family — Page 12

A Letter to My 8-Year-Old Self: The TSP Book Club

June 8, 2012 By Diana

At 6.5 years old, they’re not quite 8 yet.

But they are amazing creatures, full of curiosity, eagerness, spunk and just enough vinegar to be really interesting.

They are cousins, born one month apart at a time when our family needed reminders that life is constantly being renewed as well as ending. Writing a letter to myself reminded me of just how precious this time is – and how formative.

I am beginning to fall behind on our readings for TweetSpeakPoetry. We’re wrestling through Julia Cameron’s wildly successful artistic-recovery-handbook, “The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity,” doing two chapters each week.

That is a whole lot of chapters.

Because each one is filled with projects/assignments/self-reflection.

And all of that takes TIME. Time which I haven’t really had a lot of this week, what with graduations, traveling with my mom, and the demands of daily life. Which may well mean that I will not have a contribution for next week – I’ve still got one chapter to read from THIS week.

So…for today’s response, I will post one of the assignments from the chapter entitled: “Recovering a Sense of Integrity.” (By the way, the main ‘ask’ of this chapter is something that is IMPOSSIBLE TO DO when you’re reading 2 chapters per week and this chapter is the first one – we were asked to undergo a week-long reading deprivation. Uh-huh. Like THAT’s going to happen. Clearly this book was written LONG before internet activity took over the living of life.)

This is a letter written to my childhood self. And I will grudgingly admit that this exercise – and much of what we were asked to do for this chapter – stirred a lot of stuff. And may, in fact, be at least partially responsible for two posts written earlier this week that I feel are among the strongest I’ve ever put here. (The first one can be found here, and the second one, here.) But…that’s just me. Being grudging.

So…forthwith, a letter to me…many years ago.

Sweetheart,

You have no idea how remarkable you are or what kind of life is ahead for you. None at all. Enjoying 3rd grade, walking to school with pride and a growing sense of independence, embarrassed by how tall and ungainly you believe yourself to be. And the skin problems? Don’t even get me started about how constricting that is for you.

But here’s the thing, honey. NONE of that is going to matter at all. Not.at.all.

I know, I know. It’s tough to believe that. Especially when you carry around all your mother’s anxiety about yourself. I know your heart, young one. I know that you believe you are both ‘too much’ and ‘not enough.’

Too tall

Too smart

Too bossy

Too duck-footed

Too strong-willed

Too different from what your mom believes you could/should be

AND, at the same time…

Not graceful

Not coordinated

Not picked for the playground sports endeavors

Not pretty like Sylvia

Not popular like_______(fill in the blank with any of about a dozen names from that era)

Not mold-able, at least on the inside

Please hear me when I say this:

You are exactly who you are supposed to be…

…and that is a glorious thing.

Glorious, do you hear that?

Yes, indeed. Glorious. Full of curiosity, a daydreamer and dawdler who takes the time to both look – really look – at the world around you, and to imagine all kinds of worlds in that head of yours.

You imagine that the milk bottles left in the rack on the back porch are a family, that they have names and they carry on quite the conversation after the household has gone to bed.

You believe that if you just dig deep enough, you will end up in China one day.

You write a short story about peas in a pod – and the interesting family life they lead.

You are affirmed by teacher after teacher for your creativity with words and ideas – yet – you don’t believe them. You don’t treasure those words. Why is that?

I think it’s because your parents, good people and loving and generous – I think it’s because your parents are so deeply afraid of your getting a ‘big head,’ of thinking yourself worthy of acclaim.

They deliberately play it low-key when you get good grades and kind remarks. They are proud of you – yes, you know that they are. But they are cautious, circumspect, sincere in their belief that flattery is a tool of the devil and never to be trusted.

And you are a very good learner, especially…especially when it comes to intuiting the feelings and moods of others. So you soaked that fear of theirs down deep into your pores. Even at your tender age, you don’t trust anyone who says something nice about you.

So, if I can just say this to you right now, with all the love I can muster for how tender you are at this age, how malleable and open to wonder – if I can just say this:

You are totally unique – one of a kind – none other in this world is exactly like you. And YOU, dear girl, are God’s gift to this world in a way that no one else ever has been or ever will be.

You are not your mother and you do not need to be like her. You are not your father and you do not need to be like him. You can learn from them – and you will! – but YOU are the only Diana Ruth Gold on this planet. The only one that looks like you, thinks like you, dreams like you. And that is pretty great, kiddo.

That is pretty darn great.

With lots of love and gratitude for who you are right this instant,

Your older and more seasoned self.

And I can just imagine that YOU might make this very face at me about now.

Oh, how I hope you would. Because I LOVE this feistiness and I’d like to think it’s a generational gift.

Filed Under: Book Club, family, God's gifts, memoir, Wonderings in the World, Writing

That Delicate Balance, Part Two

June 6, 2012 By Diana

She really wanted him to play the piano.

Among the earliest guests to arrive

at the party,

she made her desires known

right away.

And of course, I am not surprised

she felt that way.

She’s been teaching him piano for 14 years.

He was 4 when he started,

and we were gathered to celebrate

his 18th birthday,

and his graduation from high school.

The graduate with his family.

Four.teen.years.

How many people do you know who stick

with anything for that long?

“He’s been working on this one all year long,”

she said.

“I want to get him on tape,”

she said.

But he resisted for quite a while.

As the sun began to set,

about sixty friends and family trickled

in the front door.

The house looked lovely,

the yard, enchanting.

The chatter was friendly,

filled with laughter and warm reminiscence.

A slide show went round and round,

repeating on the big-screen television set,

featuring a lovely collection

of photos from day one until yesterday.

And it was there,

catching glimpses of the past,

that I felt the first sharpness,

the sudden movement of grief and loss

mixing its way right into the middle of

celebration and joy.

Our grandboy as a newborn,

held in the loving arms of his daddy.

His daddy who died almost four years ago.

So much sadness for so long.

And so much joy and happiness, too.

All of it mixed up together in this journey we call life.

Our daughter’s new husband,

strong and kind and good –

such a gift to all of us,

a gift we are grateful for,

right down to our toes.

But another milestone has come and gone.

And Mark was not here to celebrate with us.

That will never change.

And I imagine, we will always feel

that stab of recognition at such times,

that moment of searing sorrow.

It was only a moment.

And soon, the joyful banter

gained volume in corners, at tables,

in the yard, in the house.

And then, cutting through the conversation,

I heard the strains of Chopin.

Familiar music to my ears,

music I heard in my own home, growing up.

Ballade Number One,*

technically difficult,

achingly beautiful.

So I gently led my mother into the living room,

to listen as Luke played this glorious piece.

She sat in a chair placed right in front of the piano.

My father’s piano,

the one he played for years and years.

And I stood behind her,

my hand on her shoulder.

And together, we heard a miracle.

The piano literally sang to us.

Of love and loss,

of hope and discouragement,

of hard work – hours and hours of hard work.

My dad’s,

Luke’s,

our own.

The tears rolled down my cheeks as I

missed my dad,

as I missed Mark,

as I celebrated Luke,

as I thanked God for Karl,

as I thanked God for all of it.

All.Of.It.

Learning to play Chopin takes practice.

Practice, practice, practice.

And learning to hold the tensions,

the mysteries of this life –

to hold them together,

to let them resonate with one another,

to acknowledge the pain and loss,

and to celebrate the gift and joy –

sometimes in the very same instant –

this takes practice, too.

Life is hard.

Life is glorious.

Life is overwhelmingly difficult.

Life is radiantly free.

Life is …

LIFE.

It’s a dance with ever-changing tempo;

it’s a song with shifting harmonies;

it’s a tapestry,

a rich oil painting,

filled with color and with shadow.

Thankfully, we don’t have to navigate
the dance floor on our own;
we don’t have to struggle to sing all the parts.

We are given the gift of one another.

And we are given the gift of Presence.

Loving, gracious Presence.

God – Father, Son and Spirit;

Creator-Redeemer-Counselor –

GOD ALMIGHTY

invites us into the ongoing dance of the Trinity,

the intricately, achingly beautiful song of the universe.

In this life, we cannot yet see the edge of the dance floor,

nor can we hear the resolution of all the chords.

But…

we can know the One who does.

Thanks be to God.

^“And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will. And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.“

Romans 8:27-28, The New Living Translation

*At the bottom of this post you will find a link to Vladimir Horowitz playing this piece. Horowitz was a hero to my dad – a genius on the piano, especially playing Chopin.
This is an older video of a live performance, but you will get a view of the
technical virtuosity needed to play this music.
I was so moved that I did not think to shift my little Canon camera over to video
to record even a little bit of Luke playing!

Thanks so much, Luke, for those transcendent 10 minutes.

Joining with those same friends with this second part on balance…no buttons this time.
Michelle, Jennifer, Jennifer and Emily. And this time with Laura Boggess, too.

Filed Under: biblical reflection, birthdays, death, family, God's gifts, grief, memoir, personal journey, Wonderings in the Word, Wonderings in the World

Redeeming the Time

May 30, 2012 By Diana

It was a Monday out of the routine.

No childcare responsibilities.

No church responsibilities.

No family responsibilities.

Don’t get me wrong – all of those are good things in our lives,

things we treasure and are grateful for.

But occasionally,

it’s a very good thing to have a day

to ourselves.

A day set aside for nothing other than dinking around.

It is my firm belief that there is not enough dinking

happening in this world.

There is far too much busyness,

too much obligation,

responsibility,

activity,

schedule.

Once in a while, it needs to stop.

All the noise, the inner grinding of gears,

the siren call of one more person to check in with.

The computer needs to be closed,

the phones need to be silenced,

the calendar squares need to be left blank.

Blank, I say.

Because when there is ‘free’ time,

that’s when the good stuff happens.

The really good stuff.

The this-is-me-at-the-heart-of-it-all stuff.

The let’s-do-something-spontaneous-

and-see-what-happens stuff.

The take-off-your-cloak-of-ought-and-

should-and-must-and-look-at-life-without-it stuff.

Our children gave their father a gift certificate for his birthday.

His birthday was at the end of March.

The end of March.

Each week when he dropped off Lilly at our house,

our son would ask,

“Have you used that certificate yet?”

Well, no.

We hadn’t.

It was overdue for redemption.

And so were we.

They gave it to him so that we could select some large pots for our living room,

pots to house the very large orchids

my husband has been tending for a number of years.

This is what they looked like this winter –

from just after Christmas until about a week ago:

They were stunning this year,

a daily reminder of the creative genius of our God.

And they are contained in some very ugly black plastic things.

So…some good-sized, good-looking pots.

And our kids knew just the place to look, too.

It’s in Carpinteria, up against the foothills,

about 10 minutes from our home.

So Monday was the day.

And what a day it was.

Seaside Gardens is simply amazing.

Nursery supplies displayed creatively,

covered areas for pots of all colors and shapes,

and behind and around it all?

Gardens – fully planted with trees, grasses, color –

representing a variety of different

landscapes.

South African, Asian, native Californian,

succulent, Bioswale – all laid out for the walking,

for the looking,

for the re-charging,

for the dinking around.

And it was all free.

Yes, we found two matching pots,

in a soft green to sit quietly in our living room.

They’re lovely and we’re so glad to have them.

But, it was the walking,

and the looking.

The oohing and the ahing.

The did-you-see-this-one’s

and the what-the-heck-is-that-one’s

and the oh-my-such-glory one’s —

that’s where the redemption truly happened.

Each of us could feel it.

Each of us could hear it, too.

The soft sound of the soul, opening.

Opening to the beauty,

the orderly chaos,

the flamboyance,

the brilliance of living things.

Opening to the shared creativity

of a good God and a few greatly gifted human partners.

It was only a couple of hours,

but it was exactly what we needed.

A blue sky,

a warm sun,

a shared space.

We followed our time at the gardens with an early

dinner near the beach.

Sitting where the sun could warm our backs,

watching a few young ones playing in the outdoor sandbox,

eating fish tacos and sharing a milkshake.

Redeeming the time, indeed.

Joining with Michelle, Jen and the sisterhood, Ann, Laura and L.L tonight,

grateful for their invitation to nurture gratitude,

to have a playdate with God, to write about place,

to talk about Sunday blessings made real in the rest of the week.

Yeah, I think most of that is in here somewhere.

Filed Under: family, God's gifts, Marriage

Again and Again – Soaking in the Beauty with People We Love

May 28, 2012 By Diana

A Photo Essay

featuring

Kauai, Hawaii

We went there first in 1980. And we left our kids at home for the first time ever. They were 8, 10 and 12 and my parents came and stayed in our home, schlepping them hither and yon for two and a half weeks while we flew across the Pacific to check out the 50th state.

That time we went with another couple, island-hopping to get the lay of the land. But we knew from the very first touchdown on that northernmost and oldest of the islands that we would be back in that place, kids in tow, just as soon as we could possibly make it happen.

And two years later, we did it. All 5 of us sharing a 1-bedroom condo, air mattresses on the floor, mosquitoes buzzing, frogs chirruping by the thousands.

And we loved it.

Every single inch of it.

It’s hard to say enough about all that we love in that place.

From the 150 year old wood frame or volcanic stone churches…

…to the thrilling drop-off above the Napali coastline,

as viewed from the overlook…

…to the waterfalls and colorful striations of the Little Grand Canyon on the road up to the overlook…

…to the windswept Tunnels Beach with it’s conical-hat Bali Hai in the distance…

…to the richness of local taro fields lining the sides of the Hanalei River…

…to the sweeping panorama of the beach at Kalihiwai Bay, whether a sunny day…

…or a cloudy one – complete with rainbow.

Of course, I would have to tell you about that solitary lighthouse across from the bird refuge…

…and certainly, the lure of the jungle-rich roadway driving north…until there is no more road to drive.

One consistent siren call is most assuredly the sounds of local bird-life. The distinct cooing of Hawaiian doves,

the worried call of the bright red or grey and red cardinals,

and – of course – the early morning cri de couer of hundreds and hundreds of these guys, wandering wherever they please,

thank you very much.

I would have to include the singular beauty of entire groves of palm trees, swaying in the breeze.

And of course, one of my deepest loves:

the wide variety of beautiful flowers, colorful and fragrant.

Anthurium, pink and red.

Every shape, size and color of orchid.

It’s not called the Garden Isle for nothin’.

Wonderful wildflowers, too.

Red ginger, and sometimes pink.

My personal favorite – and the first thing I buy at the local Farmer’s Market – is the white, heavily scented tuberose.

And these wild bird-flowers are fun, too.

Golden shower trees abound – and of course – the state flower can be found everywhere, in every shade of pink, purple, orange, yellow, white and red.

The glorious-for-one-day hibiscus.

But as breathtakingly beautiful as it is,

as warm and welcoming as we find it every time we come,

as lovely and relaxing and refreshing as our time there always is –

it is the people we share it with

that make this place memorable.

Setting aside time, money and commitment for vacationing

is a very high value for us as a family.

In fact, after commitment to growing in discipleship,

loving one another well,

learning our whole lives long –

I would have to say that re-creating is among our top four family values.

My husband and I began our married life by traveling halfway around the world together – to serve, to explore,

to grow together as our own family unit.

And every year since then, we have saved for,

planned for and enjoyed time away from the regular routine.

We seek beauty,

learning about new places,

meeting new people,

and enjoying one another

in a setting that is removed from the demands of daily living.

So we’ve been back to Kauai

(or to Maui, our 2nd favorite)

about 15 times in the last 30 years.

And some of our richest family memories are

part and parcel of that small northernmost island,

the one with all the greenery and all the family lore.

Each of our parents invited their children and grandchildren to Kauai in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversaries.

We’re making plans to do the same in 3 years time, when our own comes around.

We took each of our children’s spouses with us on family trips to this place – two of them before they were officially members of the family.

And four years ago, we planned an extra-special trip,

one that became even more so in retrospect.

Our middle daughter and her family of 5 rented a house in Princeville for a month.

Dick and I rented a house on the edge of Kalihiwai Bay for the same time period.

We were 10 minutes apart by car and each of us entertained parts of our extended families over the course of those four weeks.

My mom and my youngest brother came for one week and stayed with us. Within two years, he was dead and she was blind, frail and losing her memory.

The treasure of this time together

is something I carry with me just about every day.

My husband’s mom and his incredible sister, whose marriage of 38 years had just ended, came and stayed for a different week.

Today, four years later,

Mom is on hospice care;

Dick’s sister is preparing for a very different life

once her mother is gone, most likely moving across the country to be nearer her daughter for half of each year.

Life just keeps on changing, you know?

And the gift of time away together?

It cannot be measured.

Since our initial visit 32 years ago, the islands have changed, too. Some of that change is welcome (like a wonderful Costco near the airport); some of it not so much (like increasing development and numbers of people) – but the essentials of the place remain the same.

It is beautiful.

It is marked by a much slower rhythm of living.

It is far enough away to feel removed

from the lure of life on the mainland,

but not so far away as to feel isolated.

I cannot possibly put into words how deeply grateful

I am to have spent time in this grace-filled space.

I think it’s about as close to Eden

as I’m ever going to get this side of heaven –

and I KNOW God lives there year ’round.

Joining in the Community Writing Project for The High Calling, put together by Charity Singleton and edited by Deidra Riggs, two of the finest women on the planet.

You can read other vacation stories at Charity’s place:

http://charitysingleton.blogspot.com/2012/05/community-writing-project-summer.html#more

Filed Under: family, memoir, Photo Essay, Travel, Wonderings in the World

Five Minute Friday: Opportunity

May 25, 2012 By Diana

For the first time in a very long time, I’m joining with Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama for her 5-Minute Friday link-up. Five minutes for free-writing – no editing, no over-thinking, no re-do’s. JUST WRITE.

Today’s prompt? OPPORTUNITY

A recent opportunity came knocking in the form of a week on St. Thomas with our son and his family. Glad we heard that one!

GO:

They say it only knocks once – but I remain unconvinced.

Seems to me, it comes ’round the door on a regular basis.

Question is: Do we hear it?
Do we see it?

Sometimes I’ve been paying attention and I grab onto it for all I’m worth.

Like the time I met this brown-eyed guy at a college mixer and said, “Yes. Yes, indeed.”

Or the time that same brown-eyed guy said, “Hey, I’m heading to Africa for two years. Wanna come along?” Oh, yeah, that one was definitely not to be missed.

And then there were those three surprises – well 2 out of 3, anyway. Each of them the most golden of all the opportunity-knocking I had yet encountered. Not.to.be.missed.

Then there was this weird kind of soft tapping that began somewhere inside my gut and gradually spread to my heart and my brain. A tap-tap-tap that said, “Come with Me, dear one. Test your wings – try seminary. You’ll like it.”

And I did.

And then maybe the scariest one of all came while I was enjoying the student life after 22 years. This one came gently, in the voices of others, in the words of scripture and finally, as an almost visible LED readout across my forehead: “I want you to be my minister.”

Wow.

And now, even now, I hear that tapping from time to time. Opportunity keeps showing up.

May I have the wisdom to see, to hear. And the courage to say, “Why, yes! I’d love to.”

STOP.

Filed Under: 5 Minute Friday, family, ministry, personal journey, Writing

A Little Tea, A Little Laughter: a Photo Essay

May 2, 2012 By Diana

Never let it be said that I don’t occasionally enjoy

a little fantasy.

Pretending to be a ‘lady,’ perhaps – a west coast, 21st century upstairs resident of Downton Abbey?
Why yes, don’t mind if I do…for a little while.

There is this glorious old hotel in my town, a Spanish colonial revival masterpiece that spreads out quietly across the street from the beach where I like to visit.
Most of the time, I go there for the beach itself – to sit or to walk, to meditate on the wonders of God’s creative genius.

Generally, I pay little heed to the old Biltmore because I’m always looking the other direction, across the small stretch of sand that is Butterfly Beach, staring out across the Santa Barbara channel. I admire the waves, the extensive beds of kelp, the Channel Islands – if they’re visible – the angle of the light as it bounces off the water. I am always searching for dolphins or pelicans,
even whales some seasons of the year.

But every once in a while, I stick my small camera in a pocket and stroll across the street, just to pick up a little atmosphere, to wander and wonder about who built this place, who stays here, how many weddings there have been on these grounds.

It’s lush with old bricks and old greenery, service personnel moving efficiently and silently across the pathways connecting its many outbuildings and cottages.

The place fairly reeks of elegance, of old money, of careful attention to the smallest architectural detail, of thoughtful planning and hushed voices and class.

Class – that indefinable something, that vibe which whispers,

“We know what we’re doing, we do it very, very well, and you’re welcome to be here as long as you behave.”

Even the luggage carts are discreetly tucked away.

The view is lovely – not spectacular

(that might not be classy, after all)

but truly lovely.

And there is a brick pathway that leads directly from the hotel to a specially built staircase leading down to the sand.

Taking my fantasy life into reality for a little while last Saturday afternoon, I had the rare treat of going inside this grand place.

I had a special birthday gift, you see.

High Tea at the Biltmore Hotel, hosted by my daughter-in-law and my 6-year-old granddaughter.

Can you imagine?

High tea.

At the BILTMORE!

Arriving at the Biltmore is quietly dramatic.

Parking valets whisk your car to places unknown,

the heavily-vined porte-cochere invites you into the cool, naturally lit archway entrance.

Flanking either side of the front door are statuary

and entire bins of orchids.

A small, silent fountain slips water down the side of a glistening urn.

The lobby is large, with high ceilings, expensive carpets, more orchids and a variety of lighting fixtures. To the right and down the steps is the wood-paneled lounge and bar, with a 15 foot window framing the ocean view.

Once upon a time, High Tea was served in that lounge.

Now it has moved to the restaurant, a sweeping space of beauty and calm.

There is something strangely soothing about such a space.

A je ne sais quoi spirit of welcome,

of invitation.

It has that affect on all kinds and ages of people.

Yet despite the beauties of the room,

which truly did elicit sighs of contentment and appreciation,

I have to say that my favorite view of the entire afternoon was this one:

Gracie, across the table, looking so grown up.

Pink bows right down to her toes,

she loved every minute of this experience.

And what’s not to love?

Beautiful china place settings, linen placemats and napkins,

delicious food, beautifully presented.

(Well…Gracie was not at all sure about these sandwiches. But the tea and the second course? Oh, yeah. She was into that!)

Each of us had our own teapot, with a hand-wrapped silk bag containing the tea flavor of our choice inside. I went for straight mint, they went for chocolate mint flavored black tea. All of us were deeply satisfied with our choices.

Two lumps, please.

Milk? Why, yes, please. I’d be delighted.

And drink it down she did – complete with elevated pinkie finger. I do declare, I believe she was the most scrumptious thing on the menu that afternoon!

And this is the second course.

And the third.

And the fourth.

A plethora of deliciousness, three of each item, all prepared strictly according to the number of reservations made.

There are NO drop-ins for High Tea.

And in one of the most extreme instances of overkill in recent memory, this was the special additional goodie tray for the birthday girl…which was moi.

Surely the largest dipped strawberry on the planet,
plus truffles hand crafted by the chef.

Gracie thoroughly enjoyed carefully scraping off the dark chocolate birthday greeting as we packed most of the treats to take home.

It was a very full day, in every way I can think of.

I have written before about how blessed I am in my daughter-in-law. She has been a gift in my life from the moment I first met her, almost 20 years ago.

And the three of us had a lovely time of making small dreams come true for a little while on Saturday afternoon.

Downton Abbey?

Well, maybe not quite.

But for this California Nana, it was close enough.

Thanks, Rachel and Grace – I had a grand time.

This is not a particularly ‘spiritual’ post, at least in the way most people on the internet define spiritual. However, for me it was an experience rich in blessing, in love and in joy. And all of those things are among God’s richest gifts to us.

So, I will list this at Michelle’s Hear It on Sunday at her Graceful blogsite

and at Jennifer’s Soli Deo Gloria sisterhood over at Finding Heaven.

I’ll also join in with Laura’s Playdate at The Wellspring

and with L.L. at Seedlings in Stone.

The new blogger format makes transferring buttons nearly impossible for me to do and I am sorry not to be able to include them with my posts.

I used to be able to open another window in my editor and copy them from earlier posts.

I can no longer do that. So I’ll keep trying to figure it out.

In the meantime, I encourage you check out these fine blogs I enjoy linking with

whenever I can.

Filed Under: birthdays, family, Photo Essay, Santa Barbara

Mother Letters: The Stuff of Heroes

April 20, 2012 By Diana

a blurry snapshot of a professional photo taken by Rich Austen of Austen’s Photography, Arroyo Grande CA. His work is excellent, mine not-so-much.

Dear Mother, My First-Born and Mama-to-Our-First-Grandchild,

Have I ever told you that you’re my hero(ine)? The first child born to us, teaching us the depths of love by your very presence, filling us with delight and providing endless hours of entertainment!

That first child teaches his or her parents so, so much – as you discovered, at exactly the same age I was when you were born. How I admired your parenting instincts, right from the get-go. I remembered my own early fumbling and worrying and over-protective hovering with chagrin as I watched you let that boy of yours climb anything and everything, no matter how high. He was fearless! And how you delighted in that, how you celebrated it.

Such a gift to give a child!

Two more boys followed that first one, all three of them miracles of grace and goodness and fun. Because their dad had been so very sick early in his life, each of those healthy baby boys was a true miracle, the result of God’s grace and your love for one another and for each of them. You took trips and had adventures, tried scouting and read books by the basketful, taught them to love well, to create art and music and to grow friendships that went deep.

And then things got pretty tough for several years. The after-effects of treatment received many years before brought suffering and eventually such loss. And you walked through every second of that with courage and commitment, with honesty and hard work and frayed nerves and sleepless nights and so.much.love.

And your boys walked right with you, learning lessons we all hoped and prayed they’d never have to learn. Together you and their dad decided to be a family until the end, no matter how hard it got. And the two of you set such an example of courage for your small circle of five and for our extended families on both sides and for all the people who loved you. Yes, you are my hero, dear one. Every inch of you brave beyond belief.

And now, nearly four years later, there is grace and there is laughter, buoyed by strong memories of the past and strong hopes for the future. God sent love again, a good man to be your companion and an encourager for your sons.

One of those has flown the nest, another will soon follow. And your own courage and steady commitment over these 21 years has given them beautiful, resilient wings – wings that will take them safely to the next stage of life. I know this because I know about redemption. I know about grace. I know about commitment. I know about courage.

And I know these truths most deeply because God gave me you. Because God allowed me the great privilege of being your mom. Because you and your sister and your brother are living proof that the age of miracles is not past. Somehow, you survived all the mistakes I made and thrived! Thanks be to God.

I love you,

Mom

The final installment for Amber Haines’ collection of Mother Letters at her site, as she and Seth launch their exquisite eBook of the same title. You can find the latest letters at this link: http://motherletters.com/my-mother-letter-link-up-party/

Filed Under: family, memoir, Mother Letters, parenting

Mother Letters: Just Like You

April 19, 2012 By Diana

a blurry snapshot of a professional photo taken by Rich Austen of Austen’s Photography, Arroyo Grande CA. His work is excellent, mine not-so-much.

Dear Mother-in-the-Middle of my three favorite moms,

Do you remember when you found out you were pregnant for the very first time? How you slid to the floor in a puddle and worried out loud that you might have a baby who was “just like me?” And I followed you right down to the floor and said, “Then you will thank God with everything that is in you for such an indescribable gift?”

Well, I really, really meant that. You were and are one of God’s best gifts to me and to your dad. As I have watched you mothering those three boys of yours for nearly 14 years now, I have been amazed. Amazed and grateful and thunderstruck. Because you are so very good at this gig, my girl. SO good.

It’s not an easy job, is it? Losing sleep, feeling confused at times, wondering how you are going to make it through one more round of snotty noses and strep throat and allergy season. It’s tough to juggle all that is required as you do this work. I know that part all too well.

But I didn’t manage to do even half of what you’ve accomplished. I stayed home with you and your younger brother and older sister. I chose to do so and I was blessed to be able to do so because your dad was ‘the breadwinner’ in those long ago days.

Things have changed, haven’t they?

You trained for a specialized job, working with blind students, and you’ve always worked at it – part time until boy #3 was three, full time the last few years. I truly do not know how you manage to keep all the plates twirling so magnificently.

Well, I do know some of it: you’ve got a husband who jumps into all of it with both feet, offering encouragement, hands-on support and many layers of capability. And the two of you together chose this life you live – both of you in special ed with flexible schedules and summers off (mostly!)

Still…you are the beating heart of that wonderful home you keep. I watch you when we stay with you. Always quietly moving through the rooms, picking up, straightening, checking on homework, planning lunches.

Also, entertaining guests almost every weekend – quite often 30 at a time!, maintaining deep friendships, serving as an elder at your church. You never do anything by halves – and you never have.

Your children adore you – such fine young men they are becoming! Loving and kind, hard-working, smart, fun and funny. You are doing a great job, Mom-of-my-heart. Yes, you are.

And, in truth, I do see you in each of those three boys. I can’t even tell you how deeply glad I am about that. Because you are a woman of valor – of deep, real beauty, both inside and out. You have the best laugh in the world and such a tender heart. You willingly admit your own doubts and questions, you seek honest answers to the tough stuff, you use your natural insights into human nature so very well. These are the things I see reflected in your children, good gifts that will serve them well as they move out into the world.

After all, they are a lot like their mother.

I love you,

Mom

This one is being added to Amber Haines’ Link-up celebrating the release of Mother Letters:Sharing the Mess and the Glory. Have you seen this wonderful e-Book Amber and Seth have assembled from over 500 moms? I am an affiliate for this work of art – because I believe in the encouragement this project has provided to so many who are doing the hard/wonderful work of mothering. Check it out at: http://motherletters.com/my-mother-letter-link-up-party/

Filed Under: family, memoir, Mother Letters, parenting

Dear Mother: Inviting Strength in the MIddle of the Scary Stuff

April 17, 2012 By Diana

a blurry snapshot of a professional photo taken by Rich Austen of Austen’s Photography, Arroyo Grande CA. His work is excellent, mine not-so-much.

Dear Mother,

I watch you making room for courage in your little one, your toddler-sized daughter, and inside, I stand up and cheer. Yes! That girl you’ve got has spunk – that indefinable core stuff that looks at life as a challenge to be met head-on.

She knows her own mind, that 2-year-old of yours. She wants what she wants when she wants it and you are so wise as you deal with that willfulness. You hold onto it and treasure it, you recognize it for what it truly is: a gift that will serve her well as she grows into womanhood.

Yet you help her know that there are boundaries to be kept and you invite her to learn what they are, to grow increasingly comfortable with where they are and to honor them, especially as she is learning to navigate social and family relationships.

I listen as you offer clear, firm, yet gentle correction when the ‘NOs” become too frequent or too boisterous. I watch as you always sweeten your intervention with hugs, kisses, and the wise offering of an alternate choice that will both keep the peace and maintain her personal sense of justice.

Just in the last month or so, our girl has found some things in this world that are scary – loud noises most especially: vacuum cleaners, mixers, power mowers. Always, she has been fearless – climbing anything, reaching for life with all the enthusiasm her small bones can carry. Now she is beginning to see that some things in this life are bigger and louder than she is – and she shrinks back, momentarily overwhelmed.

Thank you for acknowledging and validating her fears and then inviting her to move right on past them. Thank you for holding her close when she feels off-balance and uncertain. But thank you, too, for all your gentle encouragement to keep a firm grip on life even when it gets scary. Thank you for inviting her to be brave – not reckless, but truly brave.

I believe in this girl. And I believe in you. You are fully up to the challenge of raising a strong-willed child – so gracious, patient and welcoming to all of who she is. May God grant you peace and confidence as you continue to mother her (and her bigger sister) so beautifully and well. You provide a safe haven from which she will continue to fly into life, even when it gets scary. She is a gift. And so are you.

Much love,

Diana

Adding this to Amber Haines’ MotherLetters collection, designed to celebrate moms and to encourage them in this oh-so-important life journey. You can add your own words of hope and promise by checking out this link: http://motherletters.com/my-mother-letter-link-up-party/

Filed Under: family, memoir, Mother Letters, parenting

Midweek Meanderings: a Photo Essay

April 12, 2012 By Diana

The 5-point (meaning I pivoted 5 times to get the whole thing), 240 degree view from our back terrace this week. Sigh.

The rain last night was lovely, clearing the air, greening the hillside,

encouraging a warming fire in the fireplace.

This morning, all the clouds are piled up to the south,

slowly making their way to our real home,

and the homes of our children.

These shots taken on my afternoon circular walks around the driveway. Once, this was a grand central CA home. Now it is an amazing view with a very run-down house. It makes me sad to see homes neglected, but we are grateful for what there is in this spectacular vacation space, hanging over the bluffs with the hills just behind. And there’s lots of room to spread out, which is a good thing with so.many.of.us.

We’ve been together since last Friday,

spread out in a large, hacienda-style rented home.

A place in need of some major TLC –

but with a killer view of the Pacific coast.

Birds flourish here.

And so do children.

The 2-year-old runs headlong down the hill toward the bluff, causing gasps on all sides.

But someone bigger is always nearby

to step between her and the abyss.

May it always be so!

Eastertide is a season for celebration and for gratitude,

for remembering who we are as the people of God.

And here, on this rugged shore,

with a 17-year-old asking good, hard questions,

two 13-year-0lds sharing a kayak adventure,

a 10-year-old giggling his way through a great game of ping-pong and two 6-year-olds alternately

adoring and infuriating one another,

we are celebrating.

And we are grateful.

Even the 21-year-old was here for the weekend,

before heading back to school and responsibilities,

four hours south of this gathering place.

Our adult children are good and interesting people.

Their spouses are kind and good-natured.

All of them are attentive parents and generous housemates.

We observed Easter at a church unknown to any of us and followed with a feast, just as the Christian church has done for centuries. We are also celebrating the 70th birthday of Poppy,

our loved and lovable patriarch, the acceptance into his 1st choice college for the 17-year-old and a good private high school scholarship for one of the 13-year-olds.

After so many years of struggle and loss,

it is good to gather in gratitude.

We even took a family photo … the first ever …

to round out the weekend just past.

The photographer is working on the touch-ups

and we will soon have a lasting memento of this time spent together,

possibly by week’s end.

The hunters and the hiders – not sure who enjoys the Easter Egg Hunt the most.

Though she loves the idea of hunting and hiding, Lilly does not quite fully grasp the concept. Generally, if she hides, she guides the hunter until she’s found. :>)

In the meantime,

we soak in the beauty around us,

explore the small towns that circle round the sea,

while some play tennis,

and others a little b-ball.

One daughter and her husband paid for two days of heating the pool on the property and about half the crowd

jumped in and enjoyed getting wet and tired.

We’ve had an egg hunt or two,

enjoyed delicious home-cooked meals,

even traveled to a local ice-cream maker’s

“All You Can Eat” Tuesday celebration.

In a beat-up side room, there is a pool table and ping-pong,

and someone contributed a 2000 piece puzzle to pour over.

Settlers of Catan has made an appearance and Bananagrams, too,

so no one seems bored.

Many naps are taken in this house,

signaling the welcome arrival of true relaxation

and energizing Sabbath rest.

We all point and shout,

thanking God for sightings of otters,

sea lions, an occasional dolphin –

even a whale, far out in the bay.

Avila Beach, just north of where we are.

A creekside restaurant for lunch in San Luis Obispo

Through it all, we thank God for the richness of family life,

the push and pull of living in the same space,

sharing the work and the fun,

watching the children grow in wisdom and in stature.

Friday, we return to reality.

Or at least to our usual list of responsibilities and commitments.

Sometimes, though, I do believe that experiences like this week are the true reality,

life as it was originally designed to be lived.

Maybe everything else is mere illusion,

the structure that has been overlaid on human life

in the wake of Eden.

So, we’ll take these windows of grace.

And we’ll savor them, thank God for them,

take lots of pictures

and build reservoirs of stories to share

as the years progress.

And once in a while,

I’ll write about it here.

Because I really do believe that

this is the truest part of me.

At least, until Friday.

I’ll sign this one on with Michelle at “Graceful,” Jen at “Finding Heaven,” Ann at “A Holy Experience,” Em at “Canvas Child,” Laura at “The Wellspring,” Laura at “Seedlings in Stone,” and Jennifer at “Getting Down with Jesus.” I encourage you all to check out these fine blogs – but I am having increasing difficulty getting buttons to show up in the new blogger format. If anyone has any shortcuts for this tedious job, I’d love to hear them.