You see what I did there, right? Emphasis on the cold. Why would I do that on May 6th? I live in the deep south after all. By May 6th people in the deep south have ruddy skin and mosquito bites. Not this May 6th. This May 6th the high is 53 degrees and I’m typing this under a blanket with my wool socks.
I was born for heat. The only thing that keeps me alive between December and March is the promise of spring. Oh April pulls its stunts from time to time. A cold snap here. Frost on the dogwoods there. But by May I’m in the pool. Guaranteed.
This May I’m suffering from seasonal affective disorder. Sure last winter was perpetual summer and I sang with joy even though it ruined all the peaches. I can live without peaches if it means I’m barefoot in January. But, I didn’t ask for that amazing non-winter last year. I want that duly noted. I should not be punished this way because if I had known having no winter to speak of last year meant perpetual winter this year… well, I wouldn’t have taken that deal for all the tea in China. I’ll pay my winter dues and try not to complain *too* much, but BY GOLLY WHEN MAY GETS HERE I BETTER BE SWEATING UNDER THE RED BUD TREE. I can’t see how that’s too much to ask.
Because the deep south has decided to become the deep freeze, I’m exploring my options. Guam has year round summer I’m told. Belize also boasts a good many 100+ degree days. Their spotty indoor plumbing and WiFi has me a tad concerned. I’m not going to lie. Plus is Belize truly close enough to the equator? Because I’ve come to the conclusion I’m not going to be happy too far from the equator.
As I look into my beloved equator, I notice the vegetation and insects get larger and larger. The equator has cockroaches the size of Shaquille O’Neal’s basketball shoe. I’m not OK with that.
So, all I can really do is sit here in the wool socks that should have been collecting dust in the back of the drawer for two months now and face the reality that I may not make it to summer with my sanity intact. At this rate, there will be no summer. Is this what nuclear winter feels like? It does seem like what I imagined when I watched those filmstrips.
Y’all go on about your lives and don’t mind me. I’m curled up in the fetal position crying. If the terrorist regimes ever want to get state secrets out of me, all they need to do is stick me in never-ending winter. It’s my Achilles heel. (This might be why no one ever tells me secrets.)
I’m rambling now but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m dying a slow frosty death. This is the big one, Elizabeth! I’m coming!
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My sweet daughter and her noble husband lost their baby last night. I was with them at the hospital to get the confirmation of what my daughter already knew was true, she had indeed suffered a miscarriage. I confirmed my deeply held belief that emergency rooms are callous and care-less places. I watched my girl suffer agonizing pain for two hours. I sat completely helpless as we all grieved the loss of a most wanted and celebrated baby. It ranks right up there in the top ten worst days of my life.
There is deep sorrow when you experience pain and loss firsthand, but when you watch your child experience pain and loss the sorrow rises to a level I didn’t know was possible. I would do anything to have lived last night for her, to have taken the hurt on myself, to have made everything right again, to have spared her this hard providence. But I can’t. I am a sideline spectator and my heart can’t do anything but suffer because she is suffering. And sideline suffering is a really intense suffering.
At one point I drove home in the middle of the night to get some things she needed and even though I know God is sovereign, even though I understand that He is good, even though I realize His ways are not my ways, I still asked Him why. Why my girl? Why her baby? Why my grandbaby? Why now? Why ever?
I don’t know why.
But I do know the Lord’s grace is sufficient to carry her and her husband through this suffering. His grace is sufficient to carry me through the awful place of helplessly watching my daughter suffer and not being able to make it better. His grace is sufficient and He is worthy to be praised even in the hard providences of life.
I would covet your prayers for my daughter and her husband. Their hearts are broken. His parents’ hearts are broken. Our hearts are broken. We all had already fallen so hopelessly in love with that tiny baby.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore. Psalm 121
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I have a grandbaby coming soon and I must learn to quilt properly. It has become a burning obsession, like I don’t have a list of new projects the size of Manhattan. But that’s nothing unusual. I am going to make a fabulous quilt for every one of my grandbabies starting with this one, but first I have to learn how… really learn. Not just fake it like I’ve been doing.
My last two babies haven’t had the blessing of a quilt from my husband’s devoted aunt who sent every great-niece and great-nephew the most beautiful quilts. She passed away and since all my other children have a special quilt, I took it upon myself to make one for my youngest two. Noah’s turned out fairly well considering I cannot sew a straight line to save my life and I have to get one of my children to re-thread the machine every so often.
Seth’s quilt is still sitting on my side table waiting for me to hand quilt it, a project I’m going to get right on before he turns two next month. If he’s lucky, I’ll be done with it before he’s ten.
But he will be lucky because I’ll have a houseful of grandchildren by the time he’s ten and therefore I’ll be a quilter on fire by then!
This woman is my inspiration. She pops out these in a day or two. I’m trying not to covet raw, God given talent. That would not be right. And I’m nothing if not right.
So quilting is my new obsession. Can you call something an obsession that you’ve done twice in your life and not very well those two times?
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I am a bit of a news junkie (like you didn’t already know that about me) and that is especially true when it comes to crime drama. Criminals fascinate me and a good whodunit is pretty much at the top of my list of favorite fiction material. So it probably won’t come as much of a surprise that I’ve been riveted by the murder of Travis Alexander and the trial that is currently underway in Arizona.
I started following the case because it is truly unusual. Beautiful petite woman murders a big burly man in his prime for what? Self-defense? Jealous rage? Cold calculated revenge? The twists and turns are intriguing. But as I’ve watched the trial for many more hours than I should, what has hung in my mind more than the details of the murder or the theories of the motive is this Scripture.
For the lips of a strange woman drop as an honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell. ~ Proverbs 5:3-5
Travis Alexander was tempted by a seductress. He was trying to be a good Mormon boy. But he succumbed to the age old siren song of sexual sin. It’s a tragedy, not just because he was murdered. His is an extreme case to be sure. But sin has consequences whether no man ever sees them or whether they end up plastered across national television in a sensational public trial.
His reputation is ruined. He is humiliated posthumously. His family’s hearts are shattered. Little will be remembered of him but his sin and his murder. It’s tragic.
When his grandmother raised him with his six orphaned brothers and sisters, she hoped for more from his life. She’s alive to witness all of this. What would Travis think if he could see what we are all seeing right now? Would he think his time in the arms of a ‘strange woman’ was worth it? Of course he wouldn’t. He would be devastated. And there it is, the consequence of sin. Devastation of the soul. For Travis the devastation was both physical and spiritual.
I feel nothing but pity for him. My heart and prayers go out to his suffering family. He didn’t have anyone that came alongside him and called him out on this sin. All the pieces fell into place to keep it secret and to keep him snared in it because Satan is a wily taskmaster. I’m quite sure he never thought that (crazy) petite blonde headed girl would stab him 29 times, slit his throat, and shoot him in the head. Don’t we all think that sort of thing will never happen to us?
The lesson here, and one I admonish my grown and almost grown children of particularly, is that sin has consequences. We do not sin alone and we are never sin’s only victim. Sins are far reaching even if they are never seen in such a manner as Travis’ have been. The ‘strange woman’ is enticing. Beware and stand guard for there is a thief that comes to steal, kill, and destroy.
Let that admonition and warning be the legacy of Travis Alexander.
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You see what I did there, right? Emphasis on the cold. Why would I do that on May 6th? I live in the deep south after all. By May 6th people in the deep south have ruddy skin and mosquito bites. Not this May 6th. This May 6th the high is 53 degrees and I’m typing this under a blanket with my wool socks.
