Her fragilities

I've been thinking about Faye's flaws, or perhaps rather her fragilities. Because they didn't hinder my love for her, they were part of what and who I embraced.

I started along this train of thought when her glasses--the glasses she was wearing when she died--caught my eye. She couldn't see at all without her glasses on.

Then I started thinking about some other things. For instance, Faye was a very poor speller. And numbers somehow always eluded her.

I look back at those little weaknesses, and yes they were little, with nothing but affection. She regularly asked me for help with her spelling or to correct some minor numbers error, for instance putting one zero too many or too few on a number. And yes, I'm smiling.

A lot of people may have thought Faye was just this confident, practical, blunt farm girl but she was more sensitive than may have been apparent on the surface. She had a great sensitivity to the thought she wasn't very smart. It was one of those self doubts that can trouble people.

Sometimes I may have hurt her by saying, or doing, something that made her think I felt she was stupid. She wasn't and I didn't feel that but it's one those little regrets.

And all of those things filled my heart with tenderness toward to wonderful woman God blessed me with.

Pressing on.

PSTC 044 Gracias - Marcos Witt

Gracias Señor

Tender, sad, sweet and healing moments come.

A sensitive worship leader led our church in singing the Spanish song Gracias, a song of gratitude to Jesus. It was deeply moving for me.

I think it was the second Sunday after Faye died I asked if she would lead the congregation in this song because the song is special to me. The reason it's special is another story.

I even have the words Gracias Señor (thank you, Lord) tattooed on my arm as a reminder, in my flesh, to be grateful every single day.

I forget sometimes but I usually managed to stay on track.

So I'm thankful for 24 years with a beautiful. I'm thankful to God for His grace and kindness to me.

And thank you, Karen.

I tried to embed it into this post but it's not working for me, so I will post it above.

Time to tidy up

I'm about to start to re-read this book--the life-changing magic of tidying up by Marie Kondo.

I struggle with letting clutter accumulate in my house specifically and in my life generally. I'm a messy. Yep, I admit it, I'm a messy. I would probably benefit from joining some type of messies anonymous group.

My one word for 2019 is simplify. I feel clear direction to make my life simpler. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what that looks like in every way, but I do believe it will involve eliminating clutter and tidying up. And that will make my life freer and happier. I'm aware of that, although it will be a struggle.

And that brings a memory to my mind. (By the way that is not my office to the right. My office is not quite this bad.)

The last task that Faye and I performed together was to follow the principles of this book to tidy up our clothing. We did that on Christmas day of 2017.

It was actually enjoyable and our closets and dressers looked so much better after we finished.

Nothing made Faye happier than when we worked alongside each other in specific tasks--tidying up our clothing, yard work, or even working together on some type of craft). She was truly happy when we did that kind of thing. It probably spoke her love language, which certainly involved service.

So diving into decluttering will bring up memories but I press on.

Chaos and disorder

Chaos, emotional chaos, never seems to be far away for me these days. The journey is grief is not a linear one--it is a tangled mess, with one emotion this day, and another the next.

After a lengthy break for happiness the monster has grabbed me by the ankle again. The truth is, I really am better equipped to handle the monster than I was even a few months ago. But he is still a monster. And he still wants to drag me under all the time.

It's a fight for me again. I know I will get back on top. I know God is with me. I know I will conquer this mountain of mine. But the fight is on again.

Yesterday would have been Faye's 74th birthday. And how I wish she was here for it.

It was one of those triggering days that occur as part of the journey I--and all my grieving friends--are on. I love my grieving friends. Even those I've never met and maybe never will are family. We have a bond.

Happy birthday, my Queen. I miss you, but I press on.

Beth Hart - Take It Easy On Me

Her sheepdog

I often used to refer to myself as Faye's sheepdog. That was not a reference to my appearance.

It was my shorthand for being her guardian, that doesn't capture it, but it will have to do until I come up with a better way of putting.

The thing is Faye was an innocent--that is not, in the slightest, a reflection on her intelligence. Faye was a pure heart. She really, truly, was.

She did not a grain of deceit in her character or a cynical or untrusting bone. Everybody who knew, and loved Faye teased her because of those qualities.

I was her sheep dog. I took responsibility for protecting her when someone may have been trying to take advantage of her trusting nature. I also helped her sort her priorities when she got overwhelmed with stress and busy-ness. And I would remind her of how beautiful she was.

All of this was a delight.

I was her sheepdog until the time when I couldn't protect her.