Tag: grandfather

Life Goals

December 28, 2022

Life Goals

I continually reevaluate my “life goals,” if you want to call them that.  

Core has always been to love Jesus, pass that on to everyone I can touch, and show love when I can.  The additions have changed a little:

Pre-twenties, I wanted to be a wife, mother, and teacher.  Did that.  Am living that.

Twenties to mid-thirty: The only earthly thing I wanted for my children was a home they all grew up in and family roots.  I failed at that. Life teaches you lessons and you hope to pass on the results so they don’t fall into the same trap.

Thirty-three and beyond, I only want my children to love Jesus in a true life-long relationship; I’ve learned that everything in life beyond relationships is just temporary.  

Lately, my older children have made comments in passing that really cut to my heart.  The first year I didn’t unwrap a gift from you.  (Her gifts were too large to wrap & smaller things were in her stocking.)  Wow, they’ve lived there like 12 years, that would never be us.  (We did have a home for 14 years, just moved to two different places during that ownership to help other people for seasons.)  You don’t give me stuff like the other girls’ moms.  (No, I can’t give anyone a brand new car as they get their license, a new laptop, the latest phone, gaming systems, etc.  I provide you with opportunities to save for those things and decide their value yourself.)

Those things and other assorted in passing comments have made me delve into self-examination for the past couple of months.  I can’t talk to my Daddy about it, praying feels one-way, a memory pops up of Louis’ accident last year and the days of challenges and miracles, I feel like I’ll never dig us out into property that is our home (though I keep reminding my doubt that I left that in God’s hands, the doubt keeps trying to come in), people I know whose children I know are dying from poison, I pray daily for those I know who are affected: my life feels useless as I feel like I can’t do much for anyone.

This morning I saw the evidence of a life well lived.  My entire perspective changed. 

There was a young woman in a beautiful wedding dress beaming a smile holding onto the arm of an elegant man in a suit.  Their faces shone with love.  The photo was a portrait size and in black and white; aged scores of years. You could feel their love.  Two candles on either side of the little table below the portrait.  Mementos and memories on the table; he had passed away before her.  It reminded me of my mother’s tribute shadowbox for my Daddy.  Her home was full of framed pictures: children and grandchildren in various smiles and grins.  A few in the midst of laughter – those cherished candid photos that you keep even if they aren’t the best quality.  Worn rocker.  Stockings.  A Christmas tree.  An open Bible.  Her faith and the relationships she had cultivated radiated from each well-worn book, devotional, and study guide on that little bookshelf. My writer’s brain wondered how many of those books she or her husband had bought and then passed around. How many grandchildren had heard stories from that Children’s Bible with the bent binding?  Children told her goodbye: that they loved her, they didn’t want her to leave, that they would see her later in heaven, one told her to give daddy a kiss from her.  

That is a life well-lived.  

Her children loved her enough to keep taking care of her at home; like Mom did for Grandma Jeanette.  Don’t ever put me in a nursing home.  Because of love, they sacrificed and made it happen that they cared for mom at her home so she could die in peace.  Her face showed that peace.  

That is a life well-lived. 

I was so overwhelmed with emotion for that wonderful woman I didn’t know.  Grandma Jeanette told me once to “live with no regrets” which I also remember from the lady who gave me my first cookbook.  She’d been married four times and raised five boys.  Her life story was how to gather things and make stews and build add-ons to her house and save people from storms on the lake.  Her sons all passed on her faith; I played with her grandchildren and they were the first group of children I’d met who talked about Jesus like a close friend like my family did.  She wrote “God will bless your life, let Him lead,” in my cookbook cover (I was 7 years old).  She died shortly after at 90-something.  

That is a life well-lived. 

Live with no regrets.  Love without reservation.  

My goal is to allow my children to see Jesus through me, to trust Him in everything, to do my absolute best to shine His love wherever I can.  

Life doesn’t have to be long to be well-lived.  I consider the life I’ve already lived to be amazing.  I thank God for each day He’s given me.  For the challenges we’ve overcome as a family, for the health miracles which are the reason my babies and I are here, for the protection over my daughters’ hearts as they allow it, for the relationships we have with each other.  Those I’ve known for seasons who are friends like sisters and brothers in my heart.  Growing those relationships as best I can even when life is “too busy” and time is challenging; that is a goal. 

Live with no regrets.  Love without reservation. 

I was 12, she was a beautiful frail girl with a rapturous joy of life and Jesus and family when we met her.  She shared her love with everyone without caring what they thought.  If someone stared at her bald head, she would approach them and say, hi, how are you today? And try to show them love and happiness.  She came to our house probably because we treated her and her sister just like we treated anyone else; we played with them, swang with them, took them for canoe rides, fished on the shore while she braided flowers, played with our chickens and dogs together, told stories to each other, and otherwise enjoyed life.  She lost her battle with cancer shortly afterward, but I couldn’t cry.  She was home with Jesus like she talked about all the time.  She told us we had to still play with Danielle.  As long as we lived there, we did.  I still love Erica and Danielle like they were my own sisters; since we were sisters in the faith, we are sisters. 

That is a life well-lived. 

He was his sisters’ baby doll.  He protected everyone.  He was loved by everyone.  He knew who needed to hear and in turns shared his faith and struggles and love with them.  His smile told you everything you needed to know; he was genuine.  He died protecting those he cared about.  His legacy is the love and relationships left in the hearts of those he loved and who loved him; and the relationships they created when coming to celebrate his life.  He was my brother’s friend.  His family and mine were intertwined in so many relationships through many seasons of our lives.  

That is a life well-lived. 

My perspective shifted.  It set me back on the track that my brain keeps trying to veer me off of.  My true life goal is to shine with Jesus’ light: to make strong relationships, to build into people, to share my faith, to encourage others, to help when I can, to do my very best to love as Jesus does.  And in Jesus’ time, when my story on Earth is finished, I will go home and those I love will see a life well-lived. 

Right now, I’m living my life well-lived!

Thank you for reading!

Type at you next time!

~Nancy Tart

Dating Decisions (Part 1)

Part 1 of Dating Decisions – dissecting real life and true love

September 16, 2020

Dating Decisions (Part 1)

WHOA! What is meant by this title?

Nothing. It’s a history story. Ancient history if you ask my children. I am a writer of stories; why would it surprise you that I would pull stories from my teenage decisions? No crazy thoughts. Take a deep breath, empty your presuppositions, and read: you may learn a little about the psychology behind decision making.

Once upon a time, (No, this is not a fairy tale… it is my truth tale.), I was just understanding love. Real love. I was curious about my parents and other couples around me and in my church. My mom and dad had at this point been married for 13 years. I was 11. I considered them ancient. Now I am older than my mother then and close to my dad’s age at the time – wow, I’ve reached the 11-year-old’s idea of ancient! One of my daddy’s mentors had been married to his wife for over thirty years. My daddy’s parents had been married for over 40 years when my grandmother died and granddaddy didn’t remarry. My mother’s parents had been divorced before my mom met my daddy and two of her siblings had been married and divorced. I had been sitting at a concert at a church with mostly teenagers where the girl asked, “raise your hand if your parents have been divorced.” Everyone in my row raised their hands. Most of the auditorium raised their hands. I had watched “The Parent Trap” from the sixties, but in that movie the parents got back together and all was well. I started to understand that divorce was the norm for most of the children I met. My family, with their short 13 years together, was already 7 years beyond the “normal” for divorce; according to research in the “Focus on the Family” newsletter my daddy received. I began to understand that most of the problems facing my peers were related to their broken families. I realized that my mother broke the chain and her baby sister was breaking the chain. I wanted to be like the couple in one of my churches who stood up on the day they honored families and claimed 73 years of marriage.

Research started.

I read marriage and family books (my daddy had two bookshelves full of them in his office to start my journey). I analyzed relationships in movies, in books, and in history and began to learn how to predict problems based on family stability. Stories of great hardships with intact, supportive families morphed into strong, successful, loving children. What was the binding tie?

In every personal interview I did over the next six years (and beyond, but I’m telling the story of teenage me) the common thread for successful marriage was that both loved Jesus, both were willing to love the other without expecting anything in return, and both went into their relationship committed to making it last. Repair it rather than throw it away. I already had a waste-not-want-not mentality. This matched.

Along came 12. The first boy asked me out. I thought he was sweet. He liked to carry my books from Sunday School for me. He was nice to his baby sister. I found myself already studying potential mates. I was scared of that. I told him I couldn’t date until I was 16. That became my pre-programmed response to all of the offers in the next 4 years.

I was already journaling. I told God I was going to be 18 before I dated. I told Him I wanted Him to be in control. I told Him I wanted to focus on being the best big sister and daughter I could. So began my journey of discovering and morphing myself into what I thought God wanted.

At 16, my Daddy started getting worried. My 14-year-old sister was already dating and my 12-year-old brother liked to whistle at girls. I was deep into studying. I took time to develop relationships with all of my siblings as they allowed. It wasn’t that I wasn’t “interested” in boys. I plain and simple told my daddy once, “I’m not old enough to do anything about it, so why would I play with someone’s heart?” (As a teen, I thought he was shocked with my logic, but now as an adult I wonder if he was also scared of what I meant by that.)

And that was the first dating decision I realized I had made.

…continued next time!

~Nancy Tart

A Family Journal

June 2, 2019

A Family Journal

I’ve been working on two projects for each of my children.  One was a crocheted blanket for each – king size, crafted from their favorites in a pattern they chose.  I’ve only completed one.  The second is about 15 rows from completion, but I haven’t worked on it since Thea was born.  It took me 17 months for the first half of Christina’s, but during one superbowl at Louis’ dad’s house, I completed the other half!  So I’m fast, but it will likely be the next week I have off – and then I’ll start on the third of seven.

The second was started in December 2016.  It looks like a simple book, right?

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Actually, I started a journal for Christina.

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It tells family stories, I write my Bible study notes, discuss issues, and write my prayers.  I tell “her story” from my perspective starting from the last page moving forward.  I saved the fourteen pages in between this story and my “journal” for family.  I am going to ask women in our family to write encouragement and blessing to her in their own hand in the journal before I pass it on to her.

I’ve got a central core of stories I will have in each journal – all will be slightly different because I never write the same exact words each time.

I want to write all the wisdom I’ve heard in stories from my grandmothers, mothers, fathers, and mentors in a way my children can read them when they choose.  Maybe they will be encouraged, challenged, or just smile realizing that they are not alone in a struggle they feel slightly too proud or too embarrassed to ask for help about.  I try to relay life and our journey in these bits.  I manage to write at least once a week and direct most of my writing as if I’m talking to her.  This also helps me to process my thoughts.  I also have a required study day if I forget. (Which, yes, sometimes I read without studying, but at least once a week I remember to write my study!)

Such a simple little book.  It holds our family memories, stories, and encouragement for a young woman.  (I need to get busy on Becky’s as they are growing up too quickly for me!)

Thanks for reading!

Type at you next time…

~Nancy Tart

Watching & Analyzing

Watching & Analyzing

April 27, 2019

I’ve always been a watcher.  I watch the world around me and (most of the time) analyze it.  I look at a beautiful blue sky and my mind says “wow, how pretty,” and quickly follows with “it won’t rain for the next few hours.”  (Yes, hours, we live in Florida – if you walk outside and don’t like the weather, go brush your teeth and check again.)

Honestly, I analyze too much.

I shouldn’t catch a glimpse of something and try to analyze it.

In relationships, that is nosy.  See someone and instantly turn on your inner Sherlock Holmes… (Four different cat hairs on her skirt, four cats – her house must be smelly… unless she uses that whatever-name-it-is-I-saw-on-tv multi-cat litter.  Is her purr-fume laced with tuna?)

That just isn’t nice.

In normal life, it can suck out the joy.

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I catch this glance of my angel sleeping.  Instant thought: “My Mom will love this.” Second thought: “She was two months old on Easter Sunday.”  Third thought as I’m sending my mom the picture: “Daddy never saw her.”  Followed quickly by a flood: Daddy didn’t get to hear about Christina flying, Lucas will not remember his Grandfather, they won’t get to learn how amazing Daddy’s brain was – like talking to an educated encyclopedia with an open mind.  He was always listening, always talking, always making connections where we couldn’t see them; always the analyst.

Within two minutes (from the time I took the picture until Mom texted back), my mind had sent my mood from joyful to sorrowful.  From excited about young life to regretting the passing of my Daddy.  I had just rode an emotional roller coaster at work and nothing had changed on my face.

I forced myself to refocus.

Daddy always expected Christina to achieve her dreams – he once told me to “look out, she has your determination and a friendlier world; just you watch what she does!”

Lucas loves watching family videos and listening to stories of his “Santa Boompa” told by his big sisters.

I inherited Daddy’s knack for soaking up knowledge (probably why I can make myself learn any new job rather quickly) and if you want to start me talking… (yes, the girls call it lecturing) enter at your own risk because I’ll make strange connections, see beyond what is easily seen, and read into situations for what “could be.”

I remind myself that we can always shift our focus to the positive, and that’s what Daddy would have wanted.  He didn’t want anyone sad when he left us.  He always wanted the joy, smiles, and laughter that he tried to cultivate.  So, now I’m back to joyful.

Then music runs through my head: “I Choose Joy!” (For King & Country – I love that song!)

Yes, I choose joy.  Everyday.  I pray you do too.

 

Type at you Later…

~Nancy Tart

Minuit’s Story

This story of Minuit, the Dwarf Holland Lop bunny who became Kimberly’s best gift ever, and how Kimberly fell in love with her “snuggle bunny” gifted by her big sisters!

January 2, 2019

Minuit’s Story

There was a girl, Kimberly, who fell in love in 2013 when she was 6 and a black and white “retired stud rabbit” she called “Mister Walter Rabbit” was left on her family’s back porch.

Mom found out Mr. Walter Rabbit was over 12!  (Rabbits average 10 years.)  That didn’t matter to Kimberly.  She slid down the kiddie slide with him, she put him on his blanket in the baby buggy and dragged it around like a rickshaw, she slept with him, she loved him more than any animal ever before, and with a little help from her oldest sister, took care of him “all by myself!”

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Kimberly and Mr. Walter Rabbit were inseparable for over two years!

Fast forward to 2018 and Kimberly helped build a Guinea Pig cage for the big girls’ three new “girl Guinea Pigs” – but Becky’s angel was actually TobyMac (read more here).  Kimberly’s little Avery love was far older than the lady let us know, and Kimberly only was able to love on Avery for almost a year.

Kimberly’s loss of her “baby” Guinea Pig came only two days after her Grandfather passed away.  Kimberly cried that this would be her saddest Christmas ever.

It wasn’t a great financial year for her parents, so they were very busy with trying to pick up odd jobs and stay working so they could pay bills on time.  Kimberly’s mom listened and tried to console her, but she knew Kimberly would have to heal herself because words don’t fill wounded hearts.  Kimberly’s mom’s Daddy was Kimberly’s Grandfather.

Kimberly’s mom had only been home for a couple hours after a temp job that morning when Becky and Christina, Kimberly’s two older sisters who had been working babysitting and odd jobs too, came excitedly up to Mom.  The younglings were asleep (except the baby brother), and Becky gave Mom $50 and said, “we found this bunny for Kimberly and it’s just perfect and the lady just texted us… they are back from candlelight service and we need you to drive over and pick it up with us.”

Mom was flabbergasted.  The teenagers had researched, found a local bunny breeder with the specific kind of bunnies Kimberly had wanted (Dwarf Holland Lops) and she was holding a black female (the EXACT color and sex Kimberly said she was going to buy “once I save enough”) for them.

IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE!

Christina babysat, Becky kept Mom awake, baby brother fell asleep in the van, and Mom taxied the proud big sister out to pick up “the perfect gift” and ferry it home.

The big sisters had planned ahead with feed, a very nice cage (a pair of Guinea Pigs came in it, but it was not used now as they had the big run), the bedding, and even a waterer and feeder.   They prepped the bunny cage, set it under the Christmas tree (it was nearly 11pm now!), and tossed a thin sheet over it.  Both were so giddy they could barely sleep!  Because of her black fur, black eyes, and sweetness, this perfect bunny was called “Minuit,” which is French for “Midnight.”

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On Christmas morning, the kids gathered around to open presents and the suspense was just too much for Dad, because Kimberly hadn’t even seemed to notice the animal cage covered in sheet!  Dad said, “Kimberly, that sheet is in the way, please fold it up.”

Kimberly grabbed the sheet and almost screamed!  (Poor Minuit!)  Kimberly was so happy she was in tears!  As Christina and Becky reassured her the 9 week old bunny was hers, she scooped her out of the cage and snuggled her on the couch.  Nothing else mattered at that moment.  Kimberly cried and after everyone had finished adoring the new bunny, she gasped, “Mom, I thought this would be the saddest Christmas, but this is my best Christmas gift ever!”

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Leave it to amazing, thoughtful, caring big sisters to research something you really desire, manage a way to get it for you, and give you the best Christmas surprise you’ve ever had!

I hope you enjoyed this story of Minuit, the Dwarf Holland Lop bunny who became Kimberly’s best gift ever, and how Kimberly fell in love with her “snuggle bunny!”

Thanks for reading!

Type at you later…

~Nancy Tart

 

The Fallen

May 27, 2018

“The Fallen”

Sometimes art inspires me.  Sometimes it’s hard to visualize large numbers.  These memorials do an excellent job.

I’ve heard of the origin of Decoration Day (Memorial Day) and often thought about the hearts of the women decorating the graves of fallen soldiers during the War Between the States.

Today, I learned of a beautiful memorial done on the Normandy beach on September 21, 2013 that memorialized the enormous loss of life in the absence of peace.  They called this project “The Fallen.”

Over 9,000 soldiers and civilians died on June 6th, 1944 as part of the liberation of France during World War II.

The artists chose to etch a human-sized body into the sand of the beach for each soldier and civilian who was reported to have lost their lives during the invasion.

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Hundreds of volunteers came and 9,000 sand etchings were created to show the huge loss of people.  (above picture from Sand In Your Eye)

This picture from the cliff speaks volumes.  (picture below from Sand In Your Eye)

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This memorial lasted a few hours until the tide slowly washed it away.  The image of this memorial reminds us of the human costs of war; as was quoted from Sand in Your Eye, the artists responsible, “[each figure was] a representation of a person that once lived, they had parents, family, friends… those people that lost their lives are no longer with us but on [this day] they spoke.” (quote from Sand In Your Eye)

Studying history, I understand the necessity of war to rescue people from hopeless situations of oppression, but that doesn’t lessen the sadness of loss.  I thank those who serve to protect us, the families of those who perished, and those who were not trained soldiers yet fought when they were needed.

As Memorial Day approaches, I remember those who sacrificed their lives for others.  If you can ever visit the memorials in Washington DC, do it; and remember that each name on a memorial is all we see of an entire life – family, friends, and dreams.  It hits home when your teary-eyed ten-year-old holds her hand an inch from the reflective black marble wall and says “that could have been granddaddy’s name and then we would be missing all his children and grandchildren.”

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Whether we agree with the war or not, we honor and remember each of the fallen.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you next time…

~Nancy Tart

 

 

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