Our January Snow Jam - boree

Two cups of hazelnut coffee woke my tired bones this morning. Coffee alone didn't do the job yesterday. An hour nap helped at mid day, but by night fall, I craved sleep. And I haven't been out of the house since Monday night.

A home-schooled piano and voice student started her lesson at 11am Tuesday morning, however, and by 12:30, our finish time, icy roads kept her mother from picking her up. So Gracie and I dressed warmly and went for a walk in the snow. She taught me to consider the ripeness of flakes, like Lucy, and fortunately we tasted the January kind:

As we crested the first slope of my neighborhood hill, I began calculating how much money I spent on new ankles and a back fusion last year. Reminded of the total, I said, "We better turn around. I can't risk falling down."

Noise from honking horns drifted through snow covered trees. I assumed it was getting messy out there, but little did we know Metro Atlanta was shutting down.

Back inside we shook off the snow and started cooking. Gracie made a scrumptious apple pie out of aging fruit while I vetted phone calls. Lots of phone calls. But if you lived through what I just did, then you know what I'm talking about. 

The worst moment for me came when I found out my dear friend, Debi, who is still fighting stage four cancer, was stuck in no-mans-land Villa Rica with her daughter, Olivia. While she made plans to knock on a strangers door if the cold got too much, another friend's husband rescued her in his four wheel drive SUV. Debi later told me the drive home proved scarier than sitting in the parking lot. But several of us wouldn't have slept well at all if she'd been out in the cold.

God and a big-hearted driver got her home. 

And while there are still cars stuck on the roadways and more crunched vehicles than officials can count throughout all of Atlanta, I'm amazed authorities have mentioned only one fatality. My husband spent hours helping drivers up this hill near our home. When he left Tuesday evening, the road was clear of cars. This is what he found Wednesday morning:

We aren't in control, folks. We really aren't in control. We drive on thin ice in lots of ways we don't realize, always one storm away from the norm we hold so dear being challenged to the core.

But... He. Is. Enough. 

And He longs to be enough for everyone of us.

If you have a story of how He got you home this week, I'd love to hear it!

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An Ending and a Baby Beginning

A recent Christmas gift for me and Don purchased from Glory Haus

I filled my new ceramic grandparent mug with coffee this morning. As the hot substance warmed my hands and fueled my brain, Baby Olivia memories resurfaced with ease.

My arms cradled her 8 lb. frame - within twelve hours of her birth - just two days ago. Our fifth grandchild, and fourth girl.

The day before, however, I drove across town to where my brother-in-law's family has been preparing an estate sale. His aunt and uncle recently passed away, leaving a rather large home filled with relics, shoes, ties, antiques, China, and just lots of stuff.


And I mean... Lots. Of. Stuff.

(Like these gold plated, $175 a piece, Queen Victoria Herend dinner plates)

Available at Neiman Marcus

Aren't they gorgeous?? 

But I digress.

The couple who owned the fine china never had children and left behind a house so full and large, it's far more sad than awe inspiring. Arguments over antique pieces stirred family ire as the aging duo faced eternity. Thus combing through their stuff felt more personal than digging through my husband's underwear drawer.

Well, maybe.

I toured the six bedroom, five bathroom home, amazed that two elderly people had occupied the space. I walked among tables full of their belongings and picked and chose what I wanted - anything I wanted. Their thoughts and concerns no longer voiced.

The next morning I dressed for comfort. And after a two plus hour drive, held Baby Olivia and listened as her parents recalled the details of her entrance into the world.

Tiny hands. Barely open eyes. Tender cries.

The wonder of it all rushes over me again. Life is such an incomprehensible thing.  Especially the life of a tiny one who has breathed for only hours.

Her baby beginning followed the trail through the end of two lives, making her beauty all the more sweet.

Life matters. Real, lasting life.

Not the stuff.

Elaine, Keith, and Baby Olivia

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Starbucks, Kroger, and a Book Worth the Read

The minutes are ticking by. And ever since I entered the world after two cups of coffee this morning, I've been ordering medicine, talking to a doctor's office that scheduled an appointment wrong, researching needed supplements, doing the laundry, and trying to keep an internet browser working on my computer now that Google has upped the anti.

My to do list is shorter.  But words still unwritten - just like last Saturday.

Four hours passed as I sat in a Kroger Starbucks that day, waiting for my husband to finish an appointment. Neither of us knew it would take that long, so I fought off frustration as the minutes piled high.

He had the car. I had my lap top.

When thirty more minutes passed, I packed up my belongings and strolled to a near by Barnes and Noble. A severe leg cramp had kept me from moving earlier. But grocery store jargon overlaid with country music narrative had long before dismantled feeble attempts at concentration. When emotional annoyance overtook the physical pain, I moved.

Anger grew.

I wasn't really angry with my husband. I was just irked by the little I'd been able to accomplish. I'd spent the week working hard on a musical I started sixteen years ago. The desire to finish brought focus to each day; the weekend interruption, unease.

Like today. When I found out an appointment made a month ago was scheduled with the wrong doctor. No fault of my own.

As I wandered the book store with a cup of Harney & Sons Cinnamon Spice Tea and two KIND Peanut Butter and Dark Chocolate Protein Bars, I remembered our pastor had recently recommended a book on his FB page. Wanting to accomplish something of worth, I looked up the title on my phone and asked someone to show me where I could find the book.

With lap top, tea, and choice food, I sat at a small table and read:

"Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. It's going to bed at night thinking, Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn't change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging." [Brown, Daring Greatly (New York: Penguin, 2012), 10 -11.]

I bought the book.

My musical isn't finished yet. And I'm barely going to have time to write these thoughts before a piano student arrives and my afternoon wanders away from the place of written words.

But Wholehearted living says that's OK. Wholehearted living says show up. Keep trying. Keep writing. Keep being you. Even while in a Kroger Starbucks just waiting on your hubby.

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