Ahh…to simply say the word aloud–there is nothing else like it. And what good fortune to have such a perfect daily prompt from WordPress for Thanksgiving Eve! So yes, MERCY…
If there were nothing to be thankful for but Mercy, then there would be everything to be thankful for.
“God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” –Jesus (Matt. 5:7)
Holidays are coming. And living in the “space” on the back side of fifty—it seems like we encounter “empty spaces” in our lives a lot more often now. Sometimes they are painful. At times they are needful. Often–they simply go unnoticed.
This time they caught me off guard—and left me still and quiet–soaking in a soft sadness I did not expect. But bearing me up beneath the emptiness there is a quiet grateful swell for the multitude of ordinary days that cause these empty spaces to feel so…well, empty. I suppose “E-M-P-T-Y” wouldn’t happen, unless we once knew FULL, right? So, while you think about your “empty spaces” story, I will tell you mine—with hopes that you will share a bit of yours in return. For I believe it’s in the act of sharing the healing begins.
Recently I crossed state lines for a visit “home” to see Mom and my Tennessee kin. But, the thing is–Mom no longer lives “at home.” Thankfully, she is quite happy and healthy for 82…passing the days in a pleasant assisted-living community–“uptown,” as we Southerners say. She enjoys people and has embraced the change wonderfully, telling everyone (repeatedly 😊) how she likes her apartment much better than being “alone in the valley” (since Dad passed away a few years back). Truly, the time for the move had come—and we were all very grateful an opening came available at the just the right time.
This was my first trip home since her move, and staying at the house I spent the latter years of my childhood in–now changed forever–left me staring at empty spaces—somewhat expected; but as they say—you don’t know how something will impact you until you walk through that door. And yes, it is the stark simplicity of the empty space that gets you: There is no kitchen table. And the cookie jar, always full and waiting for us–is gone. And with it the Mom-warmth has suddenly vanished. Familiar and favorite pictures now reside at Mom’s apartment, leaving the walls half-naked.
And now, suddenly, I miss Dad even more…no newspapers clutter the coffee table; no lingering smell of pipe tobacco hides in an old jacket, and no pickup truck waits in the garage. His tools call out from the work bench in silence.
Yet, the couch and one recliner still sit and comfort us at night—same as always. And the surroundings are stunningly beautiful this fall, as Dad’s vision for the “valley” slowly unfolded over the course of 20+ years—with his sweat and patience painted across the hills. He taught us kids how to dig in and work, and learn things both hard and mundane. So that slowly, twenty-six overgrown acres of brush, broken fences and old barns became a verdant Tennessee valley and home place–complete with creek, dogwoods, maples, orchard and wild Walnut groves that line the valley with color.
We painted the barns, planted a garden in spring, added a pond– and in time replaced the barbed wire with a tame and lovely white fence (maybe that would keep those stubborn Angus cows in!). But with change, there was a wistful sort of goodbye—as I still like to look at my old photos and paintings–when the land was raw and younger—as were we. Now, only one barn remains—the low-lying “long barn” that stretches across the top of the hill. It’s as if it stands guard now, watching over the valley when we are tired and need it most.
And me–I still like to sit, as I did when I was 11, and watch the early morning mist rise out of the grass and disappear over the tops of the trees, or wisp over that barn if the sun isn’t too hot. It’s then the Father speaks to me. And on this occasion, I hear Him loud and clear: Life can be hard and it can feel lonely—empty spaces can catch anyone by surprise. But, the truth is…I am never really alone. And this life–with all of its wonderful days–and it’s not so wonderful days– is only the prologue.
“LORD…before I speak a word, You know all about it. You are all around me, behind me and in front of me. You hold me safe in your hand.” (Ps 139:4-6)
Since after the fact I found this “first post” accidentally was published–somehow before I actually clicked on the PUBLISH button. And I wound up with 2 identical posts…I came back and changed it…But isn’t it wonderful that I can illustrate my “Back Side of Fifty” life with my own wonderful blende of blonde-ness right off the bat? Something about still being stuck in typing class I guess…
So really, welcome to my world :).
Grace & Grit 