A perfect hard day
and the God who knows
Hello, dear reader.
Here in Virginia we are hoping the rain will stop for a few days and give the Red Sea of Mud a chance to dry out, at least a little. I watched Ben walking across the pasture today and it looked like he was in quicksand. We are all a little weary of precipitation, but we are trying to appreciate every drop in anticipation of the summer dry spell. It’s a struggle.
Sunday we had my daddy’s memorial service and, while there were some tears, it was a very happy occasion. Loads of people came and I got to meet some that he’s talked about through the years. As is always the case at these things, so many stories were told, and I learned things about my daddy I never knew. Such a sweet time of remembering. Little children were everywhere, which is exactly the way Daddy would have wanted it. He always loved the kids.
A few of us stayed at Mom and Daddy’s house for the weekend. Being there is like walking around a museum of my life, and each time I find more things that take me back. Abbey and I looked through a lot of photo albums (maybe 3% of what is actually in the house), and found a few gems as we always do.
Remember when I said my daddy was a teacher at his core? I found a photo of him teaching the whole family, adults and children all together.
And another one of my brothers and I listening to him share some tidbit of wisdom. I remember when this one was taken, I was thinking, “Some day I am going to treasure this picture,” and now that some day is here. It is both sad and so precious to me.
Right before we left on Sunday, we grabbed all the women of our family we could find (we still missed a few) and got this shot:
It looks like we were having way too much fun for a memorial service, but it truly was just so wonderful. My mother was still smiling and talking about it this morning. It was a perfect hard day together.
All of my children except one got to be there, plus 11 of the 13 grandchildren, and the “kids” sang together, which is always a highlight for me. I love how much laughter and rejoicing there was.
Something else I’ve been thinking about since I saw this meme last week:
I 100% remember doing this, but only being able to call if the radio station had an 800-number because no way were my parents going to pay for such a frivolous long-distance call. Also we had an olive-green rotary phone with the twirly cord attached to the wall and now you know how old I am.
I’m not sure what made me stop and consider this meme. Usually I just laugh and keep scrolling. But I do remember doing it and feeling a thrill when you heard your very own name on the radio that probably a million people were listening to and now you were really somebody. The DJ played the very song you asked for and all those people knew your name. You were instantly famous. You were known.
Known.
And of course because this is what I do, I had to go look up a few verses that assure us God knows his children.
The Lord knoweth them that are his. (2 Tim 2:19)
If any man love God, the same is known of him. (1 Corinthians 8:3)
Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee . . . (Jeremiah 1:5)
I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. (John 10:14)
My sheep hear my voice, and I know them . . . (John 10:27)
The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him. (Nahum 1:7)
Friend, he knows you. Before you were even conceived, he knew you. And how much better is that than a staticky radio station that only reaches the tri-state area?
I think God gave me this assurance before last weekend, knowing I would be grieving in new ways every day, every moment. He knew I would see Daddy’s glasses in the little shoebox again and it would knock the wind out of me like it always does. He knew we would tell stories and remember just how well Daddy loved us and all the ways he showed it. It is such a comfort that he knows me, knows what I’m feeling, and he is right in the middle of it with me.
And finally, can someone explain the thinking behind this decision?
Thank you for sharing across the table. I too have felt weird because I have not cried for mom yet. I cried from release I suppose when they took her body from the house the last time. Sometimes I think I need to sit and concentrate on her leaving so maybe I will face my grief. But then I always find something to run do. I feel ready to go in her room and pack her belongings today. But I will probably face it as a chore not removing my mom’s things. I know people and John say I will grieve in my own way and time. I am the kind of person that needs a time and place to put on my calendar.
I've been scarce around Substack lately (writing AND reading), and yours is one I'm excited to come back and see. This is the first one I came across again, and I'm so sorry for your grief. What a beautiful picture of the "the ties that bind" both back in time and across the veil: families and souls and cultural touchstones and the mismatch of pot and burner. :) Peace to you this week.