership shortly after Noah was born, so he was the preacher of their childhood.  Brother Armstrong had that same warmth and grandfatherly presence, wrapping me in nostalgia each time I listened to a sermon.  The boys were comfortable with him, as he had a peaceful way and pleasant disposition.  Austin, though very young at the time, was at ease the day he spoke to him about becoming a Christian.  And I'm so fortunate to have watched my boys grow in their faith and be baptized there.

Though a Mom, I was still very young in my faith then.  Brother Armstrong taught me so many important life lessons, and his sermons and prayers remain with me.  My Bible, from that time, is filled with quotes from him and underlined scriptures he led me to.  I will be eternally thankful for the comfort and peace he provided us at our greatest and most traumatic times of need.

Now, I find myself under the care of another pastor, at our new church home.  Troy is uniquely different, unexpected at times, and yet everything we hungered and prayed for as a family.  His sermons are God-sent and we often leave in goosebumps, somewhat wondering if our home is bugged, because it speaks so loudly to whatever we are facing at the time.  I've never cried more thankful tears in my spiritual life than I have in the short time we've spent at this church.  He and his family, as well as the entire pastoral team, have been such a blessing to us.  We are so joyfully excited for each Sunday to arrive, as we know it will sustain and lift us for the week to come.  I am grateful, inspired, and faith-filled knowing him.

What an honor to have my life touched by three wise men, most certainly all placed in my path by God's loving and generous hands.

Don’t forget about your leaders who taught you God’s message.

Remember what kind of lives they lived and try to have faith like theirs.  - Hebrews 13:7

From a Church Pew

There's a reason I don't normally sit on the back row at church.  Unlike the popular expression, I'm more of a front-to-middle row Baptist.

I'm too distracted from the back.  There's so much activity in a church service - and not just from the pulpit!  Being a people watcher by nature, this does not help me pay attention to the message.

Today, I was saved by the fact that I attended both worship services.  We left for Sunday school this morning but after about two minutes I could tell from Tim's face he would not survive four hours.  He's such a trooper and would never complain, never ask to go home early; yet he did quickly take me up on my offer to go next door and sit through just the early service.  This allowed me to take him home, as the kids were coming out from their lessons, and get back to them in time for the second service.  Because they picked the pew - and the fact that we had a packed house - we were on the last row.

I let this excuse my lack of total attention, as I perused the crowd.  There were adorable babies I made silly faces and smiled at... a few elbows from wives keeping hubbies alert... stern looks from parents to keep children in line...inspired expressions from those touched by the message.  And one particular duo that brought me joy and a reminder of being a wooden pew as a small child.

Seeing a little girl sitting with her grandmother, notebook in hand, she would doodle and write, looking up with a smile and proudly showing her next masterpiece.  Each time her grandmother would nod in approval, smiling back with a hug or pat on the leg.  This transported me some thirty-odd years to a little church I grew up in, side by side with my Grandma, pearls and sweet perfume.

We actually were near the back row.  Right hand side, second row from the back, by the window was our seat.  I remember the feel of the dark brown pew, solid wood under my legs, as it stuck to whatever skin my cotton dress didn't cover.  Precious Moments Bible in my lap, I would mimic and copy Grandma's movement, as she turned to the passage from which Grandpa drew inspiration for his sermon.  If I needed a distraction, I knew Grandma's purse provided entertainment, as it always contained a good supply of gum or candy. 

Occasionally, she'd allow me to doodle on scratch paper, although it wasn't nearly as fun as when I'd venture to the other side of the church to sit with my Aunt Becky.  She had mini Snoopy colored pencils and itty bitty paper to match.  Plus, I got to watch her play the piano with a the close seating her spot allowed.  With all the activity, one might think I didn't soak up much of the sermon, but I always listened to my Grandpa.  I loved to watch him in the pulpit, his passion and compassion pouring from his kind face and loving smile.

So many memories, from a simple glance across the church today.  Blessed to have those moments, the faith foundation given from my grandparents, and the joy of remembering.

And yet somewhat distracted, thankful for the message of today's sermon...and the added blessing of hearing it twice!

Grandpa Hugs

The scent of soybeans.  Warm.  Comforting.  My Grandpa Coons.

I happened to take a turn on a road last week that led me down memory lane.  When the aroma hit my nose, I was suddenly taken back to my childhood. 

It's Sunday morning and we're in the car.  Grandpa at the wheel, Grandma at his side.  My sister and I in the back.  We're wearing dresses and our Grandma's shoes.  She had the same size foot as us and we were amazed at her vast "collection" which hung on a rack on the back of the door.  Our hair is squeaky clean and brushed, held back with barrettes.  I'm holding my white, Precious Moments Bible, given to me by my grandparents.  We are on our way to church, where Grandpa preaches.

In that moment, alone in my car, yet filled with memories from a single scent, I was given a Grandpa hug.  In mere seconds so many fond moments of my childhood with him came flooding back.  I remembered Sundays spent traveling that road with him to church.  Listening to my sweet Grandpa share about the love of Jesus - and how you could see that love just by watching him smile.  Remembering his suits, and how he'd always let me pick out his tie to match.  And what a treat it was to go out as a family after service to have lunch.  But more than anything, that smile.  Grandpa could hug you with his smile.  It was a blessing to have that memory on an unexpected Friday afternoon all from the scent of soybeans.

Today was bittersweet.  A big day for our new church, a celebration and a coming together as one.  Both services were combined today, as many members shared their testimony on a video shown to the congregation.  I wrote last week about sharing our testimony and how difficult, yet helpful, that was.  As much as I wanted to be there today, I did worry that seeing (and reliving) those moments would be painful.  I worried how Noah would respond hearing it.  But I knew my church family was there to support us, and more than anything, knew the story needed to be shared for others to hear.  And although tears did again fall, it was a blessing.

Prior to the service, as we were greeting each other, a man shook my hand and it was as if I was looking into my Grandpa's face.  Grandpa McGuffin, my mom's dad.  With distinct McGuffin traits, this man shared my Grandpa's strong nose, his ears, his frame and his strong grip.  And he shared the twinkle in his eye that was like looking into laughter.  I probably held his hand a bit longer than he was comfortable and I felt myself glancing up at him throughout the service.  During the potluck, as I returned with a shared desert plate for Tim and me, I found him in my seat.  He was talking to a man in front of us but it gave me a chance to ask if he was perhaps related to me.  We shared a chuckle and he told me a story of another woman who'd asked him that (and I'm wondering if it was a member of my family now) because he looked like someone they knew.  While I didn't find a distant relative, I did receive another Grandpa hug from the moment.

A weekend bookended by Grandpa hugs.  Pretty special indeed.

Mr. Can Man

Have you ever smiled at a stranger and wondered what impact it might have?  Waved at someone you didn't know, just because, or hoping to brighten their day?  Myself I'm more of a smiler than a waver, unless it is in response.  I'll wave back but I don't know that I've ever waved first to a stranger.  And then, maybe I have but never thought much about it.

I shared a brief encounter with a sweet elderly man today on my drive for work.  It was such a chance meeting, as I was on an unfamiliar road and certainly not one I'd planned today.  His interaction with me however instantly lifted my spirits and brought me immense joy.

Heading to a nearby city via the parkway, I noticed a wreck stretched across both lanes ahead of me.  Being from a family of firefighters, it looked like a lengthy wait, so I took the exit which luckily was right before the stop.  A mixture of gut, my smart phone, and a quick call to hubby led me down a winding, two lane road. 

About ten minutes in, I was already glad for the choice, as instead of the standard scenery I'm used to, it was a change of pace.  Quaint houses, rolling hills, and cattails tall as trees greeted me with each passing mile.  At one point, I even stopped my car to capture a picture of the breathtaking landscape.  My IPhone couldn't do it justice.  For as far as my eyes could see it was just this span of fields.  I loved how the rows of power lines interrupted the flow, pole by pole by pole.  Again, my camera couldn't capture it - as no equipment will ever compare to the beauty our eyes can see, but I wanted to share.

A few miles later I noticed a truck off the side of the road, and to the right, that sweet old man.  He glanced up and instantly smiled, sending me a "Grandpa hug" right through my windshield.  His frail arm raised to wave, I waved back happily and almost giggling.  Immediately I was reminded of my Grandpa and how he too walked the sides of roads in search of aluminum cans.  The rest of my drive was filled with tender memories of my Grandpa, who I love and miss dearly.

I'm sure that man probably acknowledges every vehicle that passes him along his route but I'm sure glad he smiled at me today.  I sent him prayers for safety in return with hopes that his day would also be blessed because he surely blessed mine.

Joy is not truly Joy, unless it is shared.

Grandma's Couch

This summer I wrote about my Grandma's couch and shared memories of it growing up.  As I said in that post, she's had this couch for at least 30 years.  Though it has worn a little, to me it looks the same.  In my mind, not much at all has changed about that house since my childhood.  I learned today though big changes are a coming.  (You may want to sit for this next sentence)... Grandma's shopping for a new couch!

For as long as I can remember, the brown couch with the floral print has held up the main wall in her living room.  End tables rest on either side, holding trinkets and family photos, along with matching lamps.  Above the couch, hangs a giant mirror framed in gold, where as kids we'd do the news, make faces, and sing or dance in front of.  Draped across the back, a black and orange afghan, which always reminded me of Charlie Brown's shirt.

Grandma's spot has forever been to the left of the couch, one leg tucked under the other.  We sit the same, as I am not comfortable unless setting on top of one of my legs.  As a child, I can remember sitting next to her on this couch, hair damp, squeaky clean from a shower.  I'd have on one of her "dusters" - a house coat with buttons over my pajamas, much like one she'd be wearing.  Bible nestled in her wrinkled hands, we'd read aloud the nightly devotion.

We were never allowed to eat on the couch, probably explaining why it's lasted so long.  I recall the first holiday I was permitted to have a drink while sitting on it, a sure sign I'd moved up to adulthood.  Our age also trumped the seating order for the couch if all the cousins were around.  As oldest, I rightfully always had a seat on the couch, whatever the occasion.  Funny now the roles have reversed and the kiddos take to the floor.  Younger bodies, better knees!

I remember many naps on that couch, probably more as an adult than child.  While pregnant with Austin, we began visiting very regularly, wanting to be closer to the hospital if I went into labor.  The tradition continued after Austin was born.  Every other weekend, we'd go up for a visit.  As a new mom, I relished catching cat naps on her comfy couch, knowing Austin was being safely spoiled by his great grandparents.

There's a matching chair with this couch that I often enjoyed too.  If my Aunt Becky was around though, it was well known that was her spot.  For her short stature, I'm sure it was a like a mini couch, allowing her to drape her legs over the arm.  It was also the perfect viewing area for football.  And a good spot for resting a belly after a holiday feast.

Today, as I was tearfully reminiscing and snapping photos, I told Becky to act full.  She thought I said, "act a fool" to which she started singing the football song, right as I snapped. 

 

Laughing, I explained what I really said.  Being the ever so shy lady she is, she performed scene two.

Yep, that there is a memory. 

In fact, I truly think I have a photo just like this from more than one holiday.

Grandma was tickled I was taking photos today. 

It's just a couch, she chuckled.  I corrected her.

That couch is history.  That couch is my childhood. 

That couch is my Grandma. 

And I wanted a final pic to remember it (and her) by.  If she didn't have shopping to do, I might have just snuggled up beside her, pulled the afgan across our laps, and strolled down memory lane a little longer.

One thing is for sure, that couch has served her family well.

It's held four generations for three decades, soaked up moments and laughter,

been a backdrop for photos, a zone for time-outs,

a refuge and rest area, a spot to share stories,

a place to learn about God, a hangout for friends,

and it's supported our family, with more than fabric and wood.

My Grandma

My Grandma's voice has gotten frailer over the past few years, an indication of her age and failing health.  While hearing her on the phone, my heart see-saws between loving the connection and listening to her sweet familiar sound to worrying about her in the shakiness of the tone.  She gave me quite a scare today as I could tell at her answer she wasn't feeling well.

I actually had already grown more than a little worried, as I'd tried several times over the weekend to reach her unsuccessfully.  Not driving anymore, Grandma doesn't get out like she used to.  Knowing what I do now, I should've followed through a little more but I didn't want to see her door knocked down again. 

Grandma's suffered several strokes over the years and her strength is not at all what it used to be.  She's hesitant when walking and has had a few falls over the past year.  As such, I think many of us in the family are on guard.  My Dad tried to reach her one day and upon not being able to, called the police who knocked down her back door.  She had only gone shopping with her daughter and was fine but ticked she had to replace a perfectly good door.  Another day I had tried calling, knowing she should be home but was getting a busy signal for hours.  She snapped my brother's head off when he arrived to check on her, as he'd woke her up.  She was fine again, just didn't replace the phone on the headset all the way.

This Friday though she actually did take a fall in her laundry room and had to crawl to the phone for help.  The thought of my 82 year old Grandma doing this, breaks my heart.  The fact that she spent the weekend in the hospital and I didn't find out until today when I called makes this normally joyful gal, not so much so.  (insert family lectures here)  At any rate, I'll feel much better when we get some sort of system installed that allows her to call for help at the touch of a button.  I've pushed her toward this before, as well as a walker and some other assistance, but she stubbornly refused.  Guess I'm gonna have to show her that trait passed down to me too and not take no for an answer this time!

She's just very special to me and while I know none of us have a guarantee of our next days, I want to have her in my life as long as possible.  I certainly don't want to see her hurt or suffer, especially from something simple like a fall.  I love her and value the time we spend together.  There's nothing better than being with her and visiting Grandma's House.

Today I'm thankful for still having my precious Grandma with me. I love hearing her frail but sweet voice on the other end of the line when I call and even better spending time with her. I treasure the role model she's been to me growing up and the difference she's made in my life.

Love you Grandma Coons!

To Grandma's House We Go...

Noah will be spending the next few days with my Grandma and family (aka Aunt Becky).  They've been wanting him to stay all summer and the days just got away from us.  As this is his last official week off, we decided it was now or never!

Last night while we were packing, I remembered the many trips made to Grandma's as a child.  My visits were much more frequent than just a few days in the summer though.  I spent just about every other weekend and a large chunk of my summers there, alternating with both sets of my grandparents.  Looking back, I know what a blessing it was to have all four grandparents in my life, throughout my childhood, and to have them so involved in upbringing.  I was fortunate to be raised by a village of family!

Noah and I fell asleep last night reliving some of my fond memories and continued the conversation on the way to dropping him off this morning.  Since Grandma Coons is my last living grandparent, and who Noah is staying with, I'll focus on her and some of my favorite memories for this post...

The Couch

My Grandma has had the same couch for 30 years.  No joke.  The funny thing is, it gets better and more comfortable with age, yet looks as nice as it did when she first bought it.  (actually she's somehow managed to have many of her original appliances too...things just aren't made the way they used to be!) 

Anyway, I love sleeping on that couch, whether it be for a nap or at night.  Growing up, we were offered multiple choices - from the upstairs loft, to bunk beds in the spare bedroom, to even sleeping alongside Grandma.  My favorite was the couch, because it was cozy to me.  Grandma had a special way of tucking in a sheet around the cushions and then sandwiching you between before placing her afghan, from the back of the couch, over you.  (yawn!)  Such sweet, sweet memories! 

Noah shares in my enthusiasm for this couch as on his last visit
(just a day trip),

he spent 90% of the time on it...asleep!

Harvey

I don't really remember how or why this tradition started, but growing up we were told an invisible 6 foot rabbit lived upstairs, named Harvey.  Harvey was always watching us, and while a friendly rabbit, he would come downstairs to correct any inappropriate behavior. 
He was mostly used to get us to eat our food. 

Well, actually to get my little sister to eat; I've never had an appetite problem!  More than anything he was waiting to snatch up our vegetables, unless we scarfed them down first.  Through the years poor Harvey remained in the loft, never truly getting to come down and join us at the table, but he sure helped several generations eat their veggies!

Chinese Checkers

My Grandma is a pro at Chinese Checkers. 

I have many fond memories gathered at the table with her, playing this game. 

She's taught us all well but must've never revealed all her secrets. 

Maybe she invented the game, I don't know. 

I just know she can't be beaten. 

Prayers

Perhaps my favorite and most treasured memories include the many prayers said by and with my Grandma.  In fact, it is through her example that I learned to pray and have both a love and need for it.  At Grandma's house, you pray at every meal, in the evening during devotion, and before bed...and any other time deemed necessary!  She truly "trained us in the way we should go," teaching simple verses based on our age.  Grandma took me from "Now I lay me" to the honored task of saying grace at family gatherings,

even though two pastors shared the room. 

Her faith and love for God has always shone through in everything she does. 

It is who she is and one of things I love most about her. 

Laced in prayer...My Grandma.