Guess Who . . .

Turned 22

on

12/02?

My Darling (Kermit-loving) Daughter,

Elizabeth.

(Check out her blog for some fun pics through the ages.)

Without Regret

She has always heard her own special tune . . . and it has been a beautiful one. She hopped and skipped over developmental milestones to join others in their journey, caring not whether she earned accolades or honors, but rather feeling the call to be by a struggler’s side to encourage them to seek the heights. Her first step at 7-1/2 months did not elicit cries of “Genius!” but instead started a Herculean effort on one older brother’s part to walk with her. Pride likely flowed heavily through his autistic view of the world (laced with the obstacles posed by cerebral palsy) as he fought to keep from being left behind, but she merely followed an instinctive call to her feet. When she heeded her natural call he received a gift of motivation – we discovered her gift of helping others long before she even knew she had gifts.

Bible clubs found her aiding a slower member at the expense of her own ribbon count. Backyard drama fests offered no starring roles for her as she directed others in their quest for applause. Though a gifted musician, she always chooses a group over solo performance. She just prefers it that way
. . . always has. “Shy?” One may ask. Nay. Reclusive? Never. Merely tuned to the call of a drum fewer hear.

As a youngster raised with two handicapped brothers and later the addition of two much younger sisters, she naturally found opportunity to lead, teach, encourage, and provide that special touch that removes the competition from a game and reveals a celebration. How much more fun to clap and cheer as your brother completes a simple puzzle than to easily beat him at a relay race. Awards come in all forms, hers seemed most often to include the holding of hands rather than the clapping thereof.

All too quickly the homeschooling roared toward graduation and decisions. Many paths, many options, but for the first time the need to “prove something” took the reins and drove her life toward the well-trodden path. SAT tests, college apps, requisites, transcripts, interviews, and auditions all mounded up before her. She climbed to the top in victory. Each college offered entrance with honor. She prayed, she chose high-caliber, and then she embarked on a journey toward the academic goals she had held in her heart from early on. She smiled through the tears as we drove away leaving precious daughter, eager musician, deep thinker, hard worker on the steps of an institution that knew her by merit, but not by heart.

In a whir and a blur the days, weeks, months, even years flew by. Big changes, strong challenges, bitter disappointments, honored achievements. Her worries melted away as her discernment grew, and along with the discernment grew a nagging doubt that this path would lead to the fulfillment of her dreams. Reading excerpts of works and hearing a professor place it au courant contradicted her core education. At home we read whole books, we examined other cultures, we saw ourselves as a part of a whole not The Center. We engaged in discussions, seemingly endless discussions, as we reached further and deeper to answer the questions spilling from our hearts and minds. All ages participated; all ideas received respect. In a quiet classroom with only one voice droning, she wondered, “How can one read a snippet of Thoreau and claim to have “read” Thoreau?”

The busy work, the tedium of quizzing to trip-up the lax readers in class, the politicking by professors as generals questing to capture the thoughts of the students and funnel them down a proscribed alleyway of thought, rather than as gatekeepers throwing wide the entrance to bigger thoughts/ideas/avenues caused a ripple of discontent. The education offered in a boxed-in classroom with prescribed notions failed to feed the soul itching to soar. Boredom took root, casting a longer shadow of doubt. Thoughts of pursuing a teaching career unraveled as she began to see the pitfalls for a dreamer in a profession much like a PR job designed to convince students to stay in school for yet another degree in hopes of securing a BIG job someday. The vain search for something other than knowledge caused her to wonder whether she had chosen the wrong pathway after all.

It would take no courage to stay. It would require great courage to pause and consider a different path. With continuous honor roll recognition and close relationships with professors, she confided and consulted with confidence. She prayed and followed her heart down a grassy lane not generally chosen.

Raised by parents who danced down unusual avenues -- having learned long ago that “boxed” offerings would not meet expectations -- she gathered herself together and set out for that less-traveled path, lush from disuse, toward a sharp bend along the way. No clear view of the destination may worry some, but hardly one of such questing stock. She set out with much wind beneath her wings and a plethora of open doorways offering respite and refuge should she choose to return to the comfort of college. Confidence ultimately financed her venture.

Today I smile as she packs her lunch and sets off for another day at massage therapy school. Her desire to help people coupled with her natural gifts of encouragement and empathy dovetail neatly into a therapeutic package. The stack of weighty books she has set by her bed (no excerpts will do) confirms that her quest for a literary education has not ceased, and her towering harp in the music room attests to her success in weaving her love of music, literature, and art with a strong thread of desire to touch another’s life for good. The less-trodden path offered the very nourishment her dreams hungered for. Her first day of therapy class brought her face-to-face with much-older students who had followed the standard path of trading dreams for school-job-$-depression-despair before they took a chance. Some needed the push of unemployment or the pain of breakdown before they acted. Thankfully, my daughter listened to her heart early enough to avoid regrets and pain.

Do I worry that without a piece of paper stating she has duly completed a college education she will somehow miss opportunities? Will I lose sleep fearing she will stand behind those with such a paper? Let me see . . . I have walked in the proscribed path of higher learning, attaching sanctioned letters to my name, eagerly reaching for the title of professor only to find the double birth of special boys shunting me off the widely-trod pavement and down a weedy and unrefined pathway to MUCH HIGHER EDUCATION (and pure joy laced with deep fulfillment) . . . I married a man who thinks so far outside the box that I don’t think he even remembers having a box (“everyone has to have a what?”) . . . I once answered the door to a cable salesman and when his product had been politely declined he volleyed, “What do you people do without TV?” (I chose to merely sweep my eyes across the bookcases larded with books, rather than defend our choice of a different path) . . . I think I can confidently encourage my daughter to follow her heart and dreams of a better way or count myself a hypocrite. As one grassy-lane traveler to another, I prefer to picnic with her along the way and celebrate without regret.

ROAD LESS TRAVELED

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

~~ Robert Frost ~~


*Dedicated to my dear daughter, Elizabeth*

Happy 19th Birthday Elizabeth!

My Dearest Elizabeth,

Happy Birthday, my beautiful eldest daughter. Though coming third in line, you have always been the firstborn girl and taken that responsibility seriously and with confidence. You have grown up to be a fine young lady with a beauty springing from a heart devoted to God, as your name indicates: Elizabeth - "My God is a vow." Simple words cannot express my love for you and pride in your accomplishments. "You are loved with an everlasting love" (Jer. 31:3) by God above and by so very many of us down here on earth.

I remember myself at nineteen and the path that took me through the doors of Alpha Chi Omega sorority. Though your path has not passed over the threshold of an AXO house, the legacy blood that runs in your veins has been influenced by the beauty and loveliness that I found therein and wove into my life . . . and yours. Though I will not be pinning a lyre badge over your heart in this nineteenth year, I can share "My Symphony" with you, written by one of my sorority sisters back in 1914.

When I first read "My Symphony" by Celia McClure it touched a deep chord in me. I share this beautiful poem with you today as my gift to you across the miles. Today I will not watch you blow out 19 candles, nor will I hug you with the love amassed over 19 precious years, but I will be thinking of the many blessings you have brought to my life (19 x 19 x 19 . . . doesn't even begin to cover it!) and smiling as I read this symphony knowing that you will read it for the very first time today, as I did at 19. May you see beauty all around you on this special, special day.

Happy Birthday!

With Love,

Mom(my)

My Symphony

To see beauty even in the common things of life.
To shed the light of love and friendship round me.
To keep my life in tune with the world

That I shall make no discords in the harmony of life.
To strike on the lyre of the universe

Only the notes of happiness, of joy, of peace.
To appreciate every little service rendered.
To see and appreciate all that is noble in another,
Be her badge what it may.
And to let my lyre send forth the chords of

Love, unselfishness, sincerity.
This is to be my symphony.

-Celia McClure, AXO Delta Chapter: Allegheny College, 1914

Friendship in the Gardens, Japanese Style

Well, it's been some time since I have taken this laptop and jumped on the web to visit my bogger dashboard. Forgive me, but I have been out in my gardens and dancing upon my new deck WITH railings. Hooray! The project is complete -- FINALLY -- but, I shall post about that another day. For today I want to share with you another beautiful installment from Lydia's birthday trip to San Diego.

* * * * *

After a good night's sleep we packed up and prepared to leave our darling inn. We walked out to see the ocean for a final farewell. We stocked our memory bank full of the sights and sounds and lovely fragrance of the Pacific ocean.

We took a final stroll though the lush gardens of our inn . . .


. . . And set out for a bit of breakfast and a brief drive through the Historical "Gaslight" District of Sand Diego before picking up Elizabeth and Whitney after morning classes.


We happened upon this jewel in the heart of San Diego.

The wedding-cake beauty of the architecture stood in sharp contrast to all surrounding buildings.

Lydia and I agreed that our next visit to San Diego must include a visit to the Grand Hotel for tea.

Time flew quickly and we found ourselves on the road back to Point Loma to retrieve the girls and then double back to the center of the city and Balboa Park. The lush acreage invited us to forget about downtown city streets and enter a magical place of art and music and gardens and beauty. Truly a wonderful place of respite and peaceful pondering.

We stopped for luncheon at the Japanese Tea House and enjoyed a variety of Asian delights. I bought a pair of bright red dragon-festooned chopsticks for Rachel in the tiny gift shop.

After chatting and eating we set out on a leisurely walk through the Japanese Friendship Gardens. The tranquil pathways invited us to explore the abundant foliage . . .

. . . and contemplative sculpture . . .

. . . along with the creative expression of bonsai . . .

. . . and inspiring stonescapes.

The peaceful flow of water engaged our ears around many corners enhancing the soothing nature of the experience.

This lantern symbolizes The Light of Friendship . . .

. . . an appropriate theme for our day.

As we approached the exit I just had to gaze back one more time, fixing the beauty and tranquility of our friendship garden walk into my memory bank under "enchanted moments."

Just beyond these peaceful walls lay many more treasures to invite the eye and intrigue the explorer. And so I must, once again, tease you with a tiny peek at the fabulous bounty just down the road a bit.

I shall leave off here, for now. I have more cropping and uploading to do before we can journey through the next phase of Balboa Park together. I better get busy! ; )

The Last Rose of Summer

I deftly reach for the white jasmine tea and then hesitate, choosing orchid oolong instead. Yesterday we sipped the heady jasmine elixir and shared; giving not a thought to the fact that today you would be spreading your wings once again, leaving the nest for the second leg of your journey in life away at university. As you lovingly fingered the bindings on the familiar books that line the shelves of our keeping room, gently handled the favorite teacup full of our special brew, playfully plumped up the chintz-covered cushion at your elbow, wistfully gazed off into the swaying beauty of the willows that seemed to dance in time to the Celtic tunes filling the air … I watched you store up memories of sight, sound, fragrance, and touch. This brimful heart for home will follow you up hills, down through valleys, and ever anon down the path chosen specially for you. I playfully stopped up my ears and hummed loudly whenever you uttered, “I don’t want to go; I’m going to miss you all so much.” And yet my heart wrenched each time I pictured our final summertime hug.

Oh, I know we have a month of summer’s season left on our calendar, but the advent of college entrance last year changed so much of our particular way of peering at life from behind the waterfall. I have always enchanted you children with the notion that we live in a special world far beyond the eyes of all but a few. Only those who come into our home and sit with us over tea or pray with us over our deepest needs can ever really know what goes on here at Wisteria Cottage (and Willow Cottage before, and Waterford Cottage even earlier). For when the Lord laid out the plans for our family He chose a very different path for our feet to follow; our life does not look like the lives of those around us. Special needs and medical frights found balance in love and commitment and hope, above all else hope. Security came from knowing nothing is impossible with God, accompanied by acknowledgement that the path will surely be rock-studded and steep, dotted with valleys shadowed and frightful. Doom would surely triumph without hope. We built our special life on hope alone; and hope remains the wellspring of our life abundant.

As the gates close behind the retreating vessel bearing you and linens and books and ONE BIG HARP wrapped up in the enveloping cloud of hope for the future, I smile and wipe away that trickle on my cheek that reminds me that you have grown up into a fine young lady. Yet I shall never lose the memory of your soft sweetness snuggled into my breast, looking up to me and smiling. The cd player sings out “You Raise Me Up,” and I see you soaring not away from us, but to you – the you planned by God before you saw the light of this world. Though this summer held devastation for some dreams, I proudly watched your beauty shine through in forgiveness and honesty and hope.

Ah yes, hope … for though it feels like summer has ended and my imagination runs away with the idea that the last rose has faded, a simple step out onto my new decking dispels the rumor and supplies the truth: My garden lies awash in roses. The fragrance of damask and tea and sweet citrus hangs heavy in the breaths that rest like fine wine upon my palate. Summer’s state of mind lasts long beyond the final calendar notation and my memories of our sweet summer together shall surely sustain me until we sit together again over a fragrant pot of jasmine tea here in our special world behind the waterfall.

Elizabeth

Godspeed, my sweet child ... young woman after God's own heart