Just a daydream

I had a day dream today. It's good it was a day dream because I was driving.

I saw myself entering Heaven where I was greeted by Faye. Off in the distance I saw a whiteish whirlwind running in our direction, barking and jumping.

Paisley's been waiting so long for you to come home, Faye told me.

Like I said--just a day dream. It's not theology or doctrine. It was just a day dream. But a sweet one that made me smile.

Just imagine my dog, who has never met Faye, being allowed into heaven and meeting her and recognizing her and adopting Faye as her heavenly human. And imagine Faye dropping her reservations about dogs and loving Paisley.

It was just a day dream. I'm not putting any weight on this at all. But it made me smile. And it makes me smile now.

Still longing

It has been more than a year and a half since the worst day of my life, when Faye left so suddenly without saying goodbye.

My heart is slowly, unsteadily, healing. But changes come in fits and starts.

Somedays I feel like I've finally conquered that mountain. My vision is clear. My ambition is returning and energy is coming back.

And then the fog settles in again. But God is with me. And I am recovering. I will embrace life again.

But I miss her smile every day.

Yet I press on.

My best decision

I often think of Faye when I playing with Paisley (that's not her to the left, but it looks quite a bit like her. Paisley has more white fur, her ears have a different fold and her nose is black.)

In fact, I sometimes call Paisley Faye as in "stop that Faye."

But most often I find myself wondering if Faye would like Paisley.

I think she would complain, a lot, about Paisley mostly about the mess. Paisley is a professional shedder and she loves ripping stuff apart. Not furniture but thinks like plastic bags. She doesn't eat but she rips them apart.

But for all that, the things about Paisley that make me smile would make Faye smile as well. I know Faye would smile when Paisley demands a tummy rub from me. She would like stroking the velvety fur on top of Paisley's head. She would like it when Paisley would lie at her feet.

And I know she would like going for walks together.

The best decision I've made since losing Faye is getting Paisley.

A fond memory

Faye loved hospitality.

When we lived in Manitoba, just a short walk from the church, Faye would sometimes invite everybody who was available to come for Sunday dinner.

Since moving to Alberta she had to work a little harder but she did.

She would call people until she found somebody who was available. And she didn't see any of it as work.

It was a pleasure to her and it was an outpouring of her gifts. One being that she was a genuinely friendly extrovert. She wasn't afraid of the telephone and a few no thank yous along the way did not deter him.

Fond memories. And I press on.

Feeling tendernesss

Faye was embarrassed by her arthritic hands. She generally tried to hide them in photographs.

They didn't bother me. I loved her. And I loved her hands.

They symbolized, for me, her work ethic. She worked hard all her life. Hard work wasn't just something she had to do at times, it was part of who she was. She worked and she had the heart of a servant.

Nobody who ever had us over for a meal needed to ask Faye to help, she started helping from the moment we walked in the door.

And somehow those arthritic hands was a visible sign of her love of service and work. They were hardworking hands.

How I miss being able to tell she was beautiful to me in every way.

I've been blogging less of late--partly because I'm consciously trying to get busier and use my time differently. But the foundations of my new life are getting more stable--so my mindset is changing.

And I press on.

Fond memory

This quote could be referring to my Faye.

There are many things I remember about her. Lately I've been thinking about her work ethic.

Faye had an absolutely incredible work ethic--which sometimes drifted into workaholism. This quote is describing her. She never, ever turned up her nose at work.

If there was work to be done, Faye rolled up her sleeves and got right to it--immediately. I say immediately because I honestly can't think of anyone with less tendency toward procrastination than my Faye. She did not put things off--even things she would rather not do.

And in her work she was a servant. She absolutely loved doing things for other people.

In all of that she left an amazing legacy on me, on family and everyone who knew her.

I say that as somebody who doesn't have the same work ethic. I don't.

But as I continue to feel better I am seeking to honour her with my work ethic.

Pressing on.

Getting stronger

Something has changed. Something has definitely changed.

It's not necessarily that I'm totally happy now. But I am generally happy. And it seems the sadness I feel from time-to-time is more along the lines of the sadness everybody feels from time-to-time.

Emotional ups and downs are part of life. I recognize that and the occasional bout of sadness I feel is more along the lines of that kind of sadness than deep grief.

I still think about Faye a lot every day but truly those memories have become sweet memories of a beautiful who touched my life in many, many ways.

I sense new emotional stability or strength. I also sense a restoration of ambition and a slowly developing work other and genuine desire to start living a fruitful and productive life again. I sense hope for the future. I'm almost tempted to say I've climbed that mother of all mountains. I admit, I'll have to see about that. But I have hope.

What's happening. Creeping along, inch-by-inch, has actually moved me forward. The movement was imperceptible but I was moving forward. The ongoing love and support of friends, family and church have helped.

A change in diet has helped, very quickly, to restore mental clarity and focus.

Three hours of ministry with Restoring the Foundations have seen things click into place. And I am very grateful.

Hard times almost assuredly come. But I know I'm stronger. That subterranean monster may still be there but it's smaller.

And I press on.