I like Fall. I enjoy every aspect of this season which sometimes ushers out the long hot days of August, replacing daytime with cool breezes along with sunshine beaming through trees that are beginning to wind down from the lush months of summer blooms that provide harvests of fruit or nuts. I like the smell in the air, the sound of school busses getting kids to and from school, and the quietness in the neighborhood. I like taking walks in early fall that only require a long sleeved shirt or light weight jacket.  Today’s fall day did not disappoint.

I had a batch of outgoing mail that didn’t make it to our box for pickup today, so the next best option available to me was to walk to our main corner where a mailbox sits for late morning pickup. The walk to and back home is just over a mile, a good distance for getting exercise on a busy day. Today’s late morning venture out required a long sleeved shirt so I opted for a sweatshirt with pockets to hold my phone. The jacket was a good choice even though I found out after a while into my walk I could have made it with short sleeves. I’ll note that for another day sporting temps in the 60’s with full sunshine….

The road I live on is very familiar territory. The shoulders of the pavement are cracked, hunks of the asphalt broken in spots which create a maze along the edges. I’m always careful where stepping, especially if the breaks are big with chunks piling up where I need to walk. Today, one of the trees in a neighbor’s yard has begun to drop black walnuts, the ones that are big and green, almost the size of a tennis ball. The squirrels love them and evidence of them being opened for the yummy nugget inside is quite the array of debris in the area under the tree. Many of the nuts lay squashed from passing cars where the fruit has fallen in the lanes of traffic. It’s quite the mess, but a beautiful display of nature providing food for the little creatures that live in the wooded areas along our properties.

Further down the road, a new subdivision is under development. Trees have been cleared for the road in, lots are marked, sand has been laid down for future paving. Large equipment lies idle as the work seems to be a slow process. No workers there today. The only sound I heard was that of a deer moving in the woods as I passed by. We’ve lived in our  home for 34 years and I never tire of seeing the beautiful deer who visit our yard or near a pond south of us, as long as they stay off the road….

Returning home, I picked up my pace and ran about ¼ mile of my route in order to increase my heartrate, release some endorphins, and enjoy the benefits of cardio exercise. I like running and its many benefits but I also dislike it–it takes effort. Running changes how I breathe, how I place my feet and how I pay attention to oncoming cars….breaks in the pavement…holes in the shoulder…small branches….and those black walnuts along the stretch of the big trees that are dropping them. As cars pass, I wave to each one, acknowledging “I see you! Do you see me?” It seems a courteous wave benefits them and me so I do it.

I like fall. Soon, September will fade into October, which means less warm days…shorter days with more overcast skies…canvas paintings across tree lines as leaves take on hues of red, orange, and yellow before falling on the ground and swallowed up in puddles from rain or swept into piles for burning–and jumping! When the burn piles of leaves begin to happen in our neighborhood I will breathe deeply…the aroma of a burning leaf pile is one of my favorites, taking me back to childhood years when dad and my brothers raked our yard numerous times and turned the beautiful fall leaves into an aromatic memory, one I never tire of either.

Yes, I like fall. I’m grateful it’s tucked in right after summer. Relief from heat. Open windows. All things pumpkin or apple. Kids in school. Farmer’s markets. Burning leaves….and long or short walks dodging black walnuts or cracks in the pavement under warm skies with a cool breeze.

Lizzie

Her name is Lizzie, her shortened nickname from Elizabeth. Whenever I heard someone talk about her it was always “Lizzie”. It fit her well.

I first met Lizzie about five years ago. She’s the wife of my cousin Willie. I hadn’t seen him or his family–which included her–for over 50 years (that’s another story I’ll write about someday soon) When I met her on a Saturday afternoon, she was seated very comfortably in a wingback chair that swallowed up her small frame. She was dressed in jeans, an oversized sweater, and knit hat that came down over her face touching and almost resting on her glasses. With her arms folded as though she was trying to trap all her body heat and keep it from escaping, she smiled big, her white toothy grin spreading from ear to ear. We exchanged a warm greeting after our introduction and she told me “it’s so good to finally meet you….” That one and only Saturday afternoon family date was the only time I had the pleasure of being with Lizzie, thus shortchanging any future attempts to get better acquainted. It’s not that we wouldn’t have wanted to meet up again. Life happens. And, for Lizzie, life was hard. I found out later from my cousin Willie that she’d been ill with kidney problems for a long time which meant numerous trips to a hospital in Ann Arbor complete with dialysis treatments on top of whatever else came her way in the form of illness or attack.

Yesterday, Sept. 21, I met Lizzie for a second time, only this time in death. She died on Sept. 13 and her funeral service was held yesterday. During her two hour long service, I got to know Lizzie and I can honestly say I feel cheated, robbed, deeply saddened that I did not have her in my life. But! More than the negative emotions I just listed, I feel elated, overjoyed and grateful beyond measure I “got to know Lizzie yesterday”. Though I did not have any conversations with her outside our one-time meeting, I got to know Lizzie through the family and friends who processed into the small church she belonged to, each individual, couple or family pausing at the casket to bid farewell. The procession took 30 minutes.

I got to know Lizzie as I listened to her sister talk about how Lizzie got saved at a young age (4 I think) and from that time on her goal was for everyone she knew or would ever meet to get saved too. She was relentless, not only with people but with God as she prayed and earned the title “prayer warrior” from many who loved and adored her.

I got to know Lizzie as a young man spoke how “If it weren’t for Miss Lizzie I don’t know where I’d be today. You see, she was a dreamer. She got visions from God. She KNEW things and when I wanted to leave her house she’d say not before you get on your knees right now and pray! Cuz bad things happen out there.” (the neighborhood)

I got to know Lizzie as I listened to her grandson (my second cousin) talk about how his mother was a prayer warrior and those same dreams and visions were used to woo him into a relationship with Jesus and keep him on the right path in life.

I got to know Lizzie when a man took the microphone and told us “I’m 72 years old and pretty much my whole life I’ve been doing things the way of the devil. Well, today, I think I’m gonna turn the direction to God cuz that’s what Lizzie would want me to do.”

I got to know Lizzie as two pastors and one deacon eulogized her role as a dedicated wife, mom, grandmother and great grandmother…a prayer warrior and a worshipper who every Sunday entered the small sanctuary with shouts of praise to her Lord and Savior.

I got to know Lizzie, not in life, but in a legacy of faith that was described yesterday through words, actions, tears, worship, dance, and songs. While I REALLY don’t feel cheated, I sense a connection as one momma and gramma to another, one praying woman to another, two women who put their hope and trust in Jesus at a young age–only Lizzie got a real good head start on that journey!

Lizzie looked frail in her beautiful white casket. This time, instead of jeans, a sweater, and a hat, she was wearing a white satin suit, a gold tierra on her black wavy hair, hands neatly folded across her bosom…hands that were well worn from lots of hugs, years of caring for her family and friends, and no doubt, countless hours wrapped up in her favorite role–praying. 

I’m honored that I got to know Lizzie.

September

Goodness, it’s heading into the evening hours and already as I sit down at the laptop to write, I’m a day late doing so. Not that I “have” to be on a legalistic schedule, but when I decided to make a weekly blog entry, I contacted a friend who agreed to hold me accountable. Our agreement was that I chose Tuesday to be my day to write. For the most part I’ve been able to keep to the agreement, yet this week I have obviously slipped into Wednesday. What threw me off? While I’d say I’m my own worst enemy at self sabotage I truly don’t have an excuse. Looking back on the start of the week, I can see where a variety of activities may have thrown me off kilter. But, truth be told? I’m not sweating the small stuff that caused me to wait until today to write. Furthermore, if I’m being totally honest a major factor to my delay is simply this….I don’t know what to write about this week! But, wait! I headlined today’s entry as September. There must be a reason and truly, without huge fanfare, this ninth month of our calendar year holds  fond memories.

When I typed the word “September” at the top, a faint memory from a conversation with my mother popped into my mind. Mom told me that when September rolled around and we kids returned to school she experienced a couple weeks of sadness and loneliness. You see, my mom was a stay at home kind of gal. She prided herself on keeping a clean home, preparing delicious meals seven days a week, three times a day, and when the long hot days of summer ushered us back to classrooms she missed us. I’m not sure she missed baseball gloves, shoes, and toys being strewn about the yard and house, or my brother Mark’s bike laying in parts on the driveway as he “investigated” how things work….or settling arguments between quarrelsome playmates. Looking back I know she enjoyed quiet, accompanied with a cup of hot tea–sometimes with a splash of red wine in it–and a cookie or two. In her bittersweet moments, the quiet created by a new school year made her lonely until we all settled into the September through June routine. Maybe her quiet days were a preparation for the ultimate reality of becoming an empty nester in the future as we three each took our turn leaving our home. I truly don’t know all of her secret thoughts, but I’m happy to know she missed us when school started. I can close my eyes and imagine her seated in the living room–everything finished until time to start dinner–waiting and listening for the back door to open as each one of us got home after school.

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September is special for another reason. It holds the birthdate of our oldest child. We were blessed with her when I was 29. After about 10 hours of labor she made her entrance at 3:50 pm on a Thursday. Sarah was the first grandchild for my in-laws, number six for my folks. During evening visiting hours that evening, the four parents stood outside the nursery windows gazing at her lil face, body swaddled in a blanket, tucked in her small bassinet. Telling about the separation between grandmothers that the glass created, was one of my father-in-law’s favorites stories to tell, the agony of these two women anxious to get their hands on that new baby! My, how things have changed regarding visiting new moms and babies now. Visitors are allowed in the room while a woman is in labor. We can visit after the birth and hold a newborn within hours of being washed up and gathering of stats is completed. 

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I’m sure if I were to think long and hard I could come up with other reasons I’m thinking of September….changes in temperatures….gardens drying up as harvest times come to an end…pumpkin this and pumpkin that advertised on billboards….school supplies disappearing from stores shelves…thoughts of apples, cider and donuts at a local mill….football games under lights….and quiet homes where children have returned to noisy classrooms and playgrounds, all while mom is now either at work or home, and maybe, just maybe enjoying a cup of hot tea…with a splash of red wine in it, hopefully with a cookie or two. 

Hugs

For me personally, there is something about a hug, whether receiving or initiating one of these warmth embracing that our arms allow us as I navigate emotions brought on by situations and circumstances. Let’s face it, “most” encounters and experiences we celebrate with family or friends are accompanied by a good, genuine hug. Most are brief while others may linger, especially when wrapped in sadness that comes with grief and sorrow. I’ve been thinking about hugs a lot lately, observing the benefits of this simple gesture that gives me contact with another human being.

Last week was hard for some folks in my church family. A married couple have been expecting the birth of twin boys in October. A few weeks ago mom was hospitalized with complications in the pregnancy and suddenly faced with the harsh reality that one of her babies died in her womb. Bravely, she carried both babes until their delivery last week. These precious parents shared their experience through social media posts–with photos–for the rest of us to stay informed. Mostly, they put up raw emotions that flooded them each day, complete with bittersweet photos of their boys after delivery. While one baby was in a NICU crib, the other was beautifully wrapped in a blanket and both dad and mom held him in their arms. I was later told that they were allowed two entire days with their deceased son. I can’t imagine…but I saw the hugs.

I felt the hugs of the young mother’s parents in church as I took a turn to wrap each one with one of my own. I witnessed countless others wait to give a heartfelt hug to these grieving grandparents. I saw love and concern in action. I was fortunate to give the father of these boys a hug, too. He was the one who initiated it with me. We held each other for an extended amount of time as I whispered “I’m so sorry” in his ear, followed by me telling him how much I admired the hospital for honoring the life of his little baby who did not survive the womb….and reflected on their own words in a post….”little Z____” is now with his Lord on his birthday…”  Yes, lots of hugs for this beautiful family here on earth and now to imagine, the Lord Himself embracing and hugging this precious little boy for all of eternity. I marvel at the image I am unable to create in my frail humanness….

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A remote memory of hugging loved ones still lingers in my mind’s photo album. Whenever we visited my grandparents, our parents taught us kids to give grandpa and grandma a hug goodbye. For me this came quite easy, for my older brothers–especially as they got to be teens–was awkward. When it came time to go home their once active bodies stiffened at the mere thought of having to hug our grandparents, but they did so. Years later, after we were grown and well into adulthood, we often remarked how much we missed that loving pair of Jewells who never turned down a hug, even if it was from an uneasy “too cool for this grandchild”. Now that I’m a grandmother giving and receiving a hug from one of our four grands is a natural greeting or goodbye. They are all little now and don’t mind one of grandma’s hugs, but someday…..yes the “too cool days” may happen, but experience tells me those times will quickly pass. How do I know this? I’m witnessing lots of hugs being exchanged from our adult son and his dad….I’m thankful his “too cool” days are behind him.

I’m very grateful for hugs, for parents who taught us to hug, for a Heavenly Father who gave us the ability to wrap our arms around loved ones…to say hello…goodbye…to grieve and cry….to laugh and celebrate. Life brings many situations bathed in a rollercoaster of emotions. Hugs help to keep us grounded. Big or small, hugs make shaky times less scary. They allow us deep connection, too, when words escape us. Best of all, they’re free. Are you a hugger? Do you enjoy to be hugged? 

These are my thoughts today as I sit here remembering all the times I’ve been in a warm embrace…missing, too, some of my best huggers growing up…can’t wait to be reunited with them in Heaven. There’s some great huggers waiting for me!