We were home the WHOLE month of December and it was good.
We continued walking five miles a day, praying for snow, and preparing for our family Christmas reunion: the first one in New England since 2015 and the first all being together for Christmas since 2019.
We had very high expectations.
Ministry events in December included Engagement Matters, the Patriots women’s study, and LOTS of counseling, but that left plenty of time for decorating the house inside and out, getting together with friends, wrapping and sending packages, sewing Christmas jammies, making gingerbread houses, and preparing for our long-awaited reunion which was to commence the 22nd of December.
Since my last post on Dec. 27, we’ve only been home eight days.
Maybe that contributes to me forgetting that when I last wrote, my reflections ended with Engagement Matters (EM), which was held Dec. 4–5, and not after Christmas, which the blog post date would indicate.
Whatever the reasons, before I write about our most recent last three weeks—which literally took us to the four corners of our great nation—we must finish December. Strangely, that seems SO long ago already. But what fun to sift back through my December photo library and have many sweet memories surface.
It happened.
The “decades birthday-family reunion” celebration, postponed for a full year, is now in the books, but even more deeply, in our hearts.
It was uncertain until an hour before the six flying from Oakland were to depart due to two lost Covid tests, but mercifully, new tests were done at 6 am, the results of which were registered less than 60 minutes prior to boarding.
The trip was on.
It was a sweltering summer day in Louisiana. My 8-year-old self stood in the kitchen of my paternal grandparents’ home in Shreveport, watching with fascination as Grandma Collins stirred the hot pot of boiling figs, on their way to becoming preserves. With sweat running down her brow, just beneath the thin brown elastic that kept her hair net in place over her thinning curly hair, she turned to me and said, “You know, Virginia, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” With that piece of wisdom pronounced, she simultaneously clicked her cheek and winked her eye at her wide-eyed granddaughter, leaving an unforgettable impression.
My plans to write “Part 2” have been derailed by the maelstrom of craziness driven by the Coronavirus Pandemic. I’m taking a break from all Coronavirus talk to take us back a month ago, when "Life as We Always Knew It” was all we really knew. What a difference a month has made!!
After speaking in Maine for the Valentine’s event, we flew to California for the annual ProAthletes Outreach “Increase” conference, which we fronted by spending two days with my dear mama. As per usual, I “made" her go on a field trip each day because getting out is good for everyone. Off to Coronado we went for Paul to get his every 4–6 week haircut by his favorite barber, and while he was getting shorn, my mom and I rolled through town. This photo was taken by accidental tourists, who just happened to be from Lexington, MA!! Small world moment. The time with my mom is never enough but we’re always so grateful for any time we have with her.
As the waning days of summer quietly slip away, we take a moment to reflect on the past six weeks which are fairly accurately captured in the above words penned by Paul Pitchford.
Full of slower paced delights, our days have ranged from the ordinary to the extraordinary. Absent the rush of demanding schedules, we have rested, relaxed, recreated, and ruminated on the Goodness of God.
