Mundane Matters

The Week Before—

   

So much to do.

So many little details to remember.

So many last minute, couldn't be done sooner, errands.

So many things that can go wrong.

You know the feeling.

That last week before: your scheduled c-section; wedding; graduation and party; leaving home; saying goodbye to that son or daughter who's being deployed; the conference for which you are chairman; etc., etc. etc.

Always nagging questions and what ifs.

Especially the what ifs.  

EXCEPT FOR THIS WEEK

This isn't the blog I intended to write. It's not even the subject I promised someone I would address. 

Because yesterday began the countdown to Easter. 

That day we celebrate as Christ's resurrection.

That day life triumphed death.

That day when all that was promised was delivered.

Was anything forgotten?

Ah, yes. Forgotten and forgiven. 

My sins.

And

          Oh!

                  How!

                             That!

                                        Matters!  

Mundane Matters

CHANGE

I don't do it well

But it's inevitable

So I must greet it as one greets a new acquaintance

And perhaps it will become a friend.

Another grand leaves the nest

Change

I don't do it well

Yet

It matters!

Tuesday's Tale

Springtime In The Hills

FIRST THE SMOKE

THEN THE FIRE

There's a beauty to this yearly ritual. If you've never driven through the pasture lands of Kansas, in the springtime—at night—then you've possibly missed this rite of passage. 

Pasture burning season, they call it. 

A time to get rid of the old, dried, foliage that has provided its own kind of beauty during the long winter months, to allow the nutrition-rich grasses to emerge. The only thing more beautiful than the long lines of fire glowing in the night, is the sight of emerald green, grass covered hills in the early morning sun. 

While I would never suggest you follow a fire truck, I will gladly challenge you to follow the smoke you witness rising from the horizon. Take a camera. Throw away all other impressions you might have of 'old, flat Kansas', and experience...well, you'll have to see it to put your own title on this story of springtime in the hills. 

Mundane Matters

You Can't Put A Price Tag On…

220 miles round trip

X four days

16 basketball games

Hearing granddaughter's name announced

Watching granddaughter's team 

REPEAT STATE WIN!!

Believe Me!!

IT MATTERED

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesday's Tale

Too Soon Old

At Vince's funeral last week there was a special place designated for the retirees and their spouses to sit. Wives smiled at one another. The guys shook hands, clapped shoulders, and began to question (in whispers, of course)…"What are you up to now? What do you do to stay busy? You still live in…" 

And most would agree they no longer knew most of the now active, much younger firefighters from the department who filled the rows ahead of us. 

Even during the dinner afterwards, the retirees stretched along both sides of a long table. Wives played the 'remember when' game, while the men shook hands again, laughed at the same old stories, and grieved the loss of one so young. All wondering who among them would be missing the next time they had the opportunity to be together. 

To witness the changing of the honor guard, to hear the bagpipes, and to listen to the 'last alarm', tears the hearts of these men to pieces, with both extreme pride and deep, deep sorrow. 

Those rows of retirees represented a time when their jobs meant much more than a paycheck. It was even more than a career choice. 

Those wrinkled faces, and slower footsteps represented a commitment to one another, a pride for and loyalty to their jobs, and a way of life…
                              that is still evident in their lives today.











  

Mundane Matters

Where Did She Go?  What Did We Do?

She was an organized, get-er-done,whip-you-into-shape kind of gal. She was the one who insisted our Lori not leave to go shopping without some kind of identification. And she was one who came to stay with us—to help in any way she could—after our Lori was home from the hospital after her wreck. 

Thus began many years of relationship with her. I'll not give her name. There's no need. Those who know us will know, and for those who don't it really doesn't matter. 

This special person became a part of our family. She came for holidays. She called us mom and dad. Our sons looked to her as an older sister. She was with our Lori when she died so far from home. And to our Tammy she became the sister she lost. 

At one point, she lamented "Why can't you just adopt me?"

So we did. Figuratively. We even had a special plaque made confirming the relationship. As far as we were concerned, she was a Hiebert. She's even in the family pictures for both our boys' weddings.

Then after our Tammy died, this very special person left, too. And I don't suppose we'll ever know why. She just stopped coming 'home'. She didn't acknowledge the birth of our sons' children, and it finally reached the point we could no longer find her by phone. 

The last time we saw her was after 9/11. She called. She said she was married. They were on their way to NYC because he had a daughter they believed had been in the towers.

They came. They stayed. They even were recipients of an offering from our church to help them on their journey. And when they left, it was with a promise to keep in touch. Never to leave us again. 

So many things I wish I could tell her. Every time I think of what our daughters have missed, because of their deaths — nieces and nephews in all their growing stages, brothers advancing in their careers, etc., sisters-in-laws—I'm angry.  Angry that she CHOSE to leave us. Angry that for a few years she made us believe she wanted to be a part of us. Angry that we were so taken in.

And at the same time, I miss her. 

A mother's heart has nothing to do with actual birthing. 

And I'm certainly not the first mom to have a prodigal, am I? 

Other parents are asking the same questions: Where are they? What did we do? Why?

Many words describe FAMILY.  

Mundane isn't one of them.

If only she knew how much it matters. 

Words Are Not Enough

Vince Garcia

Rosary, March 3, 7:00 pm. St. Mary's Catholic Church

Newton, Kansas

Mundane Matters

WORDS~~~

BUILD UP/TEAR DOWN

HEAL/HURT

BRING JOY/BRING DESPAIR

I COULD GO ON AND ON AND ON. 


A MAN (WOMAN'S) WORD DEFINES HIS (HER) CHARACTER


WORDS MATTER