Fogged In

This morning we're wrapped in clouds atop Panther Ridge. I'm wearing sleeves and have draped a flannel sheet across my legs as I sit gazing out my upstairs window. I see the rooftop. I see the near trees. Then only fog stretches across the miles to the Blue Ridge. Fog doesn't make me feel lonely or sad; it enfolds, comforts, and makes me feel secure in a mountain nest.

The view from the upstairs bedroom window at the end of the hall

 It's chilly. I made a breakfast of toast, eggs, and stewed apples. Mother has rid herself of toasters and now we toast on a skillet. I returned to the kitchen for more hot tea and found myself hovering over the stove, warming my hands. In July! Mother says the summer has been this way:  warm (80º) in the afternoons, but always that mountain coolness in the evenings and mornings. One always needs a robe for breakfast and often needs a sweater for supper. I'd nearly given up hot breakfast tea for the summer, but here I'm drinking it again.

Typing this blog post with a cup of tea

I'm feeling better and the head cold is abating. Yesterday I stayed in bed almost all day, and the achy feverishness broke in late afternoon. I'm still congested and a bit tired. Today our neighbor Hunter will come up to choose some soap and have tea. Then we'll head up to the parkway, in spite of the fog. I like the foggy view just as much as the majestic miles-away view of Blue Ridge peaks.

This week a young man died, a friend of my nephew, my niece, and of several college aged kids I know. By all accounts he was the finest of young Christian men. I did not know him. He was serving in Europe as a short-term missionary and went to Switzerland briefly, near Interlaken, I think. There he went on a hike and did not return. He fell. Interlaken and its lovely environs are where I spent five delightful months working at a chalet after college.  I walked some of those trails but was no hiker.

Many hearts are grieving this inexplicable loss. That this young man is with Jesus and enjoyably discovering his happy eternity, neither I nor his friend and family have any doubt. But isn't it strange and troubling how we die? Why do we die in such varied and unexpected ways? A young athlete in the prime of his days decides to hike on a summer day, and he falls and dies. I know God prescribes our lives, every moment of them, and has ordained our deaths. We live not one moment more nor less than He wills, and His plans are neither arbitrary nor cruel. This is a great comfort.

But consider this: every human being comes onto the planet the same way. Egg + sperm = human. You may tweak the method a bit, but in the end we all enter life through that single door. Yet we exit through a million doors. God could have instituted a single way to die, as in, "Everyone will die of heart attack." And we'd be used to that, and expect it. Instead, we live every second of our lives not knowing which second will be our last. Or which second will be our loved one's last. Or worse, how it will occur! It's unsettling and frightening. In this seeming chaos of death-by-a-million-methods, I believe some of our antipathy toward death lies.

To be blunt, I wish I knew why, when God said this young man's last day had arrived, that He also decided he would die by falling on a Swiss mountain. Could God have let him die in some other manner not quite so disturbing? Why this way? Why must some deaths take grueling years to accomplish, and others a fraction of a second? Is this simply God's way of showing us that the Fall, and its handmaiden Death, reaches its tentacles into our existence in a million ways, with a million different deaths?

This young man is already living his Hope. He would have been there in 50 years, regardless, which may sound flippant -- I apologize if this hurts or offends anyone. As I age and get closer to the time of usual dying,  my own life seems so short and almost futile to me. What have I done of much worth? I have loved a little, conquered a little, birthed four children -- but what will they do? I do feel that our lives are a mere gasp for air before surfacing, a troubled dream before awaking. Is it perhaps better to awaken earlier and move on to eternity?

We grieve. I've not had much close grieving in my life. I hope I will not grieve as someone who has no Hope, no eternity for myself or for someone else. May I grieve for my own loss, that I must remain in my troubled dreaming without the loved one who made the dream more bearable. But to begrudge someone his awaking? No. May we all embrace the truth that the Christian does not die. He escapes death. in the moment we leave this earth, we run past Death, only in its shadow, and snatch victory from its teeth.

The sun is on the roof now. A faint line of closer hills emerges from the fog. By lunch, the Blue Ridge will be clear as a bell.

Lunch with the Ladies

The fun we had today: lunch at Marco Trattoria in Brevard. The church ladies from Cornerstone eat here together each month. (And we always call it "Marco's," just like we always call "Aldi," Aldi's." Why do we do that?)

It's a lovely, peaceful spot in an old(ish) home on a residential(ish) street.

This time we ate on the porch, and it was cool and pleasant -- in July!

Fresh flowers ~

Very pretty

My niece Hannah accompanied Mother and me. She's closest to the camera.

More friends:

Mother and I. We look like we're up to no good. She had a BLT, and I enjoyed their Cobb Salad.

The week's going well except for the unfortunate fact that I got sick Sunday morning with a bad head cold. I was hoping to be better by tonight, but, well ... not yet. Headache, cough, sore throat, congestion, blowing and sneezing. Ick. I don't feel so horrible that I have to be in bed; it's not the flu. But I'd recover sooner if I weren't on the run. My mother dear likes to keep me occupied when I visit, and she does a good job! Tomorrow: knitting group, then to town (if I'm up to it), church supper, and church service. Thursday: up on the Blueridge Parkway and lunch at Pisgah Inn. Friday: all day in town grocery (and other) shopping in preparation for the descent of the familial hoards that come this weekend. Eek! I'd better be well by then! What fun we will have, but how tired we will be!

On Being Two Year Olds

Oh, the sorrow of trying to get a toddler to take a nap. Remember?

Unknown girl from Google :)

(And no, this is not a post about parenting techniques, so don't even go there.)

 Isn't it hard to have a child who desperately needs to sleep, but refuses to do so? You give her a nice place to rest, you set aside a time for rest, you stay home and listen to her while she rests, yet she only screams and demands to get up. Our pity goes out to parents in this plight.

So, Christian, don't be like a two year old. Your father has told you to rest. Why do you demand to get up and work?

The Sabbath is a hated institution these days. Few believe in it. Hardly anybody practices it. Almost everyone views it, at best, as an onerous ancient law designed to restrict and bind us.

But I am God's child. He is my father. When He tells me I need rest, why do I assume He's an idiot and I know better? I'm a two year old.

All around me I hear people complain of how weary they are. Work, work, work. Hauling kids around. Eating on the run. Never having time at home. No time to read. Living in a permanently sleep-deprived state. And absolutely no time for church or worship. I've often heard, "I can't do church on Sunday. That's my one day to sleep in!" We are too busy; we're working ourselves to death.

And God says, Rest. He even sets aside a whole day each week, and gives it to us as a precious gift, and says, "Here! Enjoy this! Isn't it delightful?" And like two year olds, we throw it on the floor, and yell, "No!" We'd rather work. We think we know better what our bodies need, what our lives need. We think we must work. But the chaos and weariness we complain of, prove that God is right. We need rest.

I have no desire to be a legalist. I'm not going to bash myself or anyone else over the head with the cudgel of Sabbath Observance. But I would encourage all of us who claim that God made us, and made our world, and designed our lives, and knows us best, to believe Him when He says over and over again ... "I will give you rest."

Try resting on Sundays. Put aside all the work you possibly can. Thank God for the gift. Spend time thinking about His design for your life. And see if the remainder of your week doesn't go better, because you took time first to contemplate and rest between your weeks of work.

Off to Mudgeville!

We took eight campers over to Ridgehaven today. They were so very excited. All eight will be in the GAW camp -- "Great Adventure Week." This means they sleep in large canvas tents (with wood floors), cook over a fire (sometimes), go on long hikes, and do more outdoorsy things than the other campers do. The GAW camps take place in a Ridgehaven location affectionately called Mudgeville.

Pictured above, l-r: Katie, Patience, Hannah, Justice (on couch); Ben (prone); Nathan, Honor, Julia, Clark (on floor)

Two of the beauties, Patience and Hannah
I didn't get many good shots. When all the cousins arrived at last, we were busy eating lunch, packing and loading, and trying to keep the younger ones focused. They were intent to go play in the muddy creek on my parents' property, instead of getting ready to drive over to Ridgehaven!

Clark and Julia got involved in a lively sort of stand-up arm wrestling, while waiting in the registration line.

Not sure who won ....

This bunch calls themselves the '99ers." Julia, Clark, Nathan, Justice -- all born within 6 months of each other in 1999. They've been pretty tight for years. Julia is the oldest.

Only Hannah didn't get to be a camper this year; she's too old! Boohoo for her! Personally, I'm happy to come back to my folks' house and relax in the quietude, after taking all those boisterous, noisy, joyful, beautiful teens over to their little piece of summer paradise.

Arapahoe

Arapahoe is a small town near Oriental. The other day I was parked in the shade of this church's sycamore trees. What an interesting old building!

The church's name is Anointed Remnant. I'm not certain that anyone still meets in the building, but I don't think so. It bore the forlorn look of a structure without human tending for some time.

Beautiful stained glass windows grace it on all sides. Purple, blue, green.

A large Roman tower sits on one corner, and the stained glass continues all around. You can see the false back and front on the roof line. That look always reminds me of the Alamo.

This dilapidated store is also in Arapahoe; I've been wanting to get a photo of it for months. No one bothered to remove the tree that crashed on its roof, perhaps during Hurricane Irene.

I waited in the church's shade for these two to arrive. Anna got her driving permit. She's had a permit before, when she was in high school. She got it this time again so she can practice driving on the roads before she goes to take her driving test. At the summer's end, she'll drive across the state back to college in her sporty red wheels!

The Length of North Carolina

Yesterday I drove from this:

Looking east up the Neuse River at midday

And this:

Sailing on the Neuse in morning sun

To the other North Carolina extreme:

The Blue Ridge at sunset

And this:

The view from my parents' windows

You'd think these are the two edges of the state, but actually Oriental is over an hour from the ocean and my parents' house is several hours from the very corner of the state in the west. North Carolina is a Very Long State!
I'm eating well, as you can see.

We're here for Julia and many of her cousins to go to camp for the week. Mother found this photo in a drawer.The kids are standing in their back yard. I'd say this is about nine years ago. I'll put this on facebook and tag everyone I can. We've done years and years of camp, wonderful memories, close cousins.

Okay, I'll name them, for anybody who wants to know:
back row, l-r: Philip, Kesse holding Oscar
next row, l-r: Katie, Kayren, Lorien, Hannah (the hair!), William, Peter, Anna
next row, l-r: Nathan, Justice, Patience, Aleya behind Honor, Ben, Julia
missing: Jathan, Kyrie, Clark, a few babies maybe who couldn't make it?

The Oldest Youngest Child

This past week Julia was out of town at a friend's house. It was a great visit. Adam and I still had Philip at home, and although he is our child, it's hardly like having a child at home. He's 22, and we have a third adult in the house. This will probably be the last time he'll come home and live with us for any significant length of time.

Anyway, the house was quiet. Adam and I sat in the living room together several evenings and it had that creepy empty feeling. The house was quiet. No little girl (well, not so little ...) was wallowing the dog on the floor, or playing on her tablet, or chatting away, or asking me the dozenth "Mama ...?" question.

I'm one of five siblings, so there are five families of kids being raised in my extended family. All together, my parents have 24 living grandchildren. And in the midst of my echoing house the other evening, I asked myself this: Which of the five households will be empty first? Which of us five mothers will have the first empty nest? Or, who has the oldest youngest child?

And I realized it's me.

This darling not-so-little munchkin is the only thing that stands between me and endless nights of quiet with my husband. No more "Mama, can you ...?" questions. No more school prep. No more "Did you eat breakfast?" or "Is it your dish night?" or "Where are your shoes?!" No more daily kid hugs. No more seeing them every day.

We are scattered. As I listen this summer to my children's plans for next year, for their lives, I realize they are swiftly moving out of my circle altogether. They are leaving so fast. They are wonderfully independent kids, and we have great relationships with them. They love us and like to come home. But oh! how I miss seeing them. I stopped briefly in Statesville yesterday and saw Peter and Kara for about an hour. I wanted to hug him and never let go. When will the time come when I don't see him for a year? Two? Five? How is it possible that a child of one's own heart can by physically so far away? Every mother feels this, I suppose. Fathers too.

This is nothing new; it is only new to me. I'm the youngest child in my family, and I'm not used to doing anything first. But this lonely transition into emptiness will be mine to accomplish before my sisters-in-law. I am trying to prepare.