We had an old water heater that needed to be replaced, yet we milked it for all it was worth and kept that thing going. We built this house sixteen years ago and it was the original water heater. Not too bad if you were a family of two or four. But our family of six have taken hundreds of showers, washed millions of loads of clothes and well, you know, the same goes for the amount of dishes washed. But we hung on.
Buying time you might call it. Lots of time. Like a few extra years. There were several occasions where we would get ready to take a shower and then realize there wasn't any hot water. Let's just say Josh still lived at home when it began. Yep, the past few years, there were many times spent running down two flights of stairs to the utility room, shutting off the switch, waiting a few seconds and then turning it back on. And well-ah, we would again soon have hot water.
The past several months John kept telling me, "I am going to be getting a new hot water heater," in which I would respond under my breath, "Well, its probably about time!" I am extremely patient in that department. There are a few things that would drive another person crazy and I just live with it. Nothing earth shattering. In this life of busyness, the squeaky wheel gets the oil...or something like that.
John came home with it last Wednesday and spent all day installing it. Its one of those hi-tech jobs. "Hot water on demand," it claims. Its a lot smaller, which means it doesn't take up as much room in the utility room. Supposed to be an energy saver as well.
Now before I go any further, I must admit something.
My brain is not what it used to be. I'm not quite as sharp as I once was. I could go into lots of explanation, but I'll save you the misery. Just go with it.
Thursday afternoon, as I'm doing dishes, I begin hearing it. Sounded like excavating going on a house or two away. I think to myself, "I wonder who is having something done." I mentally try to picture what they could possibly getting done to their yard. Nothing comes to mind and I brush it off.
Friday morning, I'm at the kitchen sink, rinsing out my coffee cup and I hear it again. And this time I think to myself, "Wow, it seems a little early for them to be getting started on that excavating," and then quickly dismiss it and carry on with my day.
This happened over and over for days. Me standing at the kitchen sink, running water, hearing the excavators. Really had me curious.
Then it dawned on me.
I stood at the sink yesterday and turned on the water. I immediately shut it off. And I heard it. And then began trying to make sense of what I was hearing, "there is NO way that every time I run the water, they get started on excavating. Every single time." I turn it back on. Turn it off. The sound appears again.
Ah-ha! Mystery solved. Its the darn new apparatus we now have almost directly below the kitchen, in the utility room. When I told John of what I had thought the noise was coming from, he laughed and explained that its the water flow doo-hickey thing. Yeah, whatever. All I know is that it makes a noise we did not have before. I simply could not ask him to un-install it and take it back. The excavator (which is now in my basement) is here to stay.
Fast forward to tonight. I'm loading the dishwasher, running hot water of course, and Rachel is in the kitchen talking to me. As soon as the noise starts up, she asks, "Who is pulling up in the driveway."
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
This is No Fairy Tale
Every Monday night like clockwork, I pick up my dad and take him to the grocery store. Its been our routine for the past several years, since he is in poor physical health and doesn't drive anymore.
He lives alone and spends most of his time glued to the television. He watches his favorite programs along with the news all day long, so he is very up to speed with every newsworthy story. Especially the very awful atrocities that play out daily in our world.
For a short time several years ago, he attended church. He heard strong preaching of the Word, for the first time in all of his life. He seemed to grasp it. Every now and then when trouble comes our way, he will acknowledge that he is praying for whatever the situation is.
When I called to let him know about the passing of my mother-in-law, he choked back tears saying, "I prayed so hard for her." I truly believe in his heart he did.
But what he doesn't understand is the whole concept of who God really is.
Which got me thinking.
Not many people do.
Last night, for example. With the tragedy that unfolded at the Boston Marathon yesterday, it was the "hot topic" on the way back to his apartment.
"I don't understand," he said as he shook his head in disgust.
Me neither.
But the Spirit in me rises to remind me that these things are to happen. We are not to be troubled, but to trust in Him.
Don't get me wrong. Its troubling. Extremely troubling. But not surprising.
Its a reminder that this world is falling farther and farther away from God (troubling). Its what the scripture says will happen (so its not surprising).
The Word of God is alive and active, never changing. For then. For today. For the future.
In church we just finished up the series, "The Tree". Pastor took us through the Bible from the Tree of Good and Evil as explained in Genesis, to the exciting last chapters in Revelation.
Exciting? Yes. Troubling? Yes. How can it be both?
Because we know how it ends. There are troubling times ahead for sure. So troubling, our human hearts and minds almost can't take it. But the knowledge of the Word is where the golden treasure is. We cling to the truth of what it says and the fear subsides. Good wins. And the promises are so beautiful, we cannot truly comprehend it.
But to get there, we must understand some things.
"I don't understand why God doesn't just stomp out all of the evil," my dad continued.
"Its because that is now how he operates," I tried to explain. "He gives us free will."
I wanted to continue and pray that I will be able to.
But it gave me such an excitement to be able to share some simple truths here. Ones that people like my dad, simply cannot get a hold of.
I didn't understand either. Until March 2003. And since that date, I've dug into the Scriptures. I am always so hungry for the truth in His Word.
What else is there to turn to? What else has the power to change peoples lives? To give you such promises.
This is no fairy tale.
If it were, we would have nothing. We live. We die. Its all for nothing.
But that is a lie. I hope you don't believe that.
Or worse yet, you believe that by being "good", that you are on your way up. To the pearly gates. Floating on clouds with the angels.
That is a fairy tale. One that has been sold time and time again to this world.
My dad stepped out of the Jeep to gather his groceries and changed the subject. He often does.
Its hard to hear the truth. Our hearts are so hardened.
I share a lot of Godly things on Facebook. I almost can't help myself. In fact, I literally cannot. I wrestle with the Spirit sometimes about it. "Are you sure," I'll ask.
There is so much filth out there. Sexual immorality, drunkenness, filthy language...and on and on.
That is so offensive to our Holy God. So, when He asks me to share, I share. So be it.
It probably offends a lot of people. That is exactly what it does to people who do not believe. It IS offensive.
But when you turn your heart towards Him, all of that changes. Its life changing. You can finally understand it.
What I'd like to share with you and my dad is this:
God is Holy.
"exalted or worthy of complete devotion as one perfect in goodness and righteousness"
He is not the 'man upstairs', controlling puppet strings. He gave us free will. Free to live and free to choose. So that when we do choose Him, its with our own hearts. Our own will. And He lovingly accepts us as His own.
He is Holy. I cannot stress that enough. THAT is key.
We cannot stand before Him and live. Moses was in his presence. Read what happened to him.
Its through the shed blood of Christ that we can approach His throne. He is full of Grace and Mercy and Love.
I want Grace! We need Grace! I want Mercy! We need Mercy! I want Love! We need Love!
Here is the truth. And its hard to swallow.
We are NO different than the people who commit such atrocities, like the one in Boston yesterday.
Have you lied? Who hasn't!
Have you stolen something?
Have you looked upon someone with lust?
Have you hated anyone?
They are all sin against a Holy God. He counts all of sin the same.
Hate = Murder. Lust = Adultery.
We are no different.
But the really wicked and evil look a lot worse than we do. When we think like that, we are lowering God to our standards. That's why its easy for my dad to ask, "Why doesn't God just stomp out evil?"
Well, He would stomp us all out.
There are no worse sins in His book. Well, there is one. But that's for a different day.
We will all be judged the same.
Those that are without Christ... Well, you can read it for yourself.
We all have fallen short of the Glory of God (Romans 3:23) and are in need of a Savior.
The Boston bomber(s). The Taliban. The Mass Murderers. The Liberals. The Conservatives. And on and on and on.
We are people. We are sinners.
Here is the good news.
We can be saved. Redeemed. And then turn from our sins and walk by faith.
Not give up our sins and then be saved.
We would never in our own self be able to do that.
Its His Word that sheds light onto the darkness.
So that as these atrocities unfold, I am not asking as the world asks, "Why?"
Instead, "Why not?"
We have fallen SO far away.
And its only going to get worse.
Seek Him. He will be found.
And only then will you have most answers. Not all. I don't think we could handle the really, really, really big picture.
But I can tell you this: He IS.
He lives alone and spends most of his time glued to the television. He watches his favorite programs along with the news all day long, so he is very up to speed with every newsworthy story. Especially the very awful atrocities that play out daily in our world.
For a short time several years ago, he attended church. He heard strong preaching of the Word, for the first time in all of his life. He seemed to grasp it. Every now and then when trouble comes our way, he will acknowledge that he is praying for whatever the situation is.
When I called to let him know about the passing of my mother-in-law, he choked back tears saying, "I prayed so hard for her." I truly believe in his heart he did.
But what he doesn't understand is the whole concept of who God really is.
Which got me thinking.
Not many people do.
Last night, for example. With the tragedy that unfolded at the Boston Marathon yesterday, it was the "hot topic" on the way back to his apartment.
"I don't understand," he said as he shook his head in disgust.
Me neither.
But the Spirit in me rises to remind me that these things are to happen. We are not to be troubled, but to trust in Him.
Don't get me wrong. Its troubling. Extremely troubling. But not surprising.
Its a reminder that this world is falling farther and farther away from God (troubling). Its what the scripture says will happen (so its not surprising).
The Word of God is alive and active, never changing. For then. For today. For the future.
In church we just finished up the series, "The Tree". Pastor took us through the Bible from the Tree of Good and Evil as explained in Genesis, to the exciting last chapters in Revelation.
Exciting? Yes. Troubling? Yes. How can it be both?
Because we know how it ends. There are troubling times ahead for sure. So troubling, our human hearts and minds almost can't take it. But the knowledge of the Word is where the golden treasure is. We cling to the truth of what it says and the fear subsides. Good wins. And the promises are so beautiful, we cannot truly comprehend it.
But to get there, we must understand some things.
"I don't understand why God doesn't just stomp out all of the evil," my dad continued.
"Its because that is now how he operates," I tried to explain. "He gives us free will."
I wanted to continue and pray that I will be able to.
But it gave me such an excitement to be able to share some simple truths here. Ones that people like my dad, simply cannot get a hold of.
I didn't understand either. Until March 2003. And since that date, I've dug into the Scriptures. I am always so hungry for the truth in His Word.
What else is there to turn to? What else has the power to change peoples lives? To give you such promises.
This is no fairy tale.
If it were, we would have nothing. We live. We die. Its all for nothing.
But that is a lie. I hope you don't believe that.
Or worse yet, you believe that by being "good", that you are on your way up. To the pearly gates. Floating on clouds with the angels.
That is a fairy tale. One that has been sold time and time again to this world.
My dad stepped out of the Jeep to gather his groceries and changed the subject. He often does.
Its hard to hear the truth. Our hearts are so hardened.
I share a lot of Godly things on Facebook. I almost can't help myself. In fact, I literally cannot. I wrestle with the Spirit sometimes about it. "Are you sure," I'll ask.
There is so much filth out there. Sexual immorality, drunkenness, filthy language...and on and on.
That is so offensive to our Holy God. So, when He asks me to share, I share. So be it.
It probably offends a lot of people. That is exactly what it does to people who do not believe. It IS offensive.
But when you turn your heart towards Him, all of that changes. Its life changing. You can finally understand it.
What I'd like to share with you and my dad is this:
God is Holy.
"exalted or worthy of complete devotion as one perfect in goodness and righteousness"
He is not the 'man upstairs', controlling puppet strings. He gave us free will. Free to live and free to choose. So that when we do choose Him, its with our own hearts. Our own will. And He lovingly accepts us as His own.
He is Holy. I cannot stress that enough. THAT is key.
We cannot stand before Him and live. Moses was in his presence. Read what happened to him.
Its through the shed blood of Christ that we can approach His throne. He is full of Grace and Mercy and Love.
I want Grace! We need Grace! I want Mercy! We need Mercy! I want Love! We need Love!
Here is the truth. And its hard to swallow.
We are NO different than the people who commit such atrocities, like the one in Boston yesterday.
Have you lied? Who hasn't!
Have you stolen something?
Have you looked upon someone with lust?
Have you hated anyone?
They are all sin against a Holy God. He counts all of sin the same.
Hate = Murder. Lust = Adultery.
We are no different.
But the really wicked and evil look a lot worse than we do. When we think like that, we are lowering God to our standards. That's why its easy for my dad to ask, "Why doesn't God just stomp out evil?"
Well, He would stomp us all out.
There are no worse sins in His book. Well, there is one. But that's for a different day.
We will all be judged the same.
Those that are without Christ... Well, you can read it for yourself.
We all have fallen short of the Glory of God (Romans 3:23) and are in need of a Savior.
The Boston bomber(s). The Taliban. The Mass Murderers. The Liberals. The Conservatives. And on and on and on.
We are people. We are sinners.
Here is the good news.
We can be saved. Redeemed. And then turn from our sins and walk by faith.
Not give up our sins and then be saved.
We would never in our own self be able to do that.
Its His Word that sheds light onto the darkness.
So that as these atrocities unfold, I am not asking as the world asks, "Why?"
Instead, "Why not?"
We have fallen SO far away.
And its only going to get worse.
Seek Him. He will be found.
And only then will you have most answers. Not all. I don't think we could handle the really, really, really big picture.
But I can tell you this: He IS.
Friday, April 12, 2013
36 Days, Forwarded Emails, a Brown Bowl and a Video
I found myself searching through my email folders today. In search of old emails from my mom-in-law. She would always send me "forwards" and I often did not read them. She knew that and would sometimes tell me, "I know you don't read too many of the forwards, but the so-in-so one was really good, so if you get a chance..." Sometimes I would go back and look, most times I still did not. I am just not a "forward" type email person.
Today's search had me looking for personal ones from her. Regretfully, there are less than a handful. They were short and about either our summer camping plans or arranging for her to come over and help me with Josh's open house. Oh, how I wish there were more.
I even secretly hoped to find one that I had somehow missed and it would be new to me. Silly, but honestly true.
Its been five weeks.
It was normal for us to go without seeing each other for that time frame, since she lived an hour away. Back in the day she had always called me, but I loved that she spent the last year or so calling and catching up with her son most often. If too much time went by, she would call me and tell me how much she missed me, wanting to know how everyone was doing. And she ended every call telling me, "love you!"
Too much time has went by now. But there are to be no more phone calls.
Time heals.The clouds will roll away and the sun will begin shining again.
There will always be little reminders of her.
Getting my nails done yesterday, I noticed that one of the nail powder dishes was labeled in someone's penmanship "white". Well, that was her last name.
My mom recently told me that when a loved one is gone, you most likely will start seeing people who looked like them. A woman came into my work about a week ago and I remember thinking, wow, she reminds me of Ethel.
When reading through the kids baby books last night, I paid very much attention to birthday and Christmas gifts that were listed as gifts from her and their papa. I can remember each of them so well and the delight she had in giving them.
Recently searching for the perfect upcoming mother's day gift for my own mom, made me realize that last years gift to Ethel was her last. This year we will purchase a beautiful flowering ornamental tree and plant it in her memory. That's gonna be tough.
When I go looking through my kitchen cupboards trying to find a certain baking dish, I inevitably come across one of her dishes. She would bring a dish or two of food over for our gatherings and always leave the dishes behind to be returned the next time we got together. Recently, I found her old, worn, brown bowl that she had brought rolls over in for Christmas. I remember her always having that bowl. It is a now a treasure.
This morning, I was looking on facebook through pictures and clicked on my videos. I had forgotten that I had posted awhile back ago, the comical video of Matthew from when he was about four. Well, she is in most of it. I cannot bring myself to watch it. My heart sank a little when I seen it.
When I chose something to wear to work this morning, I pulled out a blouse that I wore to her memorial. I wore it that day because she had commented at the holidays how much she liked it and it now reminds me of her.
I visit her facebook profile every now and then. I recently went through every single post she had. It made me smile to be able to "hear" her as I read her words.
We really, really, really miss her.
Today's search had me looking for personal ones from her. Regretfully, there are less than a handful. They were short and about either our summer camping plans or arranging for her to come over and help me with Josh's open house. Oh, how I wish there were more.
I even secretly hoped to find one that I had somehow missed and it would be new to me. Silly, but honestly true.
Its been five weeks.
It was normal for us to go without seeing each other for that time frame, since she lived an hour away. Back in the day she had always called me, but I loved that she spent the last year or so calling and catching up with her son most often. If too much time went by, she would call me and tell me how much she missed me, wanting to know how everyone was doing. And she ended every call telling me, "love you!"
Too much time has went by now. But there are to be no more phone calls.
Time heals.The clouds will roll away and the sun will begin shining again.
There will always be little reminders of her.
Getting my nails done yesterday, I noticed that one of the nail powder dishes was labeled in someone's penmanship "white". Well, that was her last name.
My mom recently told me that when a loved one is gone, you most likely will start seeing people who looked like them. A woman came into my work about a week ago and I remember thinking, wow, she reminds me of Ethel.
When reading through the kids baby books last night, I paid very much attention to birthday and Christmas gifts that were listed as gifts from her and their papa. I can remember each of them so well and the delight she had in giving them.
Recently searching for the perfect upcoming mother's day gift for my own mom, made me realize that last years gift to Ethel was her last. This year we will purchase a beautiful flowering ornamental tree and plant it in her memory. That's gonna be tough.
When I go looking through my kitchen cupboards trying to find a certain baking dish, I inevitably come across one of her dishes. She would bring a dish or two of food over for our gatherings and always leave the dishes behind to be returned the next time we got together. Recently, I found her old, worn, brown bowl that she had brought rolls over in for Christmas. I remember her always having that bowl. It is a now a treasure.
This morning, I was looking on facebook through pictures and clicked on my videos. I had forgotten that I had posted awhile back ago, the comical video of Matthew from when he was about four. Well, she is in most of it. I cannot bring myself to watch it. My heart sank a little when I seen it.
When I chose something to wear to work this morning, I pulled out a blouse that I wore to her memorial. I wore it that day because she had commented at the holidays how much she liked it and it now reminds me of her.
I visit her facebook profile every now and then. I recently went through every single post she had. It made me smile to be able to "hear" her as I read her words.
We really, really, really miss her.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Holding On and Letting Go
I lost a dear friend on March 7, 2013. Her name was Ethel and she was my husband's mom. That old "mother-in-law" relationship can be categorized in several different ways. You might have a fantastic relationship with yours. Or perhaps one that requires only birthday cards and visits on holidays. Or yours might be involved greatly, but with a very strained relationship. Still others might have no relationship at all. Mine, well...ours was pretty special.
I met mine when I was just over fourteen years old, back in the fall of 1982. I fell "head over heels" in love with her son, my now husband of almost twenty-five years. How that happens at such a young age, I can barely remember. But it did.
Never thought about it before, but she was the tender young age of only 32 when I met her. She worked as an assistant manager of a bank. I remember going to their house on Friday nights, when she would bring pizza home after a long day's work and settle in on the couch later to watch her beloved show, "Dallas". If John and I were in his room with the door shut, she would walk by and open it. Every time.
She never had a daughter and liked the idea of having a girl around. As time went on, she would eagerly buy me girly gifts for my birthday and Christmas. When John and I got engaged, she took a picture of my engagement ring on my finger so she could show everyone. She was thrilled.
When John and I were first married, his parents owned a small cabin up in northern Michigan, and the four of us went for a weekend in the fall. This lovely little cabin in the woods had no running water and no indoor plumbing. It made for an interesting weekend, for sure. One morning, both of us girls wanted to wash our hair. We were probably warned about the ice cold water that would come from the hand pump outside, but we were determined. Our heads were almost frozen solid when we were done! We laughed and laughed about that. We even laughed about it, in the few remaining hours we had together in that hospital room a few weeks ago.
Fast forward a few years and she was thrilled beyond imagination when we presented her with her first grandchild, our son Joshua. She could not wait to babysit for him and have him spend the night. As a first time mom, it took me awhile to feel comfortable enough to leave him. But once I realized that he was in good hands, I began to let him go more often. I would visit her at work and she would proudly parade him through the bank. I had to stay behind the teller window, but Josh could go roll in the money if he wanted. So funny.
When John and I built our first home, we moved our little family into his parent's house for about three months. Joshua was three and Matthew was only a few months old. What a great time of bonding the boys had with their Grandma during those few months. She loved helping me with the kids. We would spend many nights after our guys went to bed and the little ones were fast asleep, talking until wee hours of the night. This would be after eating our dish of ice cream with a side of potato chips. A shared favorite of ours. She would share her heart on many things. She felt very comfortable with our relationship as did I. She could lean on me. I could lean on her.
Now, before I paint this sugar coated, flowery relationship, I must add this. Our first few years of marriage I had a really hard time with her (not intentionally) smothering me. She never had a daughter and was thrilled with her son now being married. Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, our phone would ring and ring and ring. We were newly weds, young and loved our lazy Saturday mornings in bed. When we would finally give in and answer the phone, she would ask, "did I wake you?". Even when I would show some irritation, the next Saturday, the phone would begin ringing. She would want to talk for hours (it seemed). She meant well, but I had a hard time with it.
She was the one who had planned all of the family doings. BBQ's, family get togethers, Christmas Eve and the such. She loved time when all the family could be together. It was always at their house. Food everywhere. Lots of laughter, kids running in and out along with lots of pictures being taken. Those memories and pictures are treasures.
When I became pregnant with my third child, we were all hoping for a little girl. She had had two boys, I now had my two boys and John's brother had two boys. A girl was what the Walls family needed. She came and stayed the night with me the night before Rachel was born. She was going to stay with the boys in the morning when John and I went to have my induction. We were up all night playing Yahtzee and discussing the what-ifs. A girl? Was it possible? We were so excited. And when little Rachel was born, that next evening, she could hardly believe it. She could buy pink and crochet pink stuff! Rachel was always "my Rachel" to her. I was very glad to have a daughter myself, but extremely glad to have blessed her with a grand-daughter (and three grand-sons).
In the fall of 1997, after now having our four children, we built our second home and again moved our "little" family in with his parents. This time we stayed for six months. Having Rachel and Alec only twenty months apart, my mother-in-law was a huge help. John was at work all day and then would go work on the house at night, so those extra hands were appreciated. The kids could hardly do any wrong and she loved spoiling them. We would scrapbook together late into the night. Pouring over pictures, memories and lovingly journaling it all down in our albums. I now have those albums of hers. And they are precious to me.
Even when we weren't living with them, Ethel and I had spent many times together taking the kids shopping, going out to lunch and visiting family and friends together. I treasured the special relationship we had, knowing it wasn't a relationship everyone has had with their mother-in-law.
When she went through a very dark time in her life, John and I were there for her. We watched her try and deal with the unbearable pain that came with the loss of her marriage. She lived with us for a few months before she was able to get her first place on her own. John and I had been going to church for a few years and that is something that she longed for in her life. (Her and I had even tried out a few churches together back in the day, here and there, when our hearts were searching). She would eagerly go with us on Sunday mornings, going to the altar for prayer almost every week. She was weak and needed strength. She knew where to get it. A lot of mornings, her and I would gather around the computer and listen to Walk in the Word or Thru the Bible. I knew how it ministered deeply to her in her time of need and she looked so forward to it.
When she remarried four and a half years ago, she moved to Port Huron to be with her new husband. She was very sad to live that far away from all of us, but she soon gained many newfound friendships through church, sewing, playing cards and such. Time would pass and we'd be making arrangements for summer picnics over there or dinners over here, to be together. She was always so excited to see her great-grandson and how big he was getting. She told me numerous times how she loved seeing John and I in our new roles as grandparents and how she so cherished that time when her grand-kids were little.
Last summer, Rachel and I took a drive over there to take her out for one of our "out of the blue" girl's day. We had went to Chili's for dinner, shopped at the Birchwood Mall and walked on the shoreline at one of the beaches. We sat and enjoyed a refreshment from the ice cream stand that was there. We snapped several pictures, trying to fit all three of us in a shot. You know the kind. One person holds their phone out far enough to try and capture the right picture. After several attempts, some very cute but not quite right, we asked the kind woman selling the ice cream to take one for us. She snapped the perfect one.
Just after this picture, on the walk back to the vehicle, she said, "I love my family! This was the best day ever!"
And on her hospital bed, as her breaths became weaker, she was still exclaiming, "I love my family!"
I have many, many, many memories with her. I count it all as a blessing to have been her daughter and friend. I am so very thankful for the time we all shared. I am comforted and grateful that she came to know Jesus as her Lord and Savior. I know where she is at. I know that we will see each other again, and spend eternity with our Lord. But, man oh man, will I ever miss her until then.
I met mine when I was just over fourteen years old, back in the fall of 1982. I fell "head over heels" in love with her son, my now husband of almost twenty-five years. How that happens at such a young age, I can barely remember. But it did.
Never thought about it before, but she was the tender young age of only 32 when I met her. She worked as an assistant manager of a bank. I remember going to their house on Friday nights, when she would bring pizza home after a long day's work and settle in on the couch later to watch her beloved show, "Dallas". If John and I were in his room with the door shut, she would walk by and open it. Every time.
She never had a daughter and liked the idea of having a girl around. As time went on, she would eagerly buy me girly gifts for my birthday and Christmas. When John and I got engaged, she took a picture of my engagement ring on my finger so she could show everyone. She was thrilled.
When John and I were first married, his parents owned a small cabin up in northern Michigan, and the four of us went for a weekend in the fall. This lovely little cabin in the woods had no running water and no indoor plumbing. It made for an interesting weekend, for sure. One morning, both of us girls wanted to wash our hair. We were probably warned about the ice cold water that would come from the hand pump outside, but we were determined. Our heads were almost frozen solid when we were done! We laughed and laughed about that. We even laughed about it, in the few remaining hours we had together in that hospital room a few weeks ago.
Fast forward a few years and she was thrilled beyond imagination when we presented her with her first grandchild, our son Joshua. She could not wait to babysit for him and have him spend the night. As a first time mom, it took me awhile to feel comfortable enough to leave him. But once I realized that he was in good hands, I began to let him go more often. I would visit her at work and she would proudly parade him through the bank. I had to stay behind the teller window, but Josh could go roll in the money if he wanted. So funny.
When John and I built our first home, we moved our little family into his parent's house for about three months. Joshua was three and Matthew was only a few months old. What a great time of bonding the boys had with their Grandma during those few months. She loved helping me with the kids. We would spend many nights after our guys went to bed and the little ones were fast asleep, talking until wee hours of the night. This would be after eating our dish of ice cream with a side of potato chips. A shared favorite of ours. She would share her heart on many things. She felt very comfortable with our relationship as did I. She could lean on me. I could lean on her.
Now, before I paint this sugar coated, flowery relationship, I must add this. Our first few years of marriage I had a really hard time with her (not intentionally) smothering me. She never had a daughter and was thrilled with her son now being married. Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, our phone would ring and ring and ring. We were newly weds, young and loved our lazy Saturday mornings in bed. When we would finally give in and answer the phone, she would ask, "did I wake you?". Even when I would show some irritation, the next Saturday, the phone would begin ringing. She would want to talk for hours (it seemed). She meant well, but I had a hard time with it.
She was the one who had planned all of the family doings. BBQ's, family get togethers, Christmas Eve and the such. She loved time when all the family could be together. It was always at their house. Food everywhere. Lots of laughter, kids running in and out along with lots of pictures being taken. Those memories and pictures are treasures.
When I became pregnant with my third child, we were all hoping for a little girl. She had had two boys, I now had my two boys and John's brother had two boys. A girl was what the Walls family needed. She came and stayed the night with me the night before Rachel was born. She was going to stay with the boys in the morning when John and I went to have my induction. We were up all night playing Yahtzee and discussing the what-ifs. A girl? Was it possible? We were so excited. And when little Rachel was born, that next evening, she could hardly believe it. She could buy pink and crochet pink stuff! Rachel was always "my Rachel" to her. I was very glad to have a daughter myself, but extremely glad to have blessed her with a grand-daughter (and three grand-sons).
In the fall of 1997, after now having our four children, we built our second home and again moved our "little" family in with his parents. This time we stayed for six months. Having Rachel and Alec only twenty months apart, my mother-in-law was a huge help. John was at work all day and then would go work on the house at night, so those extra hands were appreciated. The kids could hardly do any wrong and she loved spoiling them. We would scrapbook together late into the night. Pouring over pictures, memories and lovingly journaling it all down in our albums. I now have those albums of hers. And they are precious to me.
Even when we weren't living with them, Ethel and I had spent many times together taking the kids shopping, going out to lunch and visiting family and friends together. I treasured the special relationship we had, knowing it wasn't a relationship everyone has had with their mother-in-law.
When she went through a very dark time in her life, John and I were there for her. We watched her try and deal with the unbearable pain that came with the loss of her marriage. She lived with us for a few months before she was able to get her first place on her own. John and I had been going to church for a few years and that is something that she longed for in her life. (Her and I had even tried out a few churches together back in the day, here and there, when our hearts were searching). She would eagerly go with us on Sunday mornings, going to the altar for prayer almost every week. She was weak and needed strength. She knew where to get it. A lot of mornings, her and I would gather around the computer and listen to Walk in the Word or Thru the Bible. I knew how it ministered deeply to her in her time of need and she looked so forward to it.
When she remarried four and a half years ago, she moved to Port Huron to be with her new husband. She was very sad to live that far away from all of us, but she soon gained many newfound friendships through church, sewing, playing cards and such. Time would pass and we'd be making arrangements for summer picnics over there or dinners over here, to be together. She was always so excited to see her great-grandson and how big he was getting. She told me numerous times how she loved seeing John and I in our new roles as grandparents and how she so cherished that time when her grand-kids were little.
Last summer, Rachel and I took a drive over there to take her out for one of our "out of the blue" girl's day. We had went to Chili's for dinner, shopped at the Birchwood Mall and walked on the shoreline at one of the beaches. We sat and enjoyed a refreshment from the ice cream stand that was there. We snapped several pictures, trying to fit all three of us in a shot. You know the kind. One person holds their phone out far enough to try and capture the right picture. After several attempts, some very cute but not quite right, we asked the kind woman selling the ice cream to take one for us. She snapped the perfect one.
Just after this picture, on the walk back to the vehicle, she said, "I love my family! This was the best day ever!"
And on her hospital bed, as her breaths became weaker, she was still exclaiming, "I love my family!"
I have many, many, many memories with her. I count it all as a blessing to have been her daughter and friend. I am so very thankful for the time we all shared. I am comforted and grateful that she came to know Jesus as her Lord and Savior. I know where she is at. I know that we will see each other again, and spend eternity with our Lord. But, man oh man, will I ever miss her until then.
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