"And my thoughts stop there."

I went up to the trailer-house (as Dad calls it) this morning to mow the yard and do some laundry.

The house and yard have a strange air about them - a weird combination of lived in, yet abandoned. The ghosts of memories are everywhere, yet it doesn't have the melancholy old-times-that-have-been-but-will-never-be-again feeling.

If I don't get to it on Saturdays, Dad keeps the yard mowed. But the pots on the steps are a wacky display of spring flowers and weeds. My flowerbed has out-grown it's bounds and is mostly in the yard now, instead of behind it's rock border. The mint bed has long since abandoned the nice little corner where it started out and is slowly and methodically conquering the surrounding territory.
The fruit trees are nicely pruned, and two new rose bushes have been put in the front yard, tributes to Dad's dedication.

This afternoon I went back to put the clothes in the dryer, and I went through the kitchen. Pans and glasses were sitting on the counter, rinsed of food, but needing to be washed and put away. There was dust and a dead bluebottle on the windowsill, and a tiny spiderweb. Rust stains on the metal of the sink, collected around the bases of the soap dispensers. There was dust on the cabinets.

I loaded the dishwasher and washed and dried the big pieces that wouldn't go in. I wiped off the cabinets, scrubbed the sink, and cleaned out the windowsill (when I moved the little decorative teapot to wash it, the little jumping spider fell out. I left him alone). Thankfully, someone has been remembering to water the house plants.

I don't want to leave the impression that we haven't been in the house since The Grandmother got sick. We are in-and-out all the time, especially Dad, who works in the yard and goes to his study to prepare his Sunday School lessons, but we certainly have not lived there in over a year.

Sometimes, especially when I go into my room (which is a wreck from me dropping something off or picking something up without having time to properly put things away), or see my flowerbed (which desperately needs weeding and re-working), or the empty chicken coop (some varmint got the last of our chickens over Christmas break), I really miss the way things used to be. I miss living in our own trailer-house on our own land with our own animals and trees and projects, and bike rides up to visit The Grandparents in the evenings or to help The Grandmother with little projects during the day.
But I have to be careful not to miss life at our place too much, because if we lived there now, it would mean The Grandfather was gone and didn't need us any more. And my thoughts stop there. They simply freeze up - I can't think about life without The Grandparents.

The Grandfather had a stroke last week. Life has changed again, and we are again being compelled to begin figuring out a 'new normal'. He has been dependent on us. But though he could not walk, or stand for long, or brush his teeth, or dress himself, he could stand with our support and take the few steps required to transfer from one chair to another. He could lift his arms and slide them into his shirtsleeves. He could feed himself. He could speak fairly clearly. Now, he can do none of those things.

The Lord will help us with this transition into another way of life. It's just difficult, humanly, to try to think where the new strength and wisdom will come from. 

Where Oh Where Has My Brown-Eyed Boy Gone?

My family doesn't rent movies much, only a little more than we go to the theater, and I've been to the theater four times in (approximately) the past 15 years - gives you some idea of the frequency - but after Trissy and I watched "Big Hero 6" with a cousin (Uncle David and Aunt Winny's son), we wanted to show it to Dad and Mom. So Trissy went out on a limb and picked up four movies (three of which none of us had seen) from the video rental store for us this weekend. One of them was "Last Ounce of Courage" (more later - maybe - on the other three). We watched it tonight, and I was pleasantly surprised. I'm so used to being 'burnt' on new movies that finding one I can recommend is very encouraging. I did have an objection to one aspect, but that's a whole 'nother ballgame, and not why I'm writing this post. Maybe I'll address it another time.

I'm just writing now for myself. To 'think out loud' and pray at the same time.

The film had a very patriotic message, and one of the main characters was a young soldier who bore an amazing resemblance to my 'brown-eyed boy'. My 'brown-eyed boy' - who I have heard nothing of in over a year, except a very rare text message from his mom. I texted the number I had for her one afternoon last month for the first time in probably a year and a half. I didn't even really expect to receive an answer - I never had when the family still lived in this area and still attended Victory Rd. I didn't hold out hope now that they've moved away and been gone so many months. But I was amazed and thrilled when my 'I've-been-thinking-about-your-family-and-just-wanted-to-let-you-know-I'm-praying-for-you' text was answered with a 'we're-doing-alright-the-boys-are-fine-thank-you-for-the-prayers' response!
But then I wondered, did "the boys" mean the two 'little boys', her thirteen and nine-year-olds? Or all three of her boys?

Keeping my eyes and ears open right around the time they left, I picked up word of him here and there for a while. It was very discouraging. He'd disappeared from Victory Rd., hanging instead with 'the wrong crowd'. His Twitter feed was filthy.
The last I heard of my 'brown-eyed boy' he was going into the military - into explosives. That was about two years ago. The last time I saw him, he'd come to pick up his two little brothers from the academy and was - figuratively - a pitiful shadow of the bright young man he had been during his Victory Rd. days. Physically, he appeared in top form. Spiritually...

My first emotion was shock. Heartbreak followed close on it's heels. A Christian brother, my friend. Where had he gone? 
He was like a stranger. He didn't even look at me.

I texted the same message to the last number I had for him, at the same time I texted his mom. No response.

Oh God! My 'brown-eyed boy'! Wherever you are, God help you!
Oh what has become of him?

Toby.

Toby mentored and discipled him for several months. They became quite good friends. If anyone knows where he is or what's going on with him, surely Toby does. Good old Toby - I'll ask him at church tomorrow.

My 'brown-eyed' boy's movie look-alike was a strong Christian and his Lord strengthened him through the fires of battle. Oh that this same could be said of my 'brown-eyed boy'!!