Tag: memories

Doubly Blessed

A tiny story about how my prayers being answered became my children being doubly blessed!

January 15, 2022

Doubly Blessed

Note: (wrote this December 5, 2021 when whomever decided my computer operating system is too old to connect to wordpress anymore!)

One day I was cleaning bathrooms at a church work day and met a wonderful woman.  She was cheerful and spoke about Jesus like a best friend.  She was encouraging.  I thought “I’d like to learn about life from her!”  I saw her a few times over the next year or so at that church.  My brother liked the youth pastor and he needed a chaperone – thus being, when the youth group was participating in clean-up days or work days or whatever, I was there with him.  We started attending that church. 

About fourteen months later on a warm July afternoon, I went to meet the parents of the young man I had started dating that Friday.  Although I knew God was telling me I had the green light to marry this one, my logical brain was fighting that suggestion.  The woman I wanted to learn from?  I was dating her middle son!

I have an amazing mother whom I love.  God gifted her to me when I was born.  I never thought I would love another woman in a similar way.

But God’s ways are awesome! 

I tell people I have two moms.  One I was born with and one I got when I married Louis.  I love how Joanne is so accepting, loving, supporting, and helpful.  She and my mother, Tina, are quite similar.   Someone mentioned today that the normal “mother-in-law” is someone you fight with and tolerate or even don’t like.  I’m so grateful for the blessing of my mother-in-law.

I pray that God gives me the same grace to my children’s spouses.

This is because the blessing of loving in-laws passes through generations.  Loving interaction and respect between the parents and newlyweds turns into future strong grandchild-grandparent ties.  When a mother-in-law or father-in-law is a friend and mentor, the grandchildren see their parents show respect and love to their parents; visibly strengthening the children’s understanding of “honoring fathers and mothers” and set the stage for generational connections that are hard to sever.  My children have many fond memories of their grandparents on both sides!  I’m so thankful for that.  

That I’m a friendly, welcoming person who looks at the girls’ future husbands and Lucas’ future wife not as competition for their attention but as blessings God has planted in my life as well as theirs.  I pray to be like Joanne.  She is such a wonderful model of mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, and friend.  I have known and loved her for twenty years – related to her for a little over nineteen. 

I smile; I never considered how sweet God’s answer to my heart’s desire to “learn about life” from the bubbly, serious, hardworking woman whose company I enjoyed one Saturday while cleaning bathrooms at our “new” church – I would really get to do life with her!  She would be my mom. 

Thank you Jesus for amazing blessings!

Thank you for reading,

Type at you next time!

~Nancy Tart

Walk and Enjoy

February 3, 2021

Walk and Enjoy

Louis likes to do “spur of the moment” fun.

We had a lovely Saturday; work, the guys watched a game, we played outside, we had some really good food some of the girls helped Louis with, and we were winding down for the early evening when suddenly…

“Let’s go downtown!”

“Yippee!!”

Everyone grabs warm top layers for the wind. They have learned that Florida winter off the Bayfront can be cold. “Shoes? Socks?” I have to remind the gymnast crew that feet need to be covered as well. We load into the van and we text Becky (who was babysitting) and her charge’s mom to make sure they wanted to come and had permission.

We swing by and grab two more singers to add to the movie soundtrack sing along concert and windows down – well, down partway because we can’t freeze the baby! We continue to the only spot you can find parking on busy Saint Augustine nights (behind the Lightner Museum, you’re welcome) and walk down MLK to the Bayfront.

Well, actually, that is the cliff notes version. It sounds tame. Nope, not tame at all! Jillian was just 9 and commented on how we are all odd for now. 17, 15, 13, 11, 9, 7, 5, and 1. Thea will be 2 shortly but yes, for almost a month, all of our family and Anastasia are odd. One of the kids pipes up with, “but oddballs all the time!” Which makes all of them laugh and act silly. All of this and we haven’t reached the front of the Lightner!

We climb, jump, skip, or literally skip the steps up to the grass (Dad jumps up the wall instead of using the steps). “Cartwheels!” and there are five gymnasts showing us backward rolls, cartwheels, roundoffs, handstand rolls, and other such skills on the “softest grass around town” and two or three popped into a handstand contest. This turned into running in circles around a small tree, playing a quick round of tag, and pointing out horses and trolleys as they passed. And dogs. Christina noticed every dog of all types from a pair of tiny Maltese scurrying along like fluffed up marshmellows to the giant Newfoundland walking with his huge head taller than Jillian’s!

Now after most of their giddy energy has been spent, we are ready to walk our normal almost 2 mile route. They always giggle and ohh and ahh like this is the first time they’ve explored downtown. I love that! As we are standing at the intersection waiting for the walk signal, Anastasia announces, “Huge group coming through! Party of ten over here!” One of my teens at the rear is literally pointing and counting heads! We look like crazy tourists!

“Ooooo!” shriek six voices, “look at that cute doggie!” Please don’t hurt the doggie’s ears!

At the Bayfront, they all turn toward the bridge, “May we walk the bridge?” “The bridge, yeah!” “It’s so windy we better hold on tight!” (It’s not that windy, but let their imaginations run wild!) “Look! Lights on the boats!” And, yes, we walk the bridge! They pause, run, race, and walk; depending on whatever imaginary fun thing they are doing at the moment. Louis keeps up with the racers in the front and Mom slows to stay with the chatting teens in the back. Really, Mom is walking or jogging at Thea pace. Thea thinks she is scared of the big lions – never before has she been scared of them (vacuums, lawnmowers, air dryers, showers, yes, but not large carved critters until today). She is not scared of the grate over the water anymore (or maybe because it’s dark and the water looks black just like the grate?) which makes crossing the bridge easy.

Craziness walking back (all as a group this time, which is interesting with the motorized bicycles that are in the narrow walkway! “Single file! Don’t try to fly right now!” – yes, I yelled that ahead!) and watching boats from the “turret” (the spot where we can all fit!) while they sang jingles and cracked jokes.

Along the stones at the Bayfront, the moon was gorgeous.

Many people were just walking right from the sidewalk up to the sea wall without stopping to see the obstacles so it was another “straight line please!” and “not on the grass!” or “watch out!” as five duckies from 13 to 5 maneuvered through the groups of tourists like a long snake in a single row with the 5 year old leading to the fort.

Fort! Finally!

They run up the grassy hill to the midsection where they all have ingrained lifetime memories of rolling to the bottom. Same five duckies go rolling down the hill in three, two, one! Rolling over each other, around each other, past the baby roller to reach the bottom, laugh, and climb back up to start again.

Now it is walk down (they rolled) to the crosswalk that gets us in the alley by the Pirate and Treasure Museum (We’d love to go in, but it’s closed which means window shopping and vivid imaginations run wild!) to St George Street. They read t-shirts from windows, announce shop names, talk about where family members have worked, and sing along with songs from the live bands we pass or sing along with whatever they are humming in their own head.

Lots of “ooh, doggies!” and “wow, look, a horse!” exclamations later, we get back to our van and the parade turns into another dance and sing-along party where the whole backseat is heads bobbing in time and Thea’s whole body is wriggling like a worm (except for her torso, tightly strapped in the baby seat). By the time Becky and Anastasia get to their destination, two of the adventurers are asleep.

I love making happy memories! I love Louis’ spur-of-the-moment perfect outings and ideas! Thank you, Jesus, for my family and for fun! Thank you for the time I have with them!

Walk and enjoy!

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Sand in a Glass

Sliding Sands in a Glass Bottle: Life thoughts from Sand Art

August 21, 2020

Sand in a Glass

We were making sand art at summer camp yesterday.  As I was pouring different color sands into tiny cute plastic critters and shapes for the cute crew of younglings we call campers, one said, “I want red like in The Wizard of Oz.”

I didn’t remember the red sand in the hourglass that the wicked witch sets up for Dorothy. 

Instantly I thought of time slowly falling through a tiny hole like the red sands dropping from my spoon into the funnel to fill the little dinosaur. 

Time does just slip away.

So many times we say, “later,” or “when this is finished,” or “maybe next time,” or “when I’m not so busy.”

But I’ve learned that if it’s something I want to do, I need to do it now.  As soon as possible.  Before the person I want to do it with moves away, grows up, changes schools, changes jobs, etc. I’ve learned to live life in the now. That doesn’t mean I don’t plan for the future and have goals. It means that when it comes to relationships, I always choose now over later.

When someone is gone, it is too late.

You never want to live with regret.

We used to measure time with sand in a glass. Hourglass. That’s an old concept for most of us. I mean, really, how many of us have even seen an hourglass unless we happen to be a fan of “The Wizard of Oz” or play games like Scrabble, Boggle, or Guesstures? It isn’t just a 3-minute timer (it is in the aforementioned games). An hourglass historically was used as a reliable measure of time. It was flipped every time the last grain of sand slid into the bottom and someone yelled out the new hour. On ships, at military forts, etc.

That is how life was measured.

Now we have digital everything and except for a few traditionalists like me, constantly glancing at a timepiece on my wrist governed by fancy cogs, we seldom know how to read that analog device sitting somewhere in the distance. We certainly don’t depend on the flipping of an odd shaped sand-filled bottle.

Our life on Earth is like that hourglass though.

We have so many grains of sand before they run out.

Those few seconds of distraction were enough to finish my spoon of red sands into the plastic reptile. “What color now?” I ask. She picks blue, dark sparkly blue, and I ask, “a little or a lot?”

As I pour a little line of dark sparkly blue, I think, “and God fills our life with different layers or seasons.”

Yellow and dark sparkly purple follow with “all the rest” a black that looks like someone shredded a jet stone.

I think of how we are blessed with so many seasons of time with those we love. Some long – some short – some impact our lives just for a day. Each season of life we spend with each other is like a different layer in sand art; unique and special. Something to enjoy. Something to treasure.

I pray that I take time to treasure each relationship I have and those that will come.

One of the campers is swinging his sand art furiously – “mine’s all rainbowed!” He had a perfectly lined rainbow; red, two orange tones, yellow, two green tones, blue, indigo, violet, lavender, and black at the top. Now it is a fusion of color that looks like gray muck with spots of brilliance.

Wow. My writer’s brain goes into overdrive with that one. Bright spots in the mundane. This is what time spent in relationship is. For instance: we spent 3 days at a winter getaway with my family once and talking to my kids you would think it was an entire 3-month winter season! Those memories together is a bright spot in the normalcy of life that they bring out fondly whenever they please.

Thank you, Jesus.  Help me to treasure today, build relationships that last, and make memories for tomorrow.

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

The Story of Sheba

December 28, 2019

The Story of Sheba

Once there was a little girl who loved dogs and prayed for a little black dog.  Her mom had already agreed to take the least wanted puppy from a litter about to happen.  Her mom prayed the puppy was black.

A few weeks later, Mom got a call – the mommy dog had shoved one baby puppy away and it needed special care.  Mom said, “we’ll take it” and the tiny “runt of the litter” fluffy puppy came to her furever home. That was February 25, 2008, almost 12 years ago. And yes, other than a white spot on her tummy that grew to cover her belly and some brownish tan on her paws, the puppy was black!

Sheba with (L-to-R) Kimberly (Sheba loved snuggling on the couch), Jaquline (Sheba would sleep on the walker to keep Kimberly and Becky from “racing” the baby around!), and Thea.

Sheba became the Tart family’s perfect dog.  She loved the three little humans who grew up with her.  Kimberly was only five months older than Sheba!  Sheba ran around, grew up, played, made doggie friends, herded chickens, mothered lost dogs who wandered in, loved on chickens when the Tarts lived on their farm, snuggled with baby chicks, guinea pigs, the two rabbits, and Christina’s baby puppy, Prim. 

Sheba had a wonderful doggie life. 

L-to-R: Sheba with Jaquline (Jaquline insisted Sheba loved “Snow Dogs”), Kimberly had “dressed” Sheba in a beaded necklace she made, Sheba’s favorite sleeping position on any couch.
L-to-R: Sheba in the playroom, Sheba loved the tile floor in that house!, Mom said “no more movies” and the girls couldn’t find the remote… (Sheba had it!) Sheba loved to sleep on that table for some odd reason.

(top) Sheba with puppy Primrose, (bottom) Sheba with Lady (one of our doggie friends), (right) Thea climbed up on the couch to snuggle Sheba, who was sleeping in her new, weird, favorite position.

L-to-R: Baby Lucas, Jillian, and Sheba at the end of the bed (right next to the crib), Sheba’s favorite spot in that garage (next to the food bag!), Thea rubbing Sheba (she loved her soft fur and had just learned “dog!”)

Last year she started to slow down a bit.  In December of this year, she started feeling sick some days.  The vet said her stomach was failing. Vitamins and special food helped a little.  She wasn’t able to digest all her food and she would get skinny and we had decided once she was in pain, we would put her to sleep.  None of us wanted to lose our Sheba.  She loved being outside when it was cool because she was bushy furry (we teased she was an a/c dog because she slept on one of the air conditioning vents in summer and almost refused to go outside in summer daylight!).  On cooler days, she would play on our run while we were outside.  Christmas Day it was gorgeous.  Sheba said hi to both Grandmas when they visited and ran outside almost the whole day in gentle cool breezes.  We were petting and snuggling with her by turns.  She sleeps a lot since she’s been over 10 so when she curls down to sleep we usually let her rest.  We were enjoying a Christmas campfire and telling stories.  Louis went inside to get some water.  I knew Sheba was fully asleep when Louis stopped by her longer than just to stroke her and turned his flashlight on.  I handed Thea to Mom and we verified that she was fully gone. I stroked her soft, fluffy coat one last time before I wrapped her in her blanket.

The older girls came out to help.  We buried her and said goodbye to our best furry friend.  Sheba had spent more time with me than any other dog.  She was our first family dog. My mom said, “Sheba probably found Boompa and Aunt Mary in heaven.” Christina laughed, “oh, yes, she instantly found Aunt Mary!” Because every time Mary would stay with us, Sheba would seek her bed out and snuggle with her – I’d be like, “no dogs in the bed, Mary,” and she’d giggle, wrap Sheba in a bear hug and say, “but she’s a big, fluffy stuffed animal!” and Sheba would give us the sweet sad eyes so she’d get to sleep with Mary.  Sheba always snuggled up with anyone who wasn’t feeling well – she always seemed to know before we did.

Kimberly said she had prayed that Sheba would get to run loose outside, thinking of us having a fenced yard at our new house, but Sheba had been running loose anytime she was outside lately and stayed near the house because she didn’t feel good. 

Louis set candles out on her grave for the night.  We’ve planted flowers now.  Each pet we’ve lost, we’ve buried and planted a tree over it as a reminder.  Louis called Sheba our perfect dog.  That she was. 

Flower Bed for Sheba
The Garden Bed we planted for Sheba

Thea’s first Christmas was Sheba’s last.  Our furry family treasure went to heaven, “raced over the rainbow bridge” as Jillian said, after spending a full Christmas Day with her family and “Grandmas.” It had been Sheba’s favorite outside day, gentle cool breezes with a mild, wintery temperature where she’d stand, face in the wind and wag that super fluffy “duster” tail. I’m going to miss my Sheba.  Two months shy of 12 full years from her February 25th birthday – rather long for a dog.  Goodbye, my sweet, lovable, playful furry baby; I love you Sheba, run free and fast with no leash and no borders! Your human family will miss you!

Type at you later,

~Nancy Tart

Questions:

September 23, 2019

Questions

I love how children ask questions.  Sometimes their questions make you go search something.  Like “what is a rainbow?” or “why are leaves green?”

Sometimes their questions mirror your own; but those you won’t speak.

You know, questions that your doubting mind asks but your thinking heart understands.

“Why are you crying?” I ask.

My little girl is riding with me to go pick up two of her big sisters, “why did Aunt Mary die?  Why is Mandy’s mom gone?  Jay is a baby; he will never remember his mom.”

Her tears fall as she speaks.  I let her finish talking.  My heart aches.  I ask those questions in my head too. 

“I miss my baby sister too.” I start, I want to connect with her heart. “Our world is broken because of sin.”  She nods, she has heard this too. 

“I know,” she is still slowly crying, “but she loved Jesus since she was little like me.”  (Mary had told them once that she was five when she promised Jesus her heart. I was there.  She was telling everyone about Jesus and was just five years old.)  Jaquline didn’t know how complex her aunt’s life had become so fast.  Because of sinful controlling people in her life that kept her bogged down, in fear of her life or her family’s life, and assaulted her mentally as they tried to keep her quiet and separate her from anyone who truly loved her.  As a young teen, some guy misused her, showed her that from a certain spot he could see her father’s bedroom, and told her one shot through the window would kill the man she loved the most.  He was the first to rip her young heart to shreds with his awful controlling self – then he had the gall to continue to threaten her when she moved 300 miles away!  Others treated her like dirt; lying about those she loved and people who cared about her until she actually believed these lies and isolated herself from those who would have helped her.

I could hate these people.  Instead I pray for them. 

But she’s my baby sister.  There was a part of me that wanted to go “Good Citizen” on their carcasses.  But I know Jesus died for them just like He died for me and I am supposed to love my enemies.

Switch back to my car on the interstate with my nine year old sitting shotgun with silent tears crawling down her fair cheeks.  This all flashes really fast so the same song is still playing.

“Do you ever think about where Aunt Mary is now?” Jaquline says. Newsong’s “My Heart is Already There” was playing in the background.

“Yes.” All the time.  That comforts me. “She’s with Jesus.  Can you imagine?  Being in His presence and seeing his face?”

Jaquline giggles. “Maybe all her puppies will be there.”  (Mary loved animals and was always trying to get a dog, but always the guy she lived with didn’t want one.)

“Remember the pictures of her as a baby chasing Boodle?” I ask (cutest little Maltese my family had twenty years ago) Jaquline laughs.  “I bet she’s petting him instead of chasing him now.”

“I ask Jesus why Aunt Mary is gone.” Her voice is distant. “He doesn’t answer.”

I sighed, “do you know why Jesus made us?”

“To be with Him.” Bingo.

“Yes, He wanted a relationship with us.  He loves each of us.  He didn’t want Mary to die, but now she is with Him all the time.  Only God knows when each person’s time comes to die.  We all will die one day.”

“I always hope to die when I’m old like Boompa,” Jaquline said.  “I’m not so sad for Boompa, but I’m so sad for Aunt Mary.  I’m sad for Grandma.” Yes.  Same for me.  I miss my father immensely.  I miss my sister.  I can’t fathom the depth of grief for my mother. 

“Jesus will comfort Grandma.  We have to help love her too.”  I say.

“We can be Jesus’ arms and hug her!” Jaquline’s tears have dried a bit and she’s now thinking about serving others.  She loves helping; it usually brings her happiness.

“Yes.” I smiled at her as we parked.  “And sometimes Jesus uses her arms to hug you, too.”

Big smiles return. 

Yes.  I totally miss my sister.  I grieve for the harshness she ended up living through for the last few years of her life.  23.  Her life’s clock stopped so short, only 23 years.  I always dreamed of her silly dancing at our Christmas parties for ages, smiling her beaming-happy-smile as she watched nieces and her daughter walk shakily down their aisle to their forever-love, dancing with her sons at their weddings, encouraging my teenagers in their Christian walk toward womanhood, and living her new-found free life focused on her three little angels.  Their plans, maybe not together, but at least working together for the best – the children. So, yes, I asked that question.  “Why, God?  Why is my baby sister dead?”  It seemed so surreal for me.  No body.  No last look.  No nothing.  I keep expecting her to drive up, drop the littles off, and enjoy some of whatever food we have just cooked. 

I know this world is broken by sin.  I know it wasn’t ever in God’s plan for us to have death.  I know my grandmothers, father, and baby sister are in heaven in the presence of God.  I have hope I will see them again.  But yes, I did ask those questions.  Yes, my heart aches for my family who must live without her.  I pray for all of us daily.  I find it hardest to pray for those who have hurt her, but that is my challenge.  I must love them as Jesus did.

My mind drifts back:

“…He has called us too! He has called us too! We are all disciples!  Even me and you!” The little voice yells each stanza of the VBS song.  Jumping with excitement, “did I get them all right?” 

I had been singing along and am raking something for a vegetable bed.  “Yes, Mary, don’t bounce on my tilled dirt.” We laugh and she points at her shoeprints.

“Yippeeeeeee!” She hollers and spins.  “Where’s Easter!  I’m gonna sing it to Easter!”  And she runs off in a singing blur, little bright blue eyes sparkling with life, long wispy blonde hair flying about in the Georgia breeze, she’s going to find that silly yellow hen that actually loves to be captured by Mary and sits contentedly tucked in her arms.  I look up to see my vibrant baby sister swinging on the swingset with Easter in her lap, projecting her beautiful voice with some soul-singer power as she practices the song for tomorrow’s VBS service. (You know, where the kids show off to the adults what they’ve learned in the week) Mary would tell the world that she asked Jesus in her heart about two years later.  She had such a love for life and care for others.  No one is perfect.  We aren’t Jesus.  I love her for her heart.  I will always love my baby sister. No, loss never “gets easy” but I do have hope in Jesus that I will see her again.  And that keeps me out of falling into bitterness. I can’t allow my grief to turn into bitterness.  I can’t be Rose from Overcomer; I have to choose joy.

And just like a soundtrack to my life, as I slide back in the car with the two older girls in tow, For King and Country’s “I Choose Joy” is shouting from the speakers.

Thank you, Jesus.  You know my heart.

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Frogger

Memories associated with one simple game…

August 6, 2019

Frogger!

Christina is jumping up and down with excitement in front of my bedroom door as Louis, Thea, and I are laying on top of the bed after church and lunch.  On Sunday, we usually talk about stuff and share a bit about each others’ week while he powernaps (how can he do that with his eyes open?) and I feed Thea.

“The Flea Market is open until 4!” Christina announces.  She’s been wanting to go for a few weeks now, yet we’ve always been too busy & yesterday we built the middle girls their new bed.

So we get to the Flea Market and she zooms to the one spot we always get our games from (always… I haven’t been there in over 2 years).  This guy has been in business for over 14 years – sold Becky her second PS1 and our current PS2.  Christina has been slowly building a game system & game disc collection of her own.  Today both Christina and Becky pull out their debit cards.  (This feels weird, as my teens are buying stuff with their own debit cards with their own money!) 

I’m a bit proud, a bit sad. 

Proud because Christina is managing college, CAP (2nd Lieutenant now), homeschool, work, and friends mostly on her own and doing a good job at it  Proud because Becky raises sweet, lovable Guinea Pigs (Kimberly and Jillian are also partners in this venture), juggles college classes, gymnastics, and her interests well. 

Sad because this additional sign of independence just shows me how quickly they are growing.

Usually Sunday is a no-tech day, but since we spent yesterday building the bed and deep cleaning, we allowed video games today. 

That’s how we got home, have all 7 children on the couch watching Christina and Becky “test” the two Lego Star Wars PS2 discs, enjoying the four slushies Becky bought while I got gas.  Sharing treats, laughing at the games, and enjoying each other’s company – I love this!

Then out comes Christina’s reason for going in the first place… she displays the original PS1 frogger game with a flourish and jumps up and down.  “Remember this game, Becky?” And they laugh. 

It’s the first game they remember Uncle Buddy playing with them when he brought in their first PS1.  They played that one as a 4-player for years (with the special “L” shaped extra Christina didn’t find this trip).  They played that with Aunt Mary and Aunt Stacy at the little house behind the Winn Dixie. 

Christina says, “Mom, the memories attached to this game are priceless!”

I smiled.  So true.  I remember playing this with my brothers and sisters (the only 4-player at the time) and the crazy laughter that happened with “bees bees all sorts of bees” and “racing cars” and “the hippos and crocs” and all the other fun nicknames for the levels we had. 

I’m watching now as they do another popular big family thing with fast games – pass the controller around after each “death” – taking turns and laughing…

Oh, now they’ve changed frogger’s name to “Gerald” – and keep lauging… “Off the rock, Gerald!”  “Not there, Gerald!” (occasionally tossing in other lines from Finding Dory too… my crazy, fun, family!)

Type at you next time,

~Nancy Tart

Songs and Movies… How can that make me cry?

Why does she cry? Even she doesn’t know, but the right song or movie certainly can start it.

February 6, 2019

Songs and Movies…

It has almost been two months since my Daddy passed.

I can’t find it to cry, normally.  If I think about crying, I remember how happy he is in heaven.  Then crying feels selfish – because I know he was in pain every day here.

But sometimes, I can’t explain it.  And it’s always a song or a movie.  And even that doesn’t always make sense.

I was coming home from work one early afternoon and on comes “Small Town Southern Man.”  No, that wasn’t my Daddy, but the core of the song “…He bowed his head to Jesus… always loved one woman, was proud of what he had… he said his greatest contribution was the ones he left behind…” Yes, that was my Daddy.

I was bawling when the next one happened to be “Love Without End, Amen” – which yes, didn’t need any alteration and went all the way to heaven.  I’m glad my car has cruise control and I’ve been driving 207 for over 20 years.

A song.  A movie. (okay, this one was crazy)   Never saw it with my Daddy, but he had given it to us.  Annapolis.  A story of a determined young person getting to his goal – my Daddy liked stories with real character.  At the end of the film, Louis comments, “I know why your Dad liked that one.” And that was it.  Not that anyone else saw, but I ended up tearing up over the simple thought that I can’t ever discuss this film with Daddy.  It had so many side stories and threads woven this way and that – prime film material for our long-drawn-out discussions.

Whenever something makes me want to cry, I remember the silliest of song lyrics/movie lines and it’s really odd that those four lines remind me of Daddy because he didn’t like that movie. (I’m not a fan or having that one on continual repeat, either.)  “He lives in you.”  And, yes, my mind sings it.

I’m thankful for memories.   I’m thankful for times when I hear my Daddy in my siblings and children – just things he often said or quirky humorous lines.  I almost cried when I first saw my little brother in his new glasses with the hat and stubbly beard – because if the beard were a bit longer, that is how I remember my Daddy (from when I was a toddler) and my little brother is a spitting image (face) of my Daddy.

I feel sad that Daddy won’t see Teddy or Thea (our Baby, named after his/her great-grandfather Pearson) but I know I’ll keep “Living the Legacy” (another song… yes) and just like the girls don’t “remember” their Great-Grandmother Jeanette yet they know her love and life through us, my children will know their Grandfather Pearson’s legacy because it’s in us – and my extension, also in them.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you next time…

~Nancy Tart

Train Tracks

Memories with train tracks: little brothers, giggling elves, children 🙂

December 11, 2018

Train Tracks

One Christmas, about 10 years ago, Christina, Rebeccah, and baby Kimberly received a train track set with two little trains.  It was a tight year; Mommy had found it at a resale shop for $7 with its own storage tub!  This was the “big present” that year.  Mommy and Daddy almost woke the little sleepers up giggling and playing with it as we set it up around the Christmas tree.  Daddy put the crayons (Mommy saved those from penny sales at the start of school time) and coloring books in sets around it.  Three tins with special cookies and treats we’d made were wrapped up and set around the track too.  Other presents gathered around the tree, hiding in the circle of track.

That sturdy mix of train track and car track has been heavily played with for many years.  It was Lucas and Isaac’s favorite thing to do – “play train tracks” from as soon as they could run every car that would possibly fit down the track.

The tracks fit together like puzzles.  Jaquline likes to build the track.  Lucas likes both building and “vrooming” trains and cars on it.

They built this one together and took pictures of it!

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Lucas has become a little puzzle-fitter when it comes to making the tracks fit lately.  The latest update for him has been adding mega-blocks and duplos under the tracks to raise them up over the “water” floor.  Once Jaquline showed him this possibility, he’s been trying it by himself!

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This little run below was all Lucas.

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We heard the Christmas song that goes “…little toy trains and little toy tracks…” and Lucas shouted, “Mommy!  A song about my train tracks!”

We donate at least one bag of toys every year as Christmas gets closer, (this year Lucas chose three of his “best cars” to give away to another little boy, and Rebeccah “found” a Lego set in their Legos which she printed the instructions for and gave away) but these tracks stay.

I remember making train tracks with my brothers, and am glad to make “train track” memories with my little ones too.

Thanks for reading!

Type at you next time…

~Nancy Tart

My Hero, My Hope

My way of processing emotion – to write. I love you Daddy. Merry Christmas at Home.

December 10, 2018

My Hero, My Hope

Be not downcast, my soul…

My Daddy’s favorite time of year is Christmas.  He loves the songs, the movies (queue “White Christmas,” “Holiday Inn,” “Miracle on 34th Street,” “Bells of St Mary’s,” my favorite, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” the 1985 Disney Channel Christmas, “Mickey’s Christmas Carol,” etc. on repeat), the giving (he loves to make people yelp with happiness!), the story, and the general mood.

My Daddy has had declining health for quite a few years.  Some days were better than others.  He always tried to pretend like nothing was wrong.

My Daddy went to heaven today.

He always said he prayed that when God wanted him, He would let him just “go to sleep” in his own bed and not wake up.  We just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.  Not near Christmas.  Truthfully, not anytime.

No one expects to lose someone they love.  Never.  No matter how sick they are or how many times they’ve been close or how many doctors have said “he can go at any time.”

No one ever expects to not be able to hear their voice again… No more long discussions about book ideas, parenting, the vastness of God’s amazing universe, the connections from one smile to a healed heart to God’s blessing.

We are human.  We never expect separation from those we love.

God didn’t intend that either.  In the beginning, there was no death.  No separation.  We were to live forever.  In today’s fallen world, we do have death – “separation.”

Those with God’s light within them know this is only a temporary separation, and that gives us tremendous hope.  We know, know, know that we will be reunited once again in heaven.  My hero and my hope as a child was in my Daddy; as an adult, I learned that God is both of our heroes and both our hopes.

And that led my mind to an image that made me cry with joy.

My Daddy lost his mother when he was 12 and his father when he was nearly twenty.  It had been nearly 50 years since he’d seen his dad and almost 60 since he’d seen his mom.

I imagined my Daddy running (yes, in his new body!) to be gathered in a hug by his mother and father.  They’d be joined by his brother, two older sisters, and family gone before.  My Daddy gets to go home where he is dancing, running, jumping, enjoying the beautiful garden he’s always imagined was in heaven (he used to say he would love for God to let him tend a garden).

I know we will miss him.

The child growing within me will not see Granddaddy Pearson on this Earth.

God did grant his request.  God allowed my Daddy to die at home, in his bed.  Daddy went into what Mom thought was a seizure.  Mom caught him, called to God to help her, then she says Daddy took a huge breath, looked at her, and told her, “I love you.  We’ve had a great life together… …I know I’m fading.  I want to go home.” They got to say goodbye.

Those we love are never truly gone.  They live on in our memories, thoughts, and hearts forever.

Thank you, Jesus, for giving me an amazing wonderful father.  Thank you for the memories I hold dear.  Thank you for allowing him to die at home in peaceful surroundings.

Hold those of us pained by this Earthly separation as we grasp the hope that is salvation.  We know we will be reunited with Gaylord Pearson again in heaven.  My goodness, what a l-o-o-o-o-n-g conversation Daddy and I will have when we meet again!

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Daddy & Mom – 1982

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Pearson family reunion – 2002 (Gaylord’s family – aka Daddy, Mom, & all 7 of us kids)

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My Daddy with 3 of his sisters L-to-R: Mary, Dolores, Carol – Reunion 2002

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Mom is about to get Daddy to dance with her!

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At Becca’s Wedding – 2012, Pearson family

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Daddy and Becca (her wedding!)

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Mom & Daddy at our family’s “Snow House” getaway in January 2014

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At Christmas 2016 : Daddy, Mom, & the older 5 siblings

Thanks for reading!

Hold those you love tenderly and treasure the memories of those who’ve had to go home before you…

~Nancy Tart

 

What to Say?

October 20, 2017

What to Say?

It doesn’t matter how you get the message.  A man in uniform, a hospital doctor, a call from their job, a letter from a mission council: it doesn’t matter the messenger, when you hear “we regret to inform you…” with the universal calm sadness people use, you don’t hear anything else.  It doesn’t matter if the name they give is your husband, wife, father, mother, brother, sister, or child.  Your world just imploded.

You are devastated; and that word falls flat when trying to convey the emotion coursing through your veins like blood.   You stare blankly, scream, yell, cry, hit, punch, or politely slam the door in their face and curl up into a tiny ball just behind it to bawl the remainder of your heart out.  Every dream you had with them has just died.  The messenger knows this and stays silent even if you lash out at them.  They usually leave you to your grief.  No more words are needed.

Your heart compresses into a lump of coal; furious at the job, war, accident, drunk driver, sickness, or whatever that stole your loved one from you.  Your heart constricts as your emotion rises into a whirling series of blades and swirls from inside your heart to rip apart everything inside you.  Anger is a part of grief.

This just happened to someone you know.  What to say?

There is nothing you can say.  Not even the most eloquent speech from the best orator on the planet will breathe life back into the lost loved one.  No one can say “I’m so sorry for you” with just the right tone to shoot back time and change the events that have happened.

We’ve all been there (most of us have been in this insane horrid sorrow of loss ourselves).  We’ve also been the friend of someone who is still reeling from the shock of extreme loss – and if we are wise, the best we can do is say nothing.  If our eyes meet the survivor we offer a smile of encouragement, a hug, or simply cry with them; just so they know we are here.

We’ve all heard someone at a funeral say what they intend as an encouragement but it actually stabs the survivor in the lungs, sucking out their air and life, tearing into their mind.  Inwardly, the animal of attack is shredding that person – but the survivor usually realizes they meant well, it just didn’t come out that way.  (“It was just her time,” “you could always have another,” “he lived a full life,” “at least she’s not hurting anymore,” or any other cliché soundbite.)

In our current techno world, grief doesn’t have a chance!  Someone loses a precious loved one and instantly society wants heart-stopping news stories, social media posts with pics and vids on all outlets, and 24/7 access into the private life of the grieving family.  Politicians want to be on stage with them.

NO!  Just let them grieve!

Pray for them if you hear of their loss.

Deliver them a meal, send them a card or flowers, or be there at the funeral to show your support and empathy if you know them.

If you are family – protect them from this ruthless media assault.

Why must society know everything about everyone in such a callous way, so distant, so superficial?  If a person really cared, they’d do something meaningful to help the family – and not go on TV to highlight their perfect generosity, excessive understanding, and absolute empathy.  Their grief shouldn’t be our profit.

Please, let them mourn for the loved one they lost and the dreams, hopes, and life they had – and no, it will never “return to normal” (something will always remind us; a uniform, policecar, firetruck, work truck, cane, wheelchair, the ocean, the hospital, the outfit they last bought us, the ring on our finger, our children, our grandchildren – these will flood us with memories and emotion at times) but yes, life does continue.  Hope allows life to continue and restores happiness, but first they must grieve.

 

In memory of all those we’ve lost…

~Nancy Tart

 

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