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One of my favorite memories during the shutdown last spring was this plant, the Christmas cactus. Directions for taking care of this plant usually involve placing a large dark bag over it and moving it to a dark place like a closet. We have never done this and just set it with our other indoor plants. The purpose behind the “closet” approach is that it will allow the plant to bloom. During the shutdown, the pink flowers opened. It bloomed at Christmas and now it is resplendent with pink again.

The pink blooms cause me to pause and pray. Thank you, God, for the flowers in life. When the days seem dark, blooms come along and remind me of the joys. A list of blooms this past week include the following: a friend who hugs when the moments are hard, a note of encouragement when the task seems unsurmountable, and the husband who serves faithfully when no energy is left. More could be listed. The blooms of this plant speak and remind. God is faithful.

I often joke about writing a book, but it is on my bucket list. Last year, I packed it in my teacher bag and read it at a variety of schools. I loved hearing the students’ comments.

“You need to add more animals”. “It needs more mystery”. Their comments caused me to change several parts.

As the year continues, however, it seems like every day is another chapter title. This past week, as it was the last week of January, thoughts of summer flooded my head. “Summer Island” seems like the perfect getaway, wherever it is located. As I continue to battle the COVID-19 waves of hate from others over mask wearing and the hope that my father will make it until the end, the final destination of Summer Island beckons and provides hope.

Today, the nurse’s communication regarding my father seemed like another setback. “He was sick last night and is not communicating.”He doesn’t want to eat”. Memories of my mother came back like a wave in the ocean. He also moved to another room due to a neighbor with COVID-19. Many things changed when my mother moved from Freedom Village to Waterford. I guess this chapter title could be “memories” or something else more catchy like flashbacks.

As the journey continues, more chapter titles will emerge. But what will they be?

The text came in the middle of the day. ” Here is a little note from your dad who feels he is locked in prison. No more visitors allowed. My hearing aids are not working, the one for my left ear is as quiet as a mouse and the one for my right ear is lost in this great cathedral. Who know where it may be? For entertainment I have a TV but the sound I cannot hear because my ears are not the way they should be. So believe me, I have a ball laying in bed and sleeping the day away. Dad.”

Sigh. What does one do with a text like that?

I often text I love you, but it doesn’t seem to work.

What is one to do? He has to be there. What about the vaccine? Will this help?

Everyone is frustrated with the pandemic. I hear it all the time. I see it in people’s eyes. Unfortunately, the frustration comes out in what I call ” word vomit”. The anger spews out like hot lava. For my father, it comes out in the written word.

The only answer is love. Keep loving the people who are frustrated. Keep loving the people who are angry. It’s the only way.

Thinking about spring flowers is a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. Scrolling through pictures of last spring reminds me of the many daffodils that bloom around Wexford Woods. It also reminds me of Aunt Mary, my aunt who passed away last year and adored daffodils.

The daffodil comes back every year. No extra watering is required. They come back, again and again.

The hope of spring reminds me that better days are coming. My father seemed quite alert on our FaceTime call last night. He even remembered the date of his birthday! I hope we can celebrate it in a grand way. I hope we can have the picnic he always speaks about so fondly.

It’s coming…

“He seems to be giving up,” Nurse Tiffany commented. The words pierced like a sword. My mind traveled back to when my mother did the same thing after her surgery. Waves of sadness seemed to surround me as I listened to the rest of her comments. ” He barely eats anything and it’s a struggle to wake him up,” she explained.

The January vaccination date seems so far away, but will it help? Will he be able to recover from these long days away from people?

“The Christmas card of your family a few years ago was so nice. No Christmas cards anymore?’ I texted my brother.

“No, Hope stopped. We hardly get any cards anymore.”

The tradition of sending and receiving Christmas cards was a highly anticipated event in my family. I remember my mother sitting at the table writing a list and then carefully corresponding with each one. She proudly displayed the cards on either a string wrapped on the staircase banister or placed them in a basket. Throwing them away was never an option and she tended to display them year after year.

Despite some people stopping the tradition of Christmas cards, I resist. Although I don’t send them to everyone, I do try to keep this tradition going.

It makes me think about other letter writing. Chloe introduced me to the Letter Project, https://www.toloveourselves.com/ where girls and women ages 13 and older make it a point to send letters to those who need encouragement. What an amazing project! Inspiring!

What would our society look like if everyone made it a point to send letters to others this year? The thought merits discussion and action as we enter a new year, 2021.

It’s a brand new year! Let’s cheer! 2020 is done!

As I walk among the woods and usually take this path, Tower Trail, I often reflect upon the last year. It was definitely a year of change for all.

As I look ahead, I think about Corey’s end to high school which has been quite unusual. Who starts a new high school as a junior, then changes to distance learning, then heads back as a senior and ends the year distance learning again? I hope his January return will be more normal and fun.

As I look ahead, I get excited for the day when my father will receive the vaccine. I am hoping it will be very soon and am thinking of the possibilities. Where will we take him? What will he want to do?

This will be my new challenge for him: create a list of things you want to do once he receives the vaccine. I can’t wait!

The picture says it all- Home. This year marks one of our first times being in our actual home at Christmas. Michigan is usually our destination, but this year is different. However, in all things give thanks. Thanks for a warm home, thanks for our family, and thanks for the gift of Jesus.

Walking in the woods on a brisk cold winter day is another reason for giving thanks. The creek, partially frozen, provides beauty. Thank you, God, for another day to live and breathe.

And then, my father– This, picture, taken last year, reminds me of what I will keep hoping for this year. I am hoping and praying for the day when he can freely enter and exit Waterford. We can take him out to Bob Evans, Burger King, or wherever he wants to go! The day is coming! We will rejoice!

God provided in a variety of ways after my mom passed away. At most retirement facilities I visited, it seemed like females outnumbered males, so a male friend was a luxury. Ellsworth was definitely that friend. Often, I would enter Royal Park and see Ellsworth in my dad’s room, engaged in lengthy conversation centering around farm-related activities. I often stopped to thank God for Ellsworth as I believe that he was an answer to my father’s recovery after Mom’s passing.

I learned today, from his son’s phone call, that Ellsworth passed away.

Memories of last year flooded my thoughts. I remember rushing to the local hospital after learning that Ellsworth was admitted and seeing him on the bed. Entering the hospital room, I saw him and immediately rushed out of the room, filled with emotion. His son, Dave, had to comfort me! What a strange thing!

And now Ellsworth is home with his Lord and Savior. Thank you, Ellsworth, for being the beacon of light to my father during his darkest moments. You truly offered hope to all of us during a time of mourning. Your friendship to my father will always be one of God’s best gifts.

https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/hollandsentinel/obituary.aspx?pid=197238665

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When people learn that we visited London, they don’t usually ask about Handel’s home. Tucked away is this small home which was also home to Jimi Hendrix. The contrast is hard to miss.

One of the best gifts my mother provided me was the gift of music. She always played parts of the Messiah at Christmas. She encouraged me to participate in the Easter and Christmas Hallelujah chorus at First Cutlerville. We frequently viewed parts of it after opening presents on Christmas Eve. I can hear her comments on the various soloists and the incredible voices of the choir. We also discussed composers like Handel, Bach, and Beethoven.

She would be so proud to know that Chloe sang in a Messiah choir in Dublin last year. I wish she was still alive to know this fact.

I wonder what she would say on how the Messiah is being played this year. Due to the pandemic, musicians have gathered separately but joined to create a beautiful composition. It is amazing and makes me ponder on what kind of music is taking place in heaven. All glory to Him. https://youtu.be/grO7dpnuezc