Oh, how I love a good story. I love listening to them, reading them, and occasionally (ahem!), telling a few myself.;)
For the past 2 days, my husband and I have been sorting through the 1000+ posts here on this blog and trying to get it cleaned up. I began blogging nearly 9 years ago, and for many of those years, did it for the sheer joy of it. I didn’t have a hot clue about the intricate details of how to get a blog to grow, make money, and rank on Google SEO.
So, now I’m trying my level best to get this blog baby into shape and “no indexing” a majority of my old posts. (Google doesn’t care about many of them…Long story…)
But, as we’ve laughed over past memories and stories, I decided to start a new little segment here on the blog called Sunday Stories. Google won’t like them. But, honestly, I care more about you anyway…;)
So, friends, Sunday stories are just for us, ok? I’m going to share snippets of real life that certainly won’t be found by googling a particular topic…
But, I hope in some way, it will bless your heart.
I’m starting out with one of the many stories I wrote about my Mom. Ironically, it was originally written 4 years ago on this exact date.
(And FYI, if you’re new here, sweet Momma went to be with Jesus on New Year’s Eve 2 years ago.)
As I sit here in my office with birds singing out the window, I feel as though I’m experiencing a teeny tiny taste of culture shock. Yesterday at this time, I was toodling down a Montana road with my sister. And now, thanks to modern day travel, I’m in my BC, Canada island home.
For the past 10 days, I’ve traveled down the familiar roads of yesterdays ~
turned into the driveway of my childhood home,
watched the cows eat at their favorite table,
and been awed by beautiful sunsets and mountain views.
I even walked the halls of my High School and journeyed to the cemetery for the first time since my dad’s funeral 20 years ago.
I went home. The home of my childhood. The home of my family. The home of my brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and their ever growing homes of teeny tiny cute little people.
The home of my mom.
God granted the desire of my heart. I got to kiss her beautiful cheek and tell her I love her.
And I was able to join my brothers and sisters as we gathered together to celebrate her 81st birthday with hours of singing around the piano.
It’s been a whirlwind ~ these past days ~ Days filled with travel, shopping, planning, visiting, meeting, eating, hugging, reading, and laughing… (Lots of laughing.)
And now I find myself back home ~ my other home that I love. It was nice to be welcomed by a husband who missed me so much…
Hellos. Goodbyes. and Home.
My heart feels a little sad to live so far away from so many people dear to my heart. But, it also feels filled to the brim with gratitude for the family God has given to me ~ for my brothers and sisters who’ve walked together with me on the road of sadness and loss before ~
and taught me that although there will be tears and sadness, because of Jesus, there can still be joy, blessing, and hope.
One of my secret wishes for this trip was to be able to sing to Mom the lullaby she sang to all of us kids. I never even uttered that wish out load. But, you know what happened? I got to sing that lullaby to her (without even crying!!) ~ not just by myself, but with all 5 of us kids together. It’s a precious memory for me. Although dementia has stilled Mom’s singing and speaking, I glanced down as we sang that final song and saw ever so slightly her finger tapping the wheelchair arm…
In perfect rhythm.
PS. That picture of my childhood home is where my brother and sister-in-law live now. It’s over 100 years old and they have fixed it up so beautifully! Here is a little tour of the inside of it.