Tradelast, boys!

It's almost embarrassing how much I miss having my Mama share a tradelast with me. I have written about them before-those times when she passed along something nice someone had said about me. No one has stepped up to take her place in that department, so I have to take them where I find them now.

I ran across this note while I was cleaning out some drawers. It is a triple whammy since I am not sure to which son this note applied. They both spoke from the pulpit.

But it is also a sweet note to me, to let me know that somebody noticed that perhaps I had something to do with their gifts.

Technically, this isn't a real tradelast to my boys since I won't be making them ante up before they read this. That almost never works out anyway.

I'll just be adding this to their tabs.

Thank You.

I have been meaning since Thanksgiving night to write a bit about the day. Time slipped away, but here I am on a quiet Sunday afternoon a few days later, just now getting 'round to it.

I think that's probably not a bad thing. Serves to cut through some of the swirlier thoughts I'd had that day, and to hone in on what was most worthy of noting.

1.  It was the first time I have ever cooked a turkey, or made dressing. Those things were always done by Mama, or Mama and my sister working in concert. Both came out perfectly. This made me feel as though I had found a key to a new universe.

2.  It was one of only, perhaps, three Thanksgivings I have ever had apart from my larger family (parents, siblings, and their assorted families). We had received a gracious invitation from my oldest brother and his  wife, to come to their home for lunch. Logistics began to press down on me, and on others, and we reluctantly had to decline. What I missed most -- what I knew I would miss most -- were the stories. My God, the stories.

3.  My husband, younger son, and I instead went to lunch at the home of my older son and his wife, one  which they will only formally be taking possession of this week. It's a grand place, full of fireplaces and storage spaces and room for so many adventures for our granddaughter to have.

4.  A longstanding family tradition has been the reading of the 100th Psalm before thanks are returned. This has usually been an honor reserved for the youngest person in attendance who is either able to read or recite it, but exceptions have been made over the years. Wearing the Matriarch Cape, I decided that this year it should be read by the person who is now the head of this branch of the family: my husband. I handed over the battered copy of the King James Version Bible that had been given to me when I was a little girl by my beloved Grandpappy, and Henry began to read.

Standing in that new old home, with its high ceilings and new appliances, I listened to him begin to read as I twisted a dishtowel in my hand with which I had just mopped up a little spill.

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. 

Serve the Lord with gladness, come into this presence with singing.

I looked at my sons, young men who have made my husband and me so very proud. They are so handsome, such good men, so much yet for each of them to accomplish and experience, so much promise already fulfilled; so much that lies ahead for them both.

Know ye that the Lord he is God:

it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves;

we are His people and the sheep of His pasture. 

I glanced at our daughter-in-law, who has brought into our lives so much beauty and joy and lightness. I looked at our granddaughter, not yet 3 years old, busy playing at eating a sandwich provided earlier, since we were so late coming to table. She was not mindful in the least way that a seismic shift was happening. She only knew her Mama and Daddy, her beloved UncaThomas, and her Pop and GrandMaMama (her new precious name for me) were in this place with her, and all was right with the world. 

Enter into His gates with thanksgiving

and into His courts with praise:

be thankful unto Him, and bless His name.

And I felt a peace I hadn't felt so completely since our world came off its axis last October. 

For the Lord is good; 

His mercy is everlasting,

and His truth endureth to all generations. 

Little Messages

My beliefs about what we are promised in terms of a life after death are complicated, but, I believe, soundly based in scripture. I won't go into the fine points in this forum. Suffice it to say that I don't believe my Mama, or any of the other people I love who have died are sitting around in some unseen dimension right this minute.

The common language of grief we mostly use, though, gives me comfort despite its beautifully fanciful ideas. I like to imagine Mama "up there" somewhere, looking over us, sending us messages, watching out for us. I don't deny there are days when I wish I believed that's how this works.

What I do believe is that the promise of a life eternal and triumphant is true. I just don't believe it happens the way we talk about it.

That said, in many ways I have felt Mama's presence more acutely on a near day-to-day basis since she died. I believe that the tremendous love she had for us so infused our hearts and minds that it is the truest truth that she will never be gone from us, except in body. Maybe it's God's grace that opens our ears and eyes to that love so completely that it feels palpable. Tangible. Real.

What I believe or don't, what I wish were true but doubt, those things don't keep me from having wonderful Mama moments. One happened today on my long walk in the park.

I need to backtrack for a minute so that little preface will actually have a point and let you know that I am fairly well obsessed with Spotify. It has replaced every online game I ever played when I have nothing else to do or so much else to do that I don't want to get started. I cough up the premium fee every month so I can save playlists to my iPhone to take with me on my walks. ($10 a month to invest in my mental health is peanuts. I even gave up manicures to make room in my budget for this.)

Yesterday I was playing with the playlists again. I do random searches, listen to about 10 seconds of a piece of music and plop it over to a list. Mostly this is music from musicians or groups I've never heard of. I've found some rotten stuff this way, but I've found some real treasure, too. The point of it for me is in the discovery.  Not listening to something all the way through makes it fresh to my ears while I'm walking -- when I can give it my nearly undivided listening attention.

While I was doing my search I was looking at the calendar next to my computer. We are fixing to hit a rough patch for our hearts, as we can't help but be reminded of all the steps that brought us to Mama's passing, and I'm trying to find ways to let that find expression in ways that honor who she was, and who she wanted us to be.

My Mama was my biggest cheerleader. No matter what silly thing I accomplished, or tried to accomplish, she was my encourager. She made everything better when everything was going to hell in a handbasket. She cajoled. She raised an eyebrow. She yanked me up. She noticed me.

I had begun to worry that I was going to slip into a real fine funk in the coming days, and so I was deliberately trying to find upbeat things to listen to. I listened to no more than about 15 seconds of all the new stuff I found yesterday that felt right, plunked them onto my Sunday Morning list, and didn't give them a second thought.

And then I went to the park, turned it on, and started walking.

At about mile 5.5, when I had gotten to the top of the hill that overlooks the bridge area for the second time, this song I downloaded yesterday cued up.

Nothing about that made me change my mind about what I believe. 

But it reminded me, and it enfolded me, and encouraged me, and made me remember the best things. 

And I praise God, from whom all these blessings flow.

**

P.S. - I  just noticed the "love you J" signature on that graphic. 

P.SS. -- I am happy to live in the mysteries.