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.
Continuing in the reconstruction of significant events postponed from 2020, we fulfilled a decades old bucket-list dream in early September by attending the Passion Play in Oberammergau, Germany. Planned for fulfillment in Sept. of 2020, we were deeply disappointed when it was canceled and it’s rescheduled 2022 dates seemed very far away.
But it was so worth the wait.
2022 is sort of “2020 + 2”…
It seems that a lot is happening this year that was “supposed” to happen in 2020, but which hit the “editing” floor due to Covid.
That is true for a number of events for us which have happened this past month…starting with a “girls’ trip” to Ireland. Planned and executed by my dear friend Stephanie, our March 13-21, 2020 scheduled tour of the Emerald Isle was the first major trip to fall to the lockdown axe, and though the disappointment was real, the delight of the trip happening this Aug 6-14 was even more real.
It’s good to be home after just under 4 weeks “on the road, in the sky, from sea to shining sea.” Blessed beyond with so many beautiful places and beautiful people, my words and photos will only begin to convey how soul-refreshing these four weeks have been.
This journey began on July 20, when we flew to California a few days early for our week of speaking at Forest Home’s Family Camp. While enjoying the delightful hospitality of our dear friend Wendy Turney, we were able to spend time with some treasured mentors and friends.
Happy 4th of July week!! As we celebrate the birthday of our country, we are especially thankful for the freedoms we have but so often take for granted. Even with her noticeable flaws (since after all, all countries are inhabited by sinful people!), America continues to grant us rights that many don’t have. Let’s celebrate the good and be part of the solution for the bad.
Welcome July with a bang!!
Hello, June!
Today we are flying to Mexico to speak for two YWAM bases for the next week, one in Tijuana and the other in Ensenada. After spending two weeks at Rancho Abierto, the YWAM base in “Nowhere, Mexico” followed by five days in California, we returned home for (almost) two very full weeks and are thrilled to be returning to Mexico for another week of teaching and counseling. Hence the two sides of the Mexican sandwich.
Hola!!
Buenas días desde México!! I write today, on Mother’s Day, from a little plumbing-less cabin in Rancho Abierto, the YWAM Family DTS base in “Nowhere, Mexico.” Obviously, we are somewhere—somewhere where God is doing a great work—but this little base has no town name attached to it, hence, “Nowhere.” This is our second year in a row speaking here and since we’re here for two weeks this time, I’m finding “down time” on this Sabbath to log an update on our crazy good life, privileged to proclaim the hope of the gospel as seen in marriage and family.
The past 7 weeks in numbers:
47 days on the road
35 degrees - lowest temp
85 degrees - highest temp
345 miles walked/hiked
18,000 air miles flown
25 talks given
50 hours of counseling
We’ve just returned from almost seven weeks on the road (or in the air) and were welcomed home by a large stack of (mostly) recyclable mail, temps that were 55 degrees lower than the average of the past weeks, and leafless trees and brown earth.
It was very apparent we weren’t in Hawaii anymore.
In an incredible stroke of good fortune, we were home for The Blizzard of 2022.
Obviously not everyone shares our view of seeing this as a good thing, but for these Californian bred kids, snow is still a joy-bringer. #truth
So we took advantage of it between counseling appointments and preparations for the HIM Marriage Conference, which followed the blizzard weekend. Snow tubing while school was in session gave us access to a “no-lines” hill and we maximized the potential. It never gets old . . . at least, not yet. I also squeezed in a couple of cross country skiing adventures, made easily possible by our proximity to conservation land which abuts our property. No driving necessary. Blessed by perfect conditions, the stillness and serenity of skiing through silent fields of white was soul-refreshing.
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 wasn’t beginning to look like Christmas back when this photo was snapped on October 28! In fact, at that point, it seemed like Christmas was a VERY long way off.
And here we are. Christmas was here. And now it’s in our rear view mirror.
We’re continually being confronted with the reality that the older we get, the faster time goes.
In the past two months, we have made six trips to California, two to Maryland, one to Virginia, one to Pennsylvania, one to Tennessee, and one to Georgia. Of the 23 days we slept in our own bed (out of the past 62 days), we have had seven sets of houseguests, many full days of counseling, spoken at four weekend conferences, celebrated two God-honoring weddings, walked about 400 miles, gone apple picking and leaf peeping, bought and processed our annual supply of fresh raspberries for jam making, and been with all of our children and grandchildren at various points along the way.
Peace seems quite elusive as days turn into weeks, months, and almost two years of our pandemic ridden world. Contradictory beliefs, reports, statistics, advice, protocols, and professional voices undermine our confidence, elevate our fears, and divide our communities. “Unprecedented” is overused, leaving all of us wondering if we’ll ever resume our “precedented” life being unmasked, without having hand sanitizer as "standard operating elixir", and standing physically close to one another.
You can feel it in the air. It’s palpable when you’re in the mix of people, outdoors, interacting. At the beach. In parks. At celebrations.
Our God-designed, image-bearing, relational selves are reawakening after a long draught of imposed isolation and it is enlivening. Literally. Statistically, this past year-and-a-half has taken a toll on us far beyond the scope of the virus itself. In fact, the collateral damage seemingly far outpaces the Covid damage, when mental health, relational breakdowns, abuses of all kinds (from spousal and child abuse to substances and addictions), financial ruin, academic setbacks, emerging addictions related to technology, etc., are tallied.
Prayerfully, the worst is behind us and we can begin rebuilding with hopefully more wisdom and awareness of what really counts.
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.
Following swiftly on the heels of the one-year anniversary of my mama’s death, we held our second virtual Engagement Matters.
Because engagement matters.
As much as we resisted this the idea of doing an online version of this seminal weekend, the silver lining became evident quickly: it was attended by people in Egypt, the UK, Norway, Iceland, NY, PA, OH, NC, CA, and MA. We’re pretty sure all of them wouldn’t have been able to attend in person. 😀
Today it’s been a year since my mama took her last breath on earth.
Though it was truly a mercy when her increasingly labored breathing came to an end, the eerie stillness which followed 3:49 am in the darkness of April 14 was surreal. Even more surreal was seeing how quickly her now non-beating heart and breathless lungs sucked the warmth of life from her earthly residence.
It was what we wanted, but simultaneously didn’t want. At 90 years and 3 months of age, she had just 18 days earlier survived a pulmonary embolism, which should have stopped her beating heart on March 28.
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.
The new year got off to a relatively slow start as we remained “grounded” due to Covid. So from our home base, we continued to do a lot of counseling via Zoom as a couple, while Virginia met with a number of her clients “on the bike trail” for a “walk with a dual purpose.” The therapy was mutually beneficial as the fresh air and sunshine renewed both body and soul. We met up with a few friends in “safe” settings and continued to sort and purge various parts of our home. And we blessed as many people as we could with home made meals, breads, cookies, and jam, using recipes from or newest publication, The Family Table Cookbook.
“Gratitude is the heart’s memory.” (French proverb)
A plaque bearing this message was part of my birthday gift from my dear sister Laura, and it sits prominently on our buffet amidst fall decor, reminding me that during this year of unexpected crisis and hardship, gratitude is a posture of the heart. “Heart’s memory.”
I love that.
