Not For Two Minutes

Random and scattered and mostly prepping food.

Messy and wet and laundry on the line.

Giggles and pouts and thumbs up on the deck.

With snacks.

Always snacks.

And oh it’s a beautiful day

to catch some frogs.

It is.

Without two minutes to put two thoughts together.

Until Grandad

finds a way to let the little boys help him

hammer something.

And before,

when they were all eating breakfast,

and I stole away on flat water for a while.

A different way to be here.

Not serene but deeply good.

A deep knowing of generational goodness, this is.

A way to be together,

now.

Memories and legacies don’t happen

while you’re sitting down

apparently.

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Half a Century on the Rocks

This feels bigger than one go at it, but for today I will simply mark this as being my 50th year on the Freddy Channel.

Yup, that's me. With Rusty, my very cool boyfriend's very cool dog.
It's 1973.
I'm 16.

Story goes that I arrived that summer to spend a week with my new [read: Only ever] boyfriend's family at their cottage. I took one look at the water, the trees, the rocks...the breath-snatching, astounding, sacred beauty of this place....and said to myself, "I gotta marry me this guy."

So I did.

[There's a joke in our family now, that before you get too serious with an prospective partner, you have to bring them here. If they like it, you can pursue the relationship further. If they don't -- ]

It is indeed much bigger than one post. I have filled volumes of journals, and blog posts, and Facebook posts, and sermon illustrations, and worked it into academic papers writing about all this place has meant to me. All the healing and learning and resting and living and being that has happened for me and to me and with me on these rocks.

I have swum here, waterskied here, honeymoooned here, kayaked here, learned to drive "the big boat" here, eaten way too many blueberry pies here, avoided bears and rattlesnakes here, recovered from a burnout here, recovered from numerous life's harsh realities here, worshipped here, preached here, fed chipmunks here, raised children here, spoiled grandchildren here, luxuriated in countless sunsets (each one unique) here, loved here, grieved here, figured out big decisions here, written countless words here, laughed myself silly here, played countless games of Scrabble here, celebrated 45 years of married life here, and made memories with the next generation to this receive incredible gift right here.

I can't even.

Not for one moment do I take this for granted. It is no exaggeration to say that, among all the life-shaping facts of my life, I am who I am in no small part because I have been given the deeply good gift of this place.

Gratitude has to go somewhere.
Abby, Zachary, Harvest, Jayden, Timothy...and Evelyn.
May this place shape you for as long as possible.
May the pictures we take this summer one day be posted somewhere to remember and mark.
May God be your true Rock, always.

Loss and the Living of Life

[I tread carefully with these words lest I step on the fresh grief of those more affected.  Husbands and Moms and Dads, Nanas and Grans and Grandads and Grampas are so hard to say goodbye to. 

Every one.

So, dear grieving friends, I will speak my words gently into that space with you.]

Over the past eight weeks I have said goodbye to five enduring friends.

All of them lived long and passionate lives, full of imperfect but prevailing love, and faith most admirable.

I will speak their names here with great affection.

Joan Duff, such a spunky lady, always giving all praise and credit to our good God, speaking her mind and being 'everyone's Nana'.  May 30.

John Bersche, childhood pastor, officiated at our wedding, HUGELY shaped my spiritual life and provided an indelible example of what it means to shepherd.  Encouraged and inspired me right up to the end.  June 14.

David Ogilvie, steady, godly, full of integrity, intelligence and generosity, living a life consistent and faithful all the way through.  Helped support my very first trip to Thailand.  July 15.

Nena Ogilvie, David's wife of 68 years, known to countless children-now-grown simply as Mrs. O.  Tireless, earnest, faithful, and a mentor-friend to me in those early, uncertain first years as a new bride in a new town.  She joined her husband just days after his departure.  July 28.

Harvey Fretz, our first pastor as a newly married couple, and taught me everything I know about people-first leading.  Story after story on this.  Ask me sometime.  July 29.

And I don't know what to do with all of this.  Not all at once like this.

Except to let these losses and the pain of their absence accentuate what these souls brought and taught while they still had bodies here on earth.  And to be unspeakably grateful for lessons, inspirations, sermons spoken and lived, and the life-giving encouragement they each provided in their unique ways at just the right times.  

Joan, John, David, Nena, Harvey, thank you.  I love you.  I miss you.  Goodbye.

One day there will be dancing.

Right now there is just....a lot.