Bertha Lee Audra McFarland aka Granny

I’m not the same granny. Not the same as my Granny, the one who never had to consider what she’d be called. She was Granny. I don’t suppose she and her peers ever discussed the other options as we new ones do today.

I don’t have jelly jars in my cupboards that serve as juice glasses nor do I have a bottle of Jergen’s lotion on the sinks edge. No my cupboard holds Princess cups and plastic Santa shaped cups with green straws coming from his hat.

with 3 of her grands in the mid 70's

No, I’m not the same granny. My generation has decided we’d rather be Nana or Grammy or Meli or Ree-Ree or Noni, or MeMe (pronounced MayMay because I decided so). Yes I am MeMe. It came about late one night as I rocked the tiny newborn grandchild patting her back trying to soothe her back to sleep. She was making those soft noises, cooing her words to me. And we talked, there in that darkened room. “What do you like?” I asked this tiny girl who was already our princess. “Nana?” Nothing. “Noni?”, nothing. “Or Abuela, or Mimi?” nothing. “MeMe?” And she cooed. Her answer. Yes, she had decided I would be MeMe. No I am not the same granny.

Our Princess meets a princess

The wonder of a child never changes

My Granny made Barbie clothes for me. Crocheted tiny purses I would hang on Barbie’s unbending arm and dresses Granny sewed from scraps. She let me watch Dark Shadows on her small black and white t.v. and took me to the ladies meeting at church with her. She never said the word sex. Ever. I heard her spell it a few times though. She also used initials to tell one of my uncles what another had said. It didn’t take me too long to figure out what “G.D” meant.

I download books and games on my iPad for my little granddaughter. We use glue sticks and paper punches to make pictures. We painted her feet at Christmas to make a reindeer picture. And we have a 50″ high-def screen to watch blue-ray discs.

story books on the iPad

Sesame Street goes digital

Plenty of traditional books getting read too

The toys and rules have changed a bit. We wouldn’t dare lay a baby on its tummy these days (I learned that from a niece!) and every outlet has a cover on it. Cabinet doors? I still can’t open them for the safety latches.

But we love. In that same old-fashioned kind of love that never goes out of style. We love more carefree without those burdens of young parents. We laugh at their missteps and are patient with their searching for direction. Maybe I am the same granny after all.

West side of the Cascade mountains or the Seattle side

The reservations are made. The airline ones and emotional ones. When did visiting mama get so hard? It’s not an easy trip. The flights between Seattle and Yakima are limited to three a day. Getting those connections to work with ones in Seattle coming home are challenging. My presence at my sister’s house puts a burden on their space and schedule. It will be my first visit to my mother not living in her own home. There is nothing about this trip that is comfortable or an easy. But I need to go. For me.

Lush green gives way to stark high desert on the east side

Home of the fish-throwing Pike's Market

Five years ago we gathered for a happier visit. We spent time walking around the market place in Seattle before driving to Yakima. The scenery beautiful as we headed east. Family and friends gathered for mom’s retirement. A tribute, really, to over thirty years of service to this community.

2009 - Four generations

sister Lisa, me, mama, brother Paul

The three of us at Sun Studios in Memphis 2009

We met again the next summer. Another place but gathered still. We could see the changes. Slight but recognition of family she should know wasn’t there. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d seen some but mama always knew them. Not now. Still, she knew me. She knew us. We laughed and took in some sites like tourists.

This disease, the dementia, doesn’t get easier. Surely not for her. For any of us. This time there is no home. Not like there has been. Home for her is now a studio in assisted living. It’s a better environment for her. Better than by herself in her home too big not to be shared with laughter and living. But even better is hard. For me. All of us I suppose.

The director of Sheffield manor entertains the residents

Visits with mama use to bring such excited anticipation and preparation. The places we would visit and conversation we would share. Going through a box of old photo’s for her to share a memory of that time is where I would get the family stories. Lost now. Lost to confusion for both of us. What if I call her mama? Will that confuse her more?

Another dream came last night. This one where I was visiting mama and everything was good. I told my sister I didn’t notice any decline in mama’s mental status since my last visit seven months ago. I want that dream to be true. One day it will. One day all will be restored by God’s hand. His grace. And only through his grace can this journey be done.

Thanks will always be on our lips in our hearts for God’s provision. For seeing us from there to here. For sustaining us, guiding us, showing us and never-failing us.

We met, all of us. A full Center of 99 residents, several counselors and employees gathered to fill the chapel with our first prayer. We started with the prayer of Jabez from 1 Chronicles:

“Bless me, O bless me! Give me land, large tracts of land. And provide your personal protection—don’t let evil hurt me.” God gave him what he asked.”

And then it began. Some called it a prayer march. Together we set out to walk the ten acres we’re asking God to bless and provide. He has provided the land, now provide the funds and wisdom for the next step.

We walked to where the plans call for a new chapel with more seating for family to be. Our new chaplain prayed for the lives who are and will be touched by this program. Healing and restoration now and to come.

We walked on past a tent along the river where someone has been camped the past couple of months. Word is she goes to vocational rehab but doesn’t want to live in a shelter. We’ve seen a car there, usually in front of the tent. There are others, camping in the bushes. The homeless the City says we don’t have. They watch us, some suspiciously and some acknowledging. I think of how this was some of our men at one time. It’s hard to see, to know the choices some made and others…well, we don’t know their stories.

Without vision, the people perish

Our dog Tripp surveys the land too

Our resident manager and photographer/facilities manager as Kenny checks his cargo

We stop where the transitional living apartments will be. A next step for graduates to help them re-enter life on their own. Then to the new residence and warehouse areas. Each place we stop and a graduate/employee reads scripture and prays.

We end next to the existing building. This will be turned into outdoor space. Actual green space to play ball and maybe a walking path. Our program director speaks and shares his dream, his prayer. He’s been at this for 30 years. He has big dreams. I think God’s dreams are even bigger.

Henry and the guys are Tebow-ing

And it hits me. God’s dreams are bigger than ours. Many never thought this land purchase would go through. I hold no hope for anything being done short of five years. But God…he’s a big planner. Bigger than us. We leave it in his hands. Gladly we leave this to God. Praying along the way, God is great, God is good, let us thank Him…..and thank Him …. and thank Him….

What do you do with prayer God has answered? The gift he has given? What do you do now that you can see it, touch it?

You keep praying. That’s what we’re going to do.

Henry spoke on Nehemiah Sunday. Nehemiah was a man distressed over hearing the walls of Jerusalem were piles of rubble. This place, the place of his people, had been destroyed. Nehemiah was so distraught he wept and mourned for the loss. He prayed. Nehemiah “mourned and fasted for days and prayed before the God-in-heaven.” He also prayed for the King to grant his request. This would allow Nehemiah to rebuild the city.

from Google earth (not sure how old)

And here we are. An existing property in sore need of repairs. Here we are with new property for future expansion. He we are. In need. So we will pray.

We are going to take our full house, 99 residents plus assorted staff and volunteers, and start with prayer. This property was purchased through prayer. Prayer and several million dollars. Prayer made the money possible. Prayer will continue to guide and provide.

We are going to walk the new property, next to a few homelss and trash piles where people have dumped their furniture and old tires. Where weeds are grown up high and need to be cleared and kept under control. Where security will need to be in place to ensure the empty buildings don’t become a danger to others or a crack house (a different kind of danger.)

I am filled with anticipation over the prayers of many being offered in agreement. Anticipation in seeing how God will answer and ready to marvel at his wonders. Anticipation of how some lives will change because of these prayers. That’s what it’s about. Not a new building. Not improvements on the old one. It’s about the lives inside this building that are changing even now.

If you are so inclined, please join us around 5:30 eastern time as we pray for God to provide the way to rebuild, reuse and restore.

Last week Chris looked at me, asked, “You heard about Whitney Houston?” Yes, I answered. “She was an addict just like us. It doesn’t matter who you are.”

True words. All of them. Addiction turns these men of education and degrees, loving families, status and wealth into beggars and thieves.

One who is with us for a third time, told me he was walking the streets Thanksgiving Day. Walking through a neighborhood where cars were driving to family dinners. He could see people gathering. It broke him down. Tears fell as he thought about his family. The family that wanted him. His friends who had invited him. But he chose another way.

These signs hang throughout the work areas

I watched on the Today Show as they talked about the handling of Whitney Houston’s death. Determination of cause has not been released, can we say she was an addict? Another segment featured a rehab facility that is posh in its accommodations. “Does this help the recovery process?”, they asked. I’m sick of it. Sick of it all.

Are we that blind? Do we want to continue to placate others who are playing with addiction because they grace the movie screens and tabloid pages? Who are we fooling? What are we telling our children?

Fellow blogger, Chaz, wrote about this in a calmer, well stated way over at One Direction Forward. Please check it out.

It saddens me and angers me. Like Chris said, “…an addict like us.” Name it folks. Name it for what it is. Addiction is like cancer that will grow and take your life if not treated.

Wake up! Deal with it. Address it. NAME IT! Please name it and break the denial that only adds to its destruction. Painful? Absolutely. But as one of our counselors says: doable. DOABLE.

“I’m walking on sunshine, whoa-whoa, and don’t it feel good!” 1985 Katrina & the Waves

I’m a bit overwhelmed with the generosity of my friends Melis @ http://iamnotshe.wordpress.com and Jen@http://steponacrack.wordpress.com for bestowing on me the Sunshine and Liebster awards. It’s amazing how you can get to know people you’ve never met and become part of a mutual support and encourager through the blogosphere. I am thankful to learn from both women who have much to share of perseverance and triumph. Please check out their blogs.

There are rules to these awards and, well, I’ll be adapting them a bit. Did I hear someone say control? I’d like to deny it but every time I think of my rationale it still sounds like control. I’ll own it.

The first rule of both is to give thanks to those passing the award on to you and link back. That is my favorite part and done.

The next part for the Sunshine award is to tell something about yourself in the way of favorites and the Liebster asks you to just share the love. Here’s where I’m going to twist it up some. I’ll share some of my favorite things and blogs so you’re getting the combo deal here. Did someone say “super-size”? No problem, ‘have it your way’

Favorite place to spend time doing nothing: the beach

Favorite new hobby: taking pictures and blogging

Favorite place to take pictures: the beach

Favorite place to live if I could live anywhere: near the beach (sensing a theme?)

Other favorites include blue, the number 14, family, grace, God, friends, music, arts, the beach.

I do have some favorite blogs I read regularly and will gladly share them with you.

Heidi at Good Life No Alcohol. She writes honestly and helpfully about recovery. Excellent blog.

Debbie at Two Minutes of Grace is a master with words and does it most gracefully, of course.

My Mother’s Brain: love in the time of dementia posts sporadically but I have found it to be touching and comforting as I go through the same journey as Beatriz

It’s Not Really About Me is a new one to me but I appreciate the simplicity of Judi’s life and her deep faith.

Yes, this is just a handful but most have been mentioned by others and deservedly so. All of these blogs have taught me, comforted me, encouraged me and uplifted me. I am thankful to God for using others to speak into my life.

In the back of our song book is a part called the Chorus Section. Here you will find choruses comprised of a few short lines and categorized by topic: Prayer, Holiness, even Warfare.

“Meet my need, Lord,

Meet my need, Lord,

Meet my need just now;

I am waiting and thou art coming

To meet my need just now” – chorus #86

I don’t know why there’s a chorus section or where these choruses originated. There are no composers listed and, as usual, no music. But there they are. This collection of choruses I haven’t heard sung in years.

“Silently now I wait for thee,

Ready my God thy will to see,

Open mine eyes, illumine me.

Spirit divine.”  - chorus #99

This chorus section came to mind a few days ago as one of these short verses set to music has been flitting through my mind. I picked up the book to find it but it’s not there. Could be it’s the chorus to a song or something that was traditionally sung to a song or alone but not in print. There are a few of those little things you pick up over the years.

photo credit: Jordan Hinson

photo credit: The Salvation Army Carolina's division

Today has given way to “praise and worship” style music. Our men enjoy that. We enjoy that. They are often easier for our men to sing than the hymns they don’t know. We sing the hymns too, thanks to a volunteer pianist that knows them well, but the choruses, no.

“Where he leads me I will follow,

Where he leads me I will follow,

Where he leads me I will follow,

I’ll go with him, with him, all the way.” – chorus #57

As I paged through I saw so many we’ve sung over the years. First heard them sitting next to mama in church and watching her worship in song. The words simple and direct and I realize how much those choruses informed my beliefs and strengthened my faith. As meaningful as scripture, these words with their melody hold fast in my mind. Such comfort words can bring, such truth they hold.

“To be like Jesus!

This hope possesses me,

In every thought and deed,

This is my aim, my creed;

To be like Jesus!

This hope possesses me,

His Spirit helping me,

Like him I’ll be.” – chorus #107

 

The bed I make and smooth every morning is crumpled, pillows caved in. There are heart stickers strewn about the table and toys in my bathtub. The Princess is here.

When the Princess comes, our house becomes her castle. Baba (her word for Henry) is her Prince. She told him so. Only this day, after watching the Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe she looked up and said, “You be King Peter. I’m Queen Lucy.” And so she was. Off they went to watch the movie again.

Queen "Lucy"

She saw the tiara on my dresser. The one from my mama that will be kk’s one day. Her great-grandma who will never know her, doesn’t even know me now. But kk will know her in stories and pictures. And she will have the tiara. One day.

Ever in the back of my mind the thoughts of how blessed we are to live just over 4 hours from her. Our next move could take us farther away. Each visit treasured and captured on picture after picture but it is our hearts that have been truly captured.

The time always short but full. We are worn from her energy but the satisfaction of the moment is bliss.

The granddaughter calls out, “Come find me”. Her body tucked behind the coffee table, not high enough to hide her. She doesn’t see us, we must not see her. The joy of children’s games and the delight in being found.

I remember sitting in front of our black and white television watching Romper Room. Do you remember? Didn’t you long to be a “Do-be”? Most of all, I waited to hear the names that would be called when looking in the magic mirror. Wasn’t it a mirror she held as she called out names? She would say, “I see Bobby and Mary. Cathy and Michael.” And I waited, anticipating the time she would say “I see Debby.” I knew it was me. My 5-year-old self knew she saw me! After all, I saw her. Doesn’t it work that way?

This isn’t going where you think though there is wonderful spiritual imagery here. Maybe it isn’t going where I think.

I feel honored, blessed, valued, humbled when others comment on this blog or even click the “like” button. I feel as though I’ve achieved something good. I may put too much in that  but am trying to keep perspective, priorities. But the times someone has told me in person, face to face, how they like the blog or the writing I turn back into that 5-year-old. I think, “How do you see me? I don’t see you?” And I feel very embarrassed. I quickly think, “What did I say? I’ve revealed too much.” I feel a bit…naked.

The tongue twists and I know I never say the right thing. What is the right response? Oh, yes, what my children tell me. “Thank you”. But instead I fumble. The words harder to speak than write.

The reality is, like the granddaughter, I delight in being found. Uncomfortable in the face to face but touched in my heart by your grace-filled words.

I most delight in being found by God. In praying he is in these words, the one calling to me and urging the heart to bare all. Not all to you, but all to Him. And I thank him for the part of me that is still 5 years old thinking you don’t see me and all the while you’re searching too. Searching with me to be found. What delight we share when we realize God is the one searching us out and He’s the one who has found us.

The cancer was taking its toll the doctor told him. He would have to stop work, his part-time job as an addictions counselor. The job he loved with his being. The job where he felt better when he was among these men whose addiction he understood. But the cancer, it wasn’t good. He needed to slow down.

But he is here this Sunday. Every Sunday. This Presbyterian who has found his home among a group of addicts, fellowship of the broken is where he feels home. A part of. So he joins us Sunday’s. He walks in looking for the new men and hands out canteen cards. He sits in the front row. Right down in full view of the pulpit. He’s already asked Henry to speak at his memorial. Those words are hard to write.

I hear the men greet Geoff. I hear them telling him he looks good, they’re glad to see him. He exchanges quips with him. His nature, always a joke, deflection.

Geoff with his "boys" at our Halloween festival

We miss Geoff. It’s hard for us to accept what his doctor has said. Hard to accept because it didn’t show. It hasn’t darkened Geoff’s smiles or hampered his humor or verbosity. (a word Geoff would use rather than the simple We would sometimes see the effects of chemo by his reddened skin. But his spirit? No, not effected. Not here. Not around the men he loved.

It’s the time for sharing in the Sunday service. Many have stood to tell of change in their life. Geoff stands and finds simple words to share as he talks about the gift of everyday. He is thankful for the gift of each day. The everyday. Those things I take for granted like fixing my breakfast and driving. I think nothing of doing these things for myself. But am reminded by one whose days are more measured that these things are gifts.

Yes, gifts and we are blessed people. I am blessed to know Geoff. To know a man in his 60′s that can still appreciate junior high humor on occasion, and has a passion for helping others. He loves his wife and their “boys” toy poodles Caleb and Jacob. Geoff loves life. Enthusiastically, vigorously loves life. A life he will lose on earth but gain in heaven. Thank you God for Geoff, and the gift he gives us. The gift of the every day.