Old Habits Die Hard

And so this marks my inauspicious return to the world of writing on my blog.

(holds for applause, hides dismay to find none)

The circumstances of my life are rather different from the last time I wrote. A lot has changed, within and without. For example, I now live in Grand Junction, CO and am employed. I am making salads with my college diploma part-time, and pretending not to be embarrassed by that full-time. Also keeping me busy: working with my dear youth group and other plans for the church. Oh, yes. I have plans.

But for now, something bigger: this past weekend I went home to Kentucky for the first time since I moved in late May. My big sister Callie got married and I wanted to see this, so I took a whirlwind trip to be a part of it.

It is beautiful to be a part of things. To witness and to affirm, to join in and share. If only you could have seen how many people were there, all experiencing the same thing and passing around the same joy. Even before the reception I enjoyed stringing Christmas lights and a few other decorations, excited for people to arrive and celebrate my sister and new brother-in-law.

Well, my first return to blogging has left me tired and frustrated at how hackneyed I sound. So until next time!

Unyielding as the Grave

Two years ago today, my grandfather was dying.

There at the house I sat on the love seat and stared at the hospital bed that had replaced Grandaddy's recliner. Grandaddy would fall asleep and wake back up, over and over to no particular rhythm, and I would try to do my homework for Advanced Intro to the New Testament. Mom and Mamaw talked on the couch, and we took turns getting things that he needed when he woke up. But there wasn't much for us to do. He hardly ate. I played my guitar for him and he fell asleep. When he was awake, he asked me to comb his hair for him.

There wasn't much for us to do.

One day Mamaw brought him a Valentine's Day dinner: a small steak and a baked potato from Tumbleweed, their favorite restaurant in town. He was pleased, ate all of it, and the family was encouraged. Our hopes had fallen with his weight, but this was different. My prayers changed in tone and I was grateful, even allowing myself a few guilty daydreams of a full recovery and a triumph over cancer.

But we knew.

Through it all I watched my grandmother take care of her husband and marveled at her strength. I didn't understand how she wasn't a complete emotional wreck, angry at God and lamenting the ruin that her once-vibrant love had become. She asked no questions about the existence of cancer, or how it could be visited on and take host in a man so beautiful. Rather she humbly, quietly, and lovingly served. Rather she stayed by his side and waited until he left.

I have never seen true "until death do us part" before, and I am only beginning to understand it. This was a love stronger than death. This was true love.

I can't believe it's been two years already