“Thewe’s a ‘nake in the tub.” – said the potty-trained angel of a girl who isn’t quite poo trained and scrambled out of the bathtub because she was scared of her own making.

“I be poofect AWWW day.” – said the 3 year old Ande who IS pretty much perfect all day.

“Ama, can we do a cwaft?” – because that’s what we do at Ama’s house.

“We have a gawhden in here!” – said the ones who didn’t experience cutting flowers after the rain.

“Ama! Ama! A chicken escaped! But I caught it and put it back.” – constantly.

Aynjel, who gave you gum? – and in the tiniest tattle voice: “Andwae did.”

“I’m scared. I’m scared that I am going to grow up and not know anything.” – reflection, while we practiced addition and multiplication flashcards last night.

What did you learn today, Anissa? “I learned that when chicks are nervous, they poop a lot.” – wise words from a junior chicken farmer.

“Ama, I came back home from the park because there are mean boys splashing mud all over me.” – said the little 5-year-old bull in the china cabinet who wears pretty striped dresses. Uh huh. Sure there were…and you had nuh-thing to do with any of it.

“Ama, and SAM-pah!” – official titles.

I am very, very grateful for memories being made…

Sam is sleeping in a chemo treatment recliner at the moment. He twitches when he sleeps. It is how I know he has drifted away and is at peace in the middle of the yuck.

When he first sat down, he was dealing with the all-too-familiar chemo anxiety – the tastes and smells and dread of chemo before the chemo. The saline was injected into his port to flush the passageway, immediately going to his nose and mouth – it’s his least favorite part of it all – and he winced and groaned.

On this particular treatment #9, his port is once again clogged. That prompts tricks to try to get it open: breathe some deep breaths, cough cough, stand up and bend over, lay flat on your back. None of it was successful this time around, so his nurse had to put in an order for “cath flow,” another drug that is injected into the port and takes 30-60 minutes to dissolve the blockage. We’ve only experienced this one other time, and it’s not terrible, it just tacks on another hour or so to treatment time.

It is 87 degrees outside and only noon o’clock. The weatherman told us this morning to expect 95 by late afternoon. And Sam asked for a heated blanket.

There is something about a heated blanket when you face the yuck. It provides a protective cover from the scary. It provides the security of weight that cocoons from the instability all around. And it provides warmth when the chill of sanitary permeates.

This particular treatment cubicle has three large plate glass windows that offer a view of a nice rock garden with a statue and beautiful blooming purple salvia. Apparently, the hot winds of central Kansas are blowing outside, evidenced by trees swaying and drought resistant grasses bending to the south.

But if you didn’t have this vantage point and could only see Sam’s twitches underneath his heated blanket, you might think it was 40 degrees outside on a cool, sunny March afternoon.

A very nice lady just finished her last treatment. All of the nurses stopped what they were doing and accompanied her to the end of the hall where she rang the bell three times to signify her successful completion of treatment and graduation from heated blankets, no longer needed. They all clapped, and her personal nurse gave her a hug.

Today, I am grateful for the reminder that this too, shall pass. That bell will ring for Sam one of these days and these trips to Hays will be just memories.

I am grateful for a pretty view of a hot May day…from the inside.

I am grateful for peaceful twitches.

And I am grateful for heated blankets…whenever they are needed, as long as they are needed.

I am grateful for the beauty of new green leaves attached to the trees, on stage with the morning sun as their spotlight.

I am grateful for the slight flow of air from a ceiling fan when May suddenly turns into early summer.

I am grateful for words of understanding and encouragement from a boss who is also one of my closest friends.

I am grateful for Myrtle the mama mourning dove who is patiently sitting on her eggs, a reminder to be fierce and loyal and steadfast in loving my own.

I am grateful for Sam, who loves our grandchildren so much and gets so excited when they visit and fill our home with noise and fingerprints and sticky and hugs and curls and giggles and crying and toys…and lots of love. He schemes and dreams and prepares all the little things that will make memories.

I am grateful for God’s natural light.

I am grateful for the pleasure of a warm shower and the feeling of clean.

I am grateful for a Mother’s Day message from the book of Ruth that stirred so much emotion, that reminded me of how blessed I was to have had a great mom who loved me in my ugly, a message that reminded me to keep loving even when I am not so loved back, and reminded me I can love others who have open arms and accept me, even if they are not “my own.”

I am grateful that when I run my fingers over a piece of furniture these days, I no longer leave a very clear path of evidence that dusting has not occurred.

I am grateful for weeds to pull – it is very therapeutic on days when I need inner aggression therapy.

And I am grateful for “Clair de Lune” that plays every time I tell Alexa to play relaxing piano – it makes me feel like Mom is near. It’s my musical cardinal.

The anxiety begins.

I don’t like this weekend – it happens to me every year.

Part of it is a sadness, a remembrance of the Dad gift of an orchid corsage in a little clear plastic container that greeted anyone who opened my mom’s fridge on an early Sunday morning every Mother’s Day, or the choosing of the biggest, gaudiest Mother’s Day card so she would know I remembered and loved her so so so so much…

Part of it is the deep, deep, self-centered hurt that comes with rejection and mostly silence and indifference after being a mom for 25+ years but no longer really acknowledged. I do not write about this particular pain – it is best buried. But every year, it bubbles to the surface on this weekend.

*****

Last weekend, my brother came to visit. He is a master tiler. I mean MASTER. His perfectionism shines with this skill. So, when he tackled our list that included correcting some bad grout work in two of our bathrooms, I knew we had the right man for the job. If anyone could fix it, Dwight could.

The only problem? We have different tile in each bathroom, along with different tile in the kitchen and laundry room, and tile in this rental and that rental and a former home – and that means, we have open bags of grout collected from the many different tile jobs that should have been done by Dwight but were done by others. And if you know ANYTHING about Sam, you know he’s happiest with multiple projects, and his challenge is finishing them.

Did we keep a notebook of details, a vision board of reference?

We all know that answer. Shoulda coulda woulda didn’ta.

So, Dwight had to correct our bad grout work with guess work. Grout dries a different color than when applied, so it took a few hours before he was absolutely certain that the work he had just completed did not match up with the original. And it wasn’t just one bathroom – both bathrooms ended up with the wrong color grout.

I stare at our bathroom floor. Where there once was air pocket cavities, there is now a smooth correctly-grouted bead, albeit alabaster white rather than pearl gray as it should be. Our original mistakes are covered up, but we will forever have evidence that if we had just done things the right way to begin with, there would have been no need for correction.

*****

My devotion this morning was taken from Matthew 6. “When our spirit is consumed with grudge holding, toxic emotions cripple us. Indignant judgment, poisonous anger, frustration, and bitterness aim to take up permanent residence within.” Yup. Been there, done that. “We descend into a tailspin of negative thoughts and emotions.”

In my life, God’s grace covers a multitude of sin and builds a continual bridge of correction, a reconciled bridge under construction between mother and daughter, just like that grout covered a multitude of mistakes and now is a bridge of new white grout mixed with old gray grout. The evidence of the past is still there, just like the hurt I feel, and undoubtedly my girls feel, still ever present.

“In prayer there is a connection between what God does and what you do. You can’t get forgiveness from God, for instance, without also forgiving others. If you refuse to do your part, you cut yourself off from God’s part.” – Matthew 6:14-15 The Message

Most important of all, continue to show deep love for each other, for love covers a multitude of sins. – 1 Peter 4:8 New Living Translation

Hatred stirs up quarrels, but love makes up for all offenses. – Proverbs 10:12 New Living Translation

*****

I am sometimes quick to point out to our guests some of our “oopsy-daisies” with our renovations in this old home, just SURE they see the imperfections. I fail to remind myself though, that they most likely don’t notice. It takes a magnifying glass and a lot of staring to see what is glaring at me.

I suppose it is the same in my life. God covered my multitude long, long ago, fixed the cavity of grout and chipped tiles I inherited and created, and I keep staring at it all, descending into a tailspin of negative thought and a hurt heart.

Even though there are a few who use that magnifying glass and still see the multitude, unable to get past it, there are so many more who see a much bigger picture of grace and a “home” now built on solid ground, filled with beauty, peace, and love.

*****

This weekend, God has provided a Mother’s Day diversion for my sensitive heart. My niece and nephew are graduating from college and graduate school, and I am privileged to go. It will be many hours of solitary driving, hours to focus on those in my life who bring me great joy.

I am grateful for diversion.

I am grateful to be included in their celebration.

I am grateful for the opportunity to be independent and travel alone, although not alone at all.

And I am grateful for lessons from mismatched grout.

to recognize the fact, to admit the existence of.

Just acknowledge.

We are so quick to complain, but many times, we are also quick to keep to ourselves that which causes an inner smile.

I have much these days for which to acknowledge. I grow weary of this daily question: How’s Sam? But…

• The fact that people ask just shows that they care.

• time with grandchildren on the Echo screen
• emails and voicemails from our congregational care pastors, because they do what they’re titled: care
• the smell and sound of rain and windshield wipers that work
• the silent sounds of meadowlarks and peace at sunset

• the crunch of nuts
• dandelions in the dumpster
• a newly tiled floor and two showers with Dwight-approved grout
• Myrtle the mourning dove living out her pregnancy in my hanging basket

• surprise May Day baskets from secret friends
• Costco
• fresh sheets, pillows I can wash, and Gain/Downy smell
• time on our porch to enjoy the view and relax

• 

• 

• 

• conversation over dinner with my Dad and my brother about the Fina station and Haven memories
• wisteria, iris, lilacs, purple pearls, rose of Sharon, and all flowers purple that are making our yard beautiful right now
• simple technology accomplishments and learning how to airplay church on the TV
• a fire in the fireplace in May
• old hymns that come to mind while I play the piano

• two friends who are faithful to send cards of encouragement almost every week – one friend from KC and one friend from OK
• and still…a Sam who holds my hand during prayer and is feeling better this chemo round.
• For all of this, I acknowledge that I am grateful.