Fearless

I just discovered this little piece I wrote a few years ago but never published.  Interesting to look at it with today's eyes:

The desire to matter. I'm reading the book Fearless by Max Lucado and I have just discovered that one of my greatest fears in life is quite common. I want to make a difference. At my age I am wondering if it is too late, if I passed so many opportunities due to laziness, or busyness or fear that I won't be given any more chances. I got to thinking about that and it occurred to me that this is probably why those of us with older children start getting a bit controlling almost manic in our persuasions for our kids to accomplish something. It's why we take such pride in their achievements. If I haven't made much of a difference to the world in my so-small life maybe I can still count it if one of my kids does something worthy! After all, I had a pretty big hand in making them what they are today.... right?  My kids are mostly grown now. Will I be able claim greatness through one of them?

My first born, CJ, was an amazing child! (chuckle) He crawled at 5 months, walking, running, by 8 monts, an adventurous toddler. He'd probably grow up to be a professional athlete or something. He amazed us by learning to read by watching the words as I read books to him, was reading on his own before kindergarten... a boy genius! He'd probably end up being a scientist or something. In first grade his teacher recommended he be tested for the gifted program because he was so advanced. Wow! He'd probably become a world leader or something. LOL

So it has been with Kev, Zeke and Beau. Each has their own rare and wonderful talents and personalities and dreams. None is a high achiever or ambitious. I suppose that since I was so ready to claim their victories I should also admit that they are what they are in part because we didn't push. We just encouraged them be what they were meant to be. 

Yet, am I not disappointed. CJ is intelligent and can carry out a lively conversation. He's the one who is most willing to come over to help us out and as well as just stop by to visit. He married Ana and she has been a lovely addition to our heavily-testosteroned family. They gave us a grandson, too, in little Blue. I had no idea a grandchild could bring such joy to my heart and my life.

Kev has grown into a man who is kind and thoughtful. He's the romantic, too, and is marrying in April. He loves children and will be an incredible daddy some day.  I am so pleased with how he has turned out.

Zeke is fresh out of college and trying to find that special place where he can serve God. He'd like nothing better than to drop out of society's expectations.  He can be quite inspiring with his genuine love for God, is never preachy and has an ability to understand others' views.

Bo is the one that makes everyone smile.  Even when you don't want to.  He marches to his own drum and his drum is fun. Pretty much raised by his brothers, he got a little piece of the best of each of them. He is care-free (about what you think of him) but is deeply caring (about being a good person).

My sons are all lovely, wonderful, giving, non-ambitious men. They, no doubt, will each make a mark in their world but I can't claim it. I'll have to do that on my own. And it is not too late. God isn't finished with me yet either.

Halloween. I have always loved it but, as the boys outgrew their need for my help with costumes and make-up, I lost interest.

This year, at the last minute, Beau was trying to throw together a costume. He had exactly 10 minutes because he and his girlfriend, Joy, had suddenly decided to attend a friend’s party 4-hours-drive away. (I know.  But this doesn’t even register a blip on your radar if you are 22 years old.)

I dug out Angus’ old cowboy boots from the back of his closet, while Beau scrounged and found a pair of too tight pants and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. I grabbed my long black raincoat and unzipped the liner as he went to the basement searching for an old cowboy hat to cover his shoulder-length hair. A quick hug and he was out the door. He finished off the costume, stopping by a store to buy a little pair of cowboy pistols in holsters. Voila!

I smiled as he pulled out onto the road and remembered a Halloween years ago. I was in fourth grade and my mom was a Room Mother. When I was kid we all had homemade costumes. told my mom I wanted to be an artist for the school Halloween party and away she went. She sewed and gathered until I was a hip artist wearing a smock, black tights and a French beret, carrying a paint-filled pallet and a paintbrush. This must’ve been the 1960’s version of an artist (according to mom) and I was very cool.

When it was party time we grabbed our bags full of costumes giggling as we went to change. A few minutes later my mom came in and told me to hand over my tights and my beret, “Someone has come without a costume” was all she said.

We gathered back in the classroom and I noticed the timid new kid had on my tights and beret and someone else’s tight black shirt. He had a nice black goatee painted on his chin – a Beatnik. So cool! And the fun and games began!

I don’t remember much about the kid; he was gone again before the end of the year. I didn’t give much thought to the kind of life a nine-year-old boy who didn’t even have a Halloween costume must have led.

I wonder, now, if he was well-loved...  I wonder if he remembers the nice lady who gave him a fun Halloween and a day of hope...  I wonder if anyone ever admits to having been a Beatnik...

I was not the typical girl who dreamed of weddings and having a family.  In fact, I didn't have a plan at all.  I just kind of went where life took me... but then I fell for the family-man kind of guy and his dream became mine. 

I was 27 years old and several months pregnant when we, both city kids, moved to "the country" on 10 wooded acres along a creek.  Angus was a UPS delivery driver and worked in the city... long hours and a long drive (in our only car).  There I was, pregnant and all alone. So alone...

As my belly grew bigger so did my apprehension.  What if I went into labor early and I didn't know a soul?  How would I even get a hold of Angus out there in his truck somewhere?  Then one day the Avon Lady rang my doorbell.  We visited and she brought the community into my living room.  I learned right awasy that she was a Christian lady who sold Avon as a hobby and a way to meet new people.  She told me what was going on in town and she gave me her phone number in case I needed anything.  A few days later she showed up on my doorstep and took me around to meet my neighbors.

Thirty years later, we are still out here in the same spot.  No longer city kids, we are now the older couple who've been here forever.  We've built a house and raised 4 kids here and starting in with grandkids.  The Avon Lady has retired now but I still call her my first country friend.  Thank you for your wisdom and your friendship, Sue.

The line to vote was long but the church was warm and the line was moving quickly. I was finally near the front and I visited with the friendly lady checking our names at the table. She commented on what at sweet little boy my toddler was. Suddenly it was my turn and as I looked to the polling booth my mind quickly assessed what to do with my son while I was in there. Was it even legal to take him in with me? (I was young and stupid) The lady must have read my mind as she said “Go on. I’ll watch him.”

So, I guess that’s how it happens. You are young and hopeful and new to motherhood or tired in motherhood and you are weak or weary or confused and, for just a moment, you trust. You trust someone, or you trust society or you trust fate. For just a moment. That’s how kids get snatched or squashed or baked or broken or abused.

I hear those stories in the news of those children and those mothers and I hear the blaming tones of we who hear them, the accusing chants of neglect. “How could she let that happen?” …throwing the first stone.

It ended well for us. When I came out of the booth three minutes later CJ was gone. Gone. The nice lady was talking to someone else totally oblivious to the fact that CJ was gone. Gone. The word strikes fear into my heart still.

The line of voters was orderly and lined up against the wall. The room was empty of one very small blond boy. Where could he be? I called him and got nothing but dumb looks from the folks in line. I began searching but there wasn’t much to search so I headed down the line toward the door. He couldn’t have opened that big heavy door, couldn’t have even reached the handle. But where else? My heart pounded and I was panicky but not yet ready to let all these strangers know how stupid I was, so I willed myself calm. I opened the door and there he was. My adventurous child just standing there waiting for me patiently. He had wandered past 30 people and outside without anyone stopping him. It would have been impossible to have not noticed him and someone had held the door open for him! These people were not busy they were just standing there waiting in line!

I still get angry when I think about it all. I was angry at the “nice” lady, angry at those strangers who must have known a 2 year old walking down a long corridor and heading outside to the parking lot alone was not right. Mostly though, I was angry at myself. How could I have been so stupid? So careless with the most precious thing in my life? I was able to chalk it up to another very valuable and well-learned life lesson.

But I know that it could have ended differently so when the news hits of another child left in a car or a bathtub for just a second or not taken to the Dr. soon enough or wandering out of a home in his PJs in the middle of a frigid night or taken at the mall or the park … well, you know the list goes on. It happens and we know, if we are honest, it could have been us. My heart goes out.

“You can’t be too careful”. I have heard that said often but I think you can be too careful. We should be diligently cautious for sure. But, as in all things, balance is the key. We trust. Sometimes we must. Without trust there is no hope. Without hope there is no life. Balance.

I work in a school and I see the parents that are too careful. They do not love their children more than others do but they think they do. Their kids are sheltered and often weak and, well, helpless and will remain so. Or they’ll be embarrassed, frustrated or angry and hateful to those same parents who love them so much. They don’t understand their need to try (and possibly fail) in order to succeed and build their self-confidence. You can be too careful.

I learned that from a very small blond pig-headed boy who was fearless from day one. Sometimes I was careless for a moment, or he was… or fate was. He was in the hands of God and an arrogant surgeon at the age of 6 months. With a skull split open from hairline to the middle of the back of his head he learned to crawl in the hospital bed… with a big grim on his face. At age one he walked over to the slide and climbed to the top while I was picking beans. I looked up just in time to see him standing there, looking down, deciding if he could go without me to catch him at the bottom. Ha. He barely hesitated, slid down and landed on his very padded rump. Looked over at me to see if I had seen him and was proud. When he was two, he survived wandering down the middle of the road looking for his Daddy mowing out there while I napped. The list goes on right into the teen years (but I didn’t hear about those adventures until much later.)

I guess you’ve got to know your kid. Figure out how much rope they need. By age 10 he was dying to be left home alone now and then. He was ready. He was so ready to be on his own to college and I’m sure didn’t have one minute of homesickness. He was ready. We learned. He was fearless. He fell a lot. He got back up. The UnderToad tried to snatch him away from me more times than I’ll ever know and yet he is still with us today. And now, he’s gonna be a daddy himself in a few months.

So I’d say to him - Be cautious. Be watchful. Be aware. Be prepared. Be careful… but not too careful. Trust… but not too much. Balance. Let him live! Let him feel the joy of accomplishment that comes from effort and sometimes even pain. Trust God. Pray often and love always!

I sat down by the seawall watching the sun rise. Angus and I had been at The Lake of the Ozarks for two days. Our hosts, my brother and sister-in-law had headed back home the evening before and we had the large lake house to ourselves for a few days.
I was content and happysitting in the quiet morning light, trying not to notice the hulking frame of concrete and steel rising off to the Southeast. We are on Ship’s Point. The point just to the East of this one… the one that this house faces, has always left us with a beautiful view of a lovely, grassy point with small trees… no house, no people, not even a dock.

The original house had burnt down over 40 years ago, leaving only the brick chimney standing, and nothing had ever been rebuilt. “Chimney Point”. Years ago the “For Sale” sign went up but the asking price was high so it remained the same year after year. Several years ago it finally sold. The rumor was condos. And sure enough we began to notice changes when we went down. A sea wall was built. Trees were bulldozed and the grasses scraped away. Construction began a building was erected. Now, this year, the condo is taking shape.

In only a few more minutes I knew that the clanking, groaning and grinding of the heavy equipment would break the silence. The banging and shouting of the workers would begin and last ‘til 4 pm when the construction crew would leave the giant steel skeleton behind as they crawl into their pickups weary from their hard work in the July heat.

I was drinking my coffee, watching the sun appear above the mist and later disappear into the clouds. Enjoying the peace and the solitude. Not wanting to think about the changes to this peaceful point once the condo is finished.

It occurred to me that it was Thursday and that Jetty Betty would be writing her “Thursday Thanksgivings” and finding wonderful things to be thankful for even in the midst of whatever turmoil and disappointment is in her life. She’d be looking at the good side of things. I started thinking about all the good in my life. I starting thinking about all the good times we’ve had down here over the last 29 years with friends and family.

Angus and I took long weekends in the incredible peace and solitude of the lake house in winter. Reading and watching the view and the rare speedboat pass by the picture windows. We cooked elaborate meals, ate slowly and did the dishes side by side. We were undisturbed by the temptations of TV and computers and telephones. The decisions were whether to put on Eric Clapton or Jimmie Spheeris as we sat by the fire in the evenings dreamily watching the flames and sipping a glass of wine.

We’d go to bed early and sleep late. And because it was The Lake House it was especially romantic… like a fancy secluded resort, yet as familiar as home.

When the kids were little we spent a Fourth of July watching the fireworks put on at the Four Seasons Resort across the Lake. We had a perfect view from our lawn chairs by the water and we didn’t even have to be a part of the flotilla of boats out there watching, too. The kids giggled as they drew golden circles in the black night with their sparklers and after the fireworks they watched to boats pull away one by one.

One year Angus’ family decided to have Thanksgiving at The Lake. We all sat together at the long Ponderosa-style table laughing and enjoying one another. No late arrivals or fast escapes... just acceptance.

The Lake is where I first really got to know Angus’ family. What’s to do but talk as you sunbathe and watch the kids, cooking and eating together? It’s where I first learned of the Mc’s “10 O’clock Rule“. The men would get up early to fish and do any yard work before the summer heat set in. They’d keep an eye on the time for at 10:00 a.m. it is okay to have your first beer of the day. I don’t know who made the rule; it preceded my entry into the family.

The boys floated in life jackets in the waves from the passing boats pretending they were in the ocean while we mamas laid in the sun on the rocking dock. They picked wild flowers along the gravel road. In later years they jumped off the roof of the dock into the deep water. They jet skied in the cove ‘til their legs ached. They’ve blown leaves with the powerful backpack leaf blowers onto a tarp to be pulled to the water’s edge and dumped, jumping into the ice cold water to cool off and to prove they were men.

They caught lightening bugs with their cousins who are grown now. They caught fish with their grandfather who is gone now.

Everything changes.

I contemplated the sunrise and my memories, feeling both happiness for the beautiful past and regret for what never will be again. The looming mass of condo reminded me that change is always coming and a lot of times it is out of our control, it‘s not what we want... But life goes on.

It made me value the “right now” a little bit more, appreciate the past a lot more and look forward to whatever happens next with hope. The unpredictability of life is what makes it both scary and fascinating. It makes us work harder, dream bigger and love better. It pops us out of our ruts and into the sunshine or into the mud.

This day, I’m in the sunshine and will take advantage of today. I know the mud is there waiting to pull me down so I’ll look up… trust God to get me through it when the time comes.

Life is good… and I believe that with all my heart.

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“Life will bring you pain all by itself. Your responsibility is to create joy.”
~Milton Erickson, M.D.

I have green feet today. I was mowing the area in front of the house with the push mower this morning. It has become my job because the males in the family conveniently can’t tell grass from the shoots of tulips, grape hyacinth, daffodils and other spring beauties so I just took over that chore years ago. I kind of like doing it anyway… a bit of sweaty work makes me feel tough and part of the “crew“ in this testosterone-heavy family.

It was only mid-morning but already humid and the grass was still wet from the morning dew in some places. As I pushed up an incline I had the feeling that my feet could slip right out from under me. I visualized klutzy-me slipping to the ground, and the mower rolling back over my hand. (yeah, I know, but I can’t help it) So I kicked off my flip-flops thinking I could get a better grip with my bare feet.

Suddenly everything changed. The grass was cool despite the heat in the air. It was a fresh, soft carpet under my feet even as I continued the effort. The chore suddenly became pleasant. I moved the mower along the coiled path and a memory came to me. I recalled my brothers and sister and I trailing, barefoot, behind my Daddy as he mowed our yard. Our goal was nothing other than to get green feet and spend precious time with Daddy on his day off. We were silly, giggling Green-footed Ducklings, happy with life, living in the small joys of the moment. We never grew tired of the green foot parade.

Sometimes we just need to put aside the work and weariness and, without a care, just follow our Father for a awhile. Notice only the joy of the moment before we move on to the pressing matters.

Thank you, God, for transporting me today to an old place of happiness and reminding me that, even in the tedious times, you are there waiting to lead me. Thank you for my green feet today.
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PS~
I was going to post a photo of my green feet... but they weren't as lovely as I remember thembeing as a child. ;) Pamela pointed me to this photo which will enlighten you who have never had the green-foot experience.

What else could you name an Irishman born on St. Patty’s Day??!! Why, only “Patrick“, of course! The family gathered on St. Patrick’s Day just like it always has… since long before I joined the family. Corned Beef and Cabbage and Potatoes. But this year, for the first time, it was without the family patriarch, Pat.

It was to be a small, informal family gathering but, well, everyone showed up. We all miss him.

So, allow me to reminisce about my favorite day with Pat. Angus was having some surgery and I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital when Pat showed up. I was surprised and pleased to see him. We began chatting to pass the time and somewhere along the way the conversation turned toward his parents.

I had known that Angus’s grandfather was an immigrant from Ireland who came over during the great famine. I also knew that his mother came to the Midwest on one of the Orphan Trains and was adopted by an Irish family. I hadn’t known she was then raised as a “Domestic”. He said she was Irish, too. I’m not sure if that was just wishful thinking or fact but he believed it. (I do, too)

His Da had come over to America all by himself at the age of 14! A couple of his older sisters had come earlier and he followed them. He made his way to the Kansas City area by himself, too. He worked as a pipe fitter until the age of 86 when he had to give it up because his shoulder went out. (I complain because Angus will have to work ‘til he is 58!).

Pat filled in a lot of missing details of my husband and sons’ family history for me and I was totally intrigued. Perhaps he embellished here and there… or not. I was fascinated and he was in his element with his story telling. The waiting time flew by for both of us.

I miss him.