The Out of Towner

Once again I find myself being the Out of Towner. I wish I had Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn around to lighten things up a bit, but not this time. I'm hanging out in SC with my foo. So, I had started this routine of daily (or near daily) posting, and I wanted my few and far between readers who might not know why I dropped off to know where I am at the moment.
I don't really feel like sitting down to post right now, so I'm going to eat some breakfast with my Dad. But I'll be back...

Hold Thou My Hand

At my great-grandmother's funeral this week, my sister sang one of Ahda's old favorite hymns. It was one I wasn't familiar with, but I found the words to it and thought I'd post them here.

Hold Thou my hand; so weak I am, and helpless,
I dare not take one step wtihout Thy aid;
Hold Thou my hand; for then, O loving Savior,
No dread of ill shall make my soul afraid.

Hold Thou my hand, and closer, closer draw me
To Thy deal self - my hope, my joy, my all;
Hold Thou my hand, lest haply I should wander,
And, missing Thee, my trembling feet should fall.

Hold Thou my hand; the way is dark before me
Without the sunlight of Thy face divine;
But when by faith I catch its radiant glory,
What heights of joy, what rapturous songs are mine!

Hold Thou my hand, that when I reach the margin
Of that lone river Thou didst cross for me,
A heavenly light may flash along its waters,
And every wave like crystal bright shall be.

The hymn was written by Fanny Crosby. Blind from 6 weeks old, Fanny wrote over 8,000 hymns in her lifetime, including many familiar ones, but her personal favorite was "Blessed Assurance." It is interesting to go back and read this hymn she wrote (Hold Thou my Hand) realizing that she was blind.

I think that the version of this song that Gini sang was a bit different, because I remember some words from the one Gini sang that I didn't find in this hymn text, but I'm pretty sure they are related works. If not, oh well, it's a beautiful old hymn anyway.

For my part, I am only hoping that I do not have to attend any more funerals for a good while. Although it was not hard to see Ahda leave this world at 103, I am rather content to have the rest of my family remain here on earth for a good while longer.

An Elegy for Uncle Jimmy

The Throne Room

Meredith L. Peel

I traveled to the Throne of God
bearing a burden of fiercest love,
and having loved and lost, I asked:
“What, my God, do you desire?”

Coupled with a fiery breath,
swift and loud came the reply:
“RIGHTEOUSNESS,” my God said.
My face burned; my heart fell.

Before a judge holy as He,
none could stand to plead his case.
Turning homeward, burden heavy,
His voice followed: “Ask again.”

Again to the Throne I turned,
with heavy heart, and trembling voice.
But once again I made my plea:
“What, my King, do you desire?”

“Faithfulness” - a gentler breath -
yet strong enough to carry off
those faithful ones I’d stowed away
within my burden of fierce love.

Once more I turned toward my home,
a lighter burden on my back.
To my surprise, pursuing me,
He called, “Ask once again, My child.”

And turning to the Throne I asked:
“What, my Lord, do you desire?”
A gentle whisper, His reply:
“Reconciliation.”

And at this word all who remained
in the great burden of my love
compelled me forward to His throne
to be released upon His feet.

And when at last I turned to go,
beneath my feet I saw a fire.
I cried out, fearing, for those souls
I had entrusted to His care.

Before my question, His reply:
“I desire that ALL of Mine
be reconciled, and be refined.
For holiness awaits all who
withstand My holy fire.”

My heart now still, His message clear,
my burden now at home with Him,
I wept with joy and sang my thanks,
ready now to be refined.

And passing over that great fire,
His spirit spoke these words to me:
“The heat is great,
My love still greater,”
and heart at peace, I returned home.

Sixty-Four Seventy-Five

The last four weeks have been intensely chaotic, full of frustration and full of reward. There is a part of me that seems to think that all I have to show for this painful period has been the hard-earned $64.75 from my yard sale on Saturday. But what I can honestly say is that I have much more than that.
I'm thinking of the whole concept of receiving beauty for ashes right now, because it seems so appropriate to this past month for me. I have learned more about myself, about my God, about my husband, and about life in the last four weeks than I have in a long time. And I realized something. My marriage had been reduced to ashes. As much as it is not easy to admit, I was the arsenist. I am not assuming full responsibility for the failure of my marriage, but I was definitely the one who struck the match.
At the beginning of this month, I left my husband. I had no idea what I wanted or who I was or where I was headed. I just went to my parents house. And let me stop here and say something about parents who love too much. My mother used to have this book that had a silent impact on me because I never read anything beyond the title "Women who love too much." I don't know if I ever felt when I was growing up that my parents were people who loved us too much, but I believe it is true as I look back.
I don't say this of my folks in order to pass judgment on them, I say it as a statement of the obvious. I think my parents greatly value their children, and I am no exclusion from that rule. In their love and acceptance, I found a safe retreat from the frustrations of my marriage. I struck the match here, burned several bridges and ran to their arms and away from my husband's.
Going to my parents' home was like trying to take a nap on an inverted pincushion. I told my father repeatedly that I did not want to be there. The nettles that I felt so poignantly at their house were not of their creation, but of mine and of a God who instead of loving me too much, loved me perfectly and knew that the appropriate place for me was not in the home of my parents, but in the home of my husband.
Coming home to my husband two weeks later was not easy. I feared that I would return to a pile of ash and rubble - evidence of the significant breech in faith that I had created by my rash behavior. Instead I found something totally unexpected (to me) - that God had been working on my behalf to replace my ashes with beauty.
I am experiencing the honeymoon that I dreamed of from the beginning, in a marriage that I had not only nearly lost hope in, but one that I had also intentionally sabotaged out of my frustration. What I discovered in the midst of thinking that my marriage was for my benefit only was that my marriage, like everything else in my life, was soli deo gloria - all for the glory of God.
The concept is so basic, but from the moment I began to focus on all of the voices in my life (often including my own) that led me to alternately question and defend my views of marriage, and more specifically my marriage, I began to lose focus on the purpose of my marriage in the first place.
My hope is restored, my commitment renewed, my vision refreshed and my troth plighted (faith pledged) to my husband and my God once more. I have a great deal of work to do to rebuild the burned bridges I left in the wake of my leaving, but in the midst of this work, I have something to hold onto - out of the ashes God has recreated in His image a marriage that I was trying to conform to my image. This amateur arsenist has exchanged her matchbook for the building blocks of God's word on marriage. I hope to use this blog as a place to chronicle what I learn. Maybe others will be able to use it in some way to encourage them on the days when all they see is a pile of ashes where a marriage once was...

the view from here

looking around this place (i'm in greenville, sc) i am reminded that a fresh perspective always makes for better decisions. even if you choose to stick to your initial choice, you have found even greater reason that you feel the way you do by observing the other choices and knowing why you don't want these things.
right now, looking at my marriage and the other problems i have been facing lately, being here and not in opelika seems only a different perspective - not better, not worse.
ironically, i have hardly talked about or begun to deal with my marriage issues. it turns out that in three days of counseling i've done more work and gone much deeper into dealing with other issues that i haven't even had time to get to the marital stuff. i'm guessing that these other issues were more important anyway. i feel much free-er today than yesterday, if that's a sign of anything.
i'm trying to figure out this whole thing of forgiveness and of goal setting. i think i'm going to stay here for awhile and continue to work toward sorting through all of this. part of me really wants to leave, but i know that the view from here is a little clearer than the view from home for now.

Stone (last but CERTAINLY not least)

How neat is it that I am aunt to my sister's daughter and my brother's son? This little guy is all smiles and laughter, a true joy to have around. He's such a neat blend of his mom and dad. I can't wait to hear him really start to laugh as he grows up - I want to know if he has an Eddie Murphy laugh like his daddy.

Kevin and Shelby weren't quite as prepared for this whole baby thing I think, but Stone seems to be the perfect baby for them. He's so laid back and easy going, but they're probably reading this and laughing. In the beginning everyone said that Mercy was so much more demanding, but I've heard tell from my folks that Stone's beginning to assert himself a little more. Still, what an adorable little boy, my nephew Livingstone.

Mercy

Mercy and I have had a bunch of bonding experiences - baths apparently are no exception. I remember giving her a bath when she was only about 5-6 weeks old, and here we are together taking a bath at Aunt Susan's and Uncle Richard's in the jacuzzi tub. Boy Mercy loved that (although Geoff says in this picture I look like I'm enjoying it more).
I was there the day Mercy was born. There is something very significant about my connection to my sister's daughter. Gini even sometimes says that she had my child, because Mercy and I share some similarities. I mean come on - the child's first word was "puh-puh" (puppy). I became an aunt when I married Geoff, but I became Aunt Minnah when Mercy came into the world.

Sara

This picture isn't quite as recent as today. It was taken back in May, but close enough. Sara's a total beauty! She makes me think of snow white with her red lips and dark hair and eyes. Her uncle Geoff is completely enamored with her. Since she came along, he talks more about having a daughter than a son.
I was there three days after Sara was born. I was there again when she was back in the hospital as an infant. My first neice, she has a close place in my heart. Stubborn and willful, she's gonna be a handful, but what a beautiful sweet little thing she is when she's not throwing a tantrum!

Matthew

What can I say about Matthew. My first phone conversation with this little guy was his calling to tell me about seeing horses at a farm. He said (and I quote) "Horse. Pee Pee. Poo Poo." He hasn't outgrown the humor of bodily functions, but then neither has his uncle. What impresses me most about Matthew is his mechanical mind and determination. Instead of wanting to be a pilot, he wants to build planes. And he could too. He's smart and he's a mess, probably why I just adore him!

Updated Pics - Jonathan

It's about time I update some photos of the neices and nephews. I'll see what's cute that I haven't put up.

Jonathan is eight now, and getting to be more of a big kid every day. He's a lot like his uncle Geoff. He wants to climb every tree, visit every stream, and he is dying to go canoeing! I keep telling Geoff we'd better hurry up and get started on our own family, but on the bright side, Jonathan will be big enough to babysit our children by the time we have some.

My Sunshine

I had been thinking over this post all weekend when I noticed my sister wrote something similar this morning. I was thinking about what a stabalizing force she has always been in my life and how rare and neat it is to count your sister as your best friend.
Some of my earliest memories still make me smile and laugh. I remember her teaching me the words to "You are my sunshine" when we lived on Pennsylvania in Shreveport (I wasn't even 5 years old). I remember standing on the edge of the double bed we shared and falling backwards playing "TIMBER." I remember her pretending that she could fall asleep in 10 seconds and me trying to wake her up (she was such a good faker I could push her to the floor before she'd get mad enough to stick her tongue out at me).
I remember watching her through the glass doors as she played with Dylan on our jungle gym when I wasn't "cool enough" to hang out with them. But I also remember her sticking up for me on our walk to school when someone was picking on me. I remember her driving me to school and us getting lost during one of the first ice storms in Birmingham. I remember us sitting in the senior parking lot and her telling me to stop listening to depressing music because she was worried about me (It was her tape of Pearl Jam, but she was right).
She was the reason I had a date to prom my senior year. My date's grandma died and a friend of hers took me and I had a wonderful time! She included me in college, we got to know each other better. I remember when my grandmother's second husband died how she and I drove together and listened to Jim Brickman and how it felt funny to be as old as we were.
We fought alot, but I had her there to fight with, and that was always more important. We tattled too much, but we still somehow found it in ourselves to trust each other again, and I would still trust her with my life. We moved so much that I am just glad I was never totally alone. Sometimes people are lucky enough to find a friend who becomes a sort of sister. I have been lucky enough to have a sister who has become (and always was) my friend.

I'm not alone

My sister, Gini has a blog spot now. I guess that should motivate me to update my own once in awhile. After all, babies on this site are now nearing a year of age and I really haven't written too much post-Katrina. Still, it's not like I have followers out there reading my posts. And the only comments I have gotten have been advertisements.
My dad has an abandoned post too. It makes me curious why we want to live our lives online in front of the world...
The only thing that brought me back here today is reading my sister's posts; I don't really have much to say to anyone who might be reading right now.

Stone: October 2005

Mercy: July 2005

Sara: January 2005

Auntie M

At some point I'll get back to sewing. It seems like being an Aunt is my best role yet. When I married in 2003, I acquired two nephews, and immediately fell in love with being an Aunt. In January of 2005, I got the joy of being the aunt of my first niece, Sara. In July of 05, I added Mercy to my list of nieces, and just over a week ago, Stone, my nephew came along. Yep, Auntie M (or Nanny Minnah as my sister and brother-in-law like to call me) is getting her workout travelling between all of my little cuties!

There's no place like home

I just spent my first weekend at home since Hurricane Katrina made shore. This street sign is the only picture I have right now of my parents' home in New Orleans, but I will have more soon, which I will place here and on my Dad's blog (ghallquist.blogspot.com). Though I never called New Orleans "home" my home was in New Orleans with my family. I have completely selfish feelings of joy over having my family even closer now, namely that I have seen more of them in the past six weeks than I had in the past year, and also that my niece Mercy and I have had a great bonding period, but I feel for them as they go through this time of relocation....