 Note: This blog post was written in mid-February 2024 the evening of my Aunt Marilyn’s home-going.
This one’s going to have to be short. (Ha ha ha—I can hear my kids laughing now.) But truly, I do need to pack soon—I am taking a road trip the day after tomorrow to honor the memory of a beloved aunt who is somewhat of a legend to me. Her eight children, my Eastep cousins, are living legends. Eight children! That many cousins running around the North Branch Farm always filled me with wonder and thrills. I remember older cousins swinging from the rafters in their log-cabin-style family room, and when I was lucky, they’d swing me too. And I still remember the smell of monster cookies wafting from the open, adjoining kitchen. I was reminiscing with my children on the way home from their basketball games tonight about the Eastep’s: their garage where I kept a pet snake and their room outdoors devoted to nothing but ping-pong! The epic treehouse that perhaps neither my Aunt Marilyn nor my Uncle Jack knew existed, but all of us cousins survived the wonder of amateur engineering—even the sway as one single board teetered in the treetops, with no railing to cling to as I looked down…down…down! Those older cousins seemed so daring and awe-inspiring, yet they included us pipsqueak younger cousins. Didn’t we ever seem “in the way?” If so, they hid it well, kindly leading us on horse rides and pushing us “just one more time” on that trapeze-high rope swing in the hayloft. I smile softly as I think of my introverted aunt surrounded by such loving mayhem (with countless litters of kittens to boot). Did any of those children (or pets) ever seem in the way to her? She had a no-nonsense yet welcoming spirit. A dry sense of humor, too. I think Aunt Marilyn might forgive the slight bit of sacrilege in my next statement…claiming that “being in the way is my spiritual gift." (Chuckle, chuckle.) More precisely being in Phillip’s way is my spiritual gift. And that is exactly what I intended this “super short” blog post to be about in the first place. How often I find myself literally in the way--blocking the path of my patient 16-year-old Phillip. I am in the way as the last person eating breakfast surrounded by kimchi and condiments for my egg sandwich. He patiently wipes “around me” since cleaning the table is one of his kitchen chores. Or how many times after cluttering the counter, have I hollered in hysteria, “What? Who put away all my ingredients?!” And with a calm but somewhat blushing face, Phillip, the culprit confessed “I was just clearing the counter.” Just business as usual, and again I was in the way! I sit sipping my coffee, buttering my toast as he shuffles items into the fridge or finds the perfect sized container to fit the left-over-crock-pot contents (maybe it’s taco rice, Sloppy Joe’s, or some other grass-fed beef specialty). And there he is. Phillip Franklin. With his dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes. Standing next to me. Tall, lean, strong—with timeless features—and that handsome, “Grecian-looking” nose. Working, listening, making a suitable remark at the right time, or offering the gift of companionable silence. I’m glad to be in the way as he scrubs the island top and keeps the washcloth fresh. A scent of lavender and citrus essential oils is a telltale sign that “Phillip was here” just doing his job again…in his timely manner, wiping down the surfaces till they shine, with his sense of excellence, and his listening ear. He’s a bit of a stoic—a very polite one—cautious with his own emotions yet one of the most curious human beings I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s what makes my un-talkative son willing to listen to his chatty mom tell just one more story from the past. Or one more “Yoda–Moda” (a.k.a., piece of unsolicited advice). I coined this phrase to describe a moment when I am bestowing Yoda–like wisdom upon one of my young “Sky Walker’s” in training. Eventually, my thorough son is finished and slips out the entryway of the kitchen, into the adjoining living room, and onto the next event on his agenda. Mom, still chewing her last morsel, always misses him when he leaves. He’s quiet but pleasant. Dutiful. Yet in his absence, I am reminded of the next thing I need to do. The next schoolbook to crack open with my grade schoolers or science experiment to watch Danny conduct with our “olders.” Soon enough there will be another meal to prep for my hungry brood. I think lately I’ve grown to appreciate these lingering moments in the kitchen more than I realized. I picture myself seated at the table, lifting a plate or saucer so Phillip can scrub underneath it. Maybe subconsciously, I start fixing that second slice of toast with three kinds of toppings just to get in Phillip’s way once again. Because, you know, 16 will become 18 before we know it. And I know what happens to 18-year-olds or 19-year-olds in our household. They slip out of the kitchen entryway, up the stairs, out the front door, and onto that next event on their agendas. Sometimes several cities away or perhaps states—or even another planet! (LOL! Like our daughter in New York City!) In Phillip‘s case, he dreams of North Dakota, where my sister and her large family live, where he too could live the life of adventure in big sky, big cold, big oil country! Being in the way…is it really a spiritual gift? (If it’s not actually a spiritual gift, then it is indeed a gift.) I think of people like my Aunt Marilyn or my son Phillip and how precious it is for loved ones to be in their way. Because they won’t be there forever, making those kitchen counters shine or baking those monster cookies—divine! I know that soon Phillip will leave the “room” for his next adventure in this life. Aunt Marilyn has already left the “room” for her next adventure in eternity.
1 Comment
 “I don’t have a blog,” was my shocking response to my incredulous husband. What I really
meant was that I didn’t have a blog post at the ready. Do you ever feel like you’re in an alternate universe from your nearest and dearest, a.k.a. your hubby? I’m not trying to re-write the book about men being from Mars and women from Venus or pick the spaghetti out of our brains or the ice cubes out of their ice cube trays. (Ever heard any of those analogies?) Actually, maybe, “I don’t have a blog, YET” would’ve been a better answer to offer my Rancher/Logger/Speaker Man. Why? How could I not have a blog yet, when I have one million pent up words ready to share with my Beloved…any time of the day or night? Is it because these “Mars versus Venus” topics have already been covered? Books, not merely blogs, already written all about them. Naw, it can’t be that. I could’ve chosen a different subject altogether. Danny didn’t even narrow down my field when I asked him for a focus. “Write about anything!” he brightly encouraged me. “But how many words?” I grilled him! “That’s up to you,” he said with a smile "Just keep it PG…it’s for the ministry you know.” So, I really have no excuse now. At this point, if I am lucky enough to have any readership, most of you are probably thinking I’m either stalling or that I told the gospel truth from the get-go: “This lady REALLY doesn’t have a blog!” Well, I didn’t have one the half dozen times Danny had asked me before. But now, I think he was really paying me an excellent compliment. He wasn’t pestering me to deliver—his expectation was that I’d already delivered. That my first post was just a half step away from hot off the press. So there he sat with anticipation, laptop on his lap, devotedly declaring, “I am ready to type, Dear. All you have to do is just read it off to me, Nora.” Patient Reader, listen with him to the long pause…the crickets chirping. Till finally, my “pleaser” personality gave a “non-pleaser” response, “I DON’T have a blog.” But really?! Didn’t my husband believe I had something worth saying? Something already prepared? Now that’s confidence! If that’s what it means to be in an alternate universe from my Honey, then I am grateful for the universe in which he dwells. Because, in my mind, this woman (me) resembles a Gary Larson “Far Side" comic of my youth. A fisherman sitting in a boat with a dazed look on his face and the dilemma, “Fish or cut bait?” (on repeat) in his thought bubble. The caption below the picture reads: “How fishermen blow their own minds.” But what about moms? I’m a blessed, sometimes frazzled, mother of nine with an artistic temperament to boot. My own version of a good “Far Side” quote are the signs in my kitchen declaring things like: “Bring me coffee and tell me I am pretty,” or “I’m sorry for what I said BEFORE I had my coffee,” or better yet, “WHO are all these children and WHY do they keep calling me mom!?” Ba Ha ha ha! However, I do have a few slogans with deeper meanings like: “Live like there’s heaven on earth,” or “Be the hero of your own story,” or just one simple word, “Dream” (not daydream, Nora, I must remind myself). Oh, where was I? Fish or cut bait!?! Or in my universe, measure out the kale for my smoothie or scrape off foam? Too late! I’d been oblivious to the helpful fact that the black beans boiling on the stove would no longer need any foam scraped off the top as they had already “volcano-ed” over, foam and all. In my mind one great idea always seems to lead to another and so forth. So I find myself moving on to the next task or to the next project before I have finished the first. Like blending my smoothie with that loud noise distracting me from the water slowly but steadily overflowing from the pan on the counter. So much for feeling smug about buying a faucet that could actually stretch over the side of the sink to fill dirty pans with nice hot, soapy water. Well, one good thing is now I won’t have to mop the floor. Is there anyone still reading this, NOT skeptical enough by now to repeat with the masses “This lady DOES NOT have a blog!!!” Well, maybe I didn’t the last time Danny asked me… But here’s my “reason.” Ever been in a crazy cycle where you and your spouse are stuck being the worst versions of yourselves? That alternate universe that keeps a safe distance from one another sounds kinda good at that point, doesn’t it? But really, Danny and I call it “chaos mode,” thanks to the wisdom of our Family Life Chaplain. It’s so easy to slip into it after a busy season like the holidays, the school year kicking off, or the return from a big trip. Chaos mode had held me captive in my “don’t- have-a-blog” mode. We find ourselves in these familiar cycles as couples. As Danny’s wife, I have the privilege of being his helpmeet, which means I get to find a gazillion different ways to squawk in his ear, “Love, this isn’t working!” The Holy Spirit (not me) finally gets his attention. Often this happens AFTER I realize that there are a gazillion things I could be doing to help fix this problem. Everyone’s worst version of themselves looks a bit different. Here’s how ours plays out. It’s where we don’t wake up when we should or eat breakfast and hit the books when we should (we are homeschoolers, I think). Where nobody really wants to wake up anyways because they didn’t go to bed the night before. Plus, mom’s not organized or courageous enough to tell the kids in advance if it’s their laundry day or turn to make breakfast. Maybe mom just decided to wimp out yet one more morning—tiptoeing down the hall, gently closing every door against the loud crushing of coffee beans while crossing her prayer-fingers that this morning she’ll get to enjoy her third cup of hot beverage before she hears a five-year-old’s footsteps tripping downstairs or the groan of a teenager who just remembered it was his turn to do early-morning puppy duty. Whoah, I digress! Was I fishing or cutting bait? Not even sure, but “in conclusion,” I do know I wanted to make this point: 1. I DO have a blog post. (I also wanted to make these points.) 2. I wrote this post to encourage smug smiles from those of you much better organized then myself. BTW, I respect you ladies, and you deserve to smile. (No joke. Let’s have coffee, and please share your secrets.) 3. I wrote this to provide tears of relief for those of you who need to feel like another mom out there has issues like you—maybe worse issues! 4. I wrote this to celebrate my husband, our household’s fearless leader, and how he managed, from the lovable alternate universe from which he dwells, to believe his wife capable of being not just a helpmeet, or a mom, but also a writer of a blog! 5. And, I want to add, if you find yourself in your own kind of chaos mode, there’s hope! This is the part where I get a little bit serious and share some of our own steps back to sanity: A. PRAY and ask for prayer from your support network—friends & family. B. Make personal changes…just one at a time. Mine involved eating better so I could think more clearly—you know, cutting out life-support like chocolate. (No, chocolate is wonderful. However if you eat so much of it before breakfast that you don’t want to make breakfast, your family might want to hide your treats.) C. Accountability: let someone know your struggles, and ask your husband to please let someone know his struggles. Consider meeting with a godly counselor or minister and perhaps make it regular—like weekly or monthly or quarterly—to help stay on track as a couple. In conclusion! Here’s my first blog post—compliments to the alien I call my husband and to the alien he calls his wife. Don’t be surprised if my second post begins with this warning—not the tired phrase “my dog ate my homework” but a more fresh and witty one—“The Alien Ate My Blog Post!” Maybe that would’ve been a catchier title for this blog, I thought I didn’t have. |