I miss my grandma.

I hear her singing harmonies when I sing hymns at church.

I can hear her laughing when I think to remember it.

There were a few times I made her cry because of my fiesty-ness and my inability to bow to her demands.

She made me cry a few times because of her guilt trips and bluntness.

Nobody makes fried potatoes like she did and we are all missing a good thing because of her absence.

There was that one time I told her I wanted a purple room and I came home after school and she had painted my room a pale lavender.  I had really wanted a dark purple but I was informed her choice was a better one.

One summer, in between my first and second year of college, I lived with my grandparents.  I cherish that summer.  It afforded me an understanding of my grandma and my heritage that I treasure to this day.

My mom brought me over a picture of the time I had my wedding dress fitting and my grandma was there.  I had forgotten that.

When my dad owned a furniture store in Marathon ON, my grandma put on skits with me and my sister.   Shadow plays where she pulled out random objects from our stomachs.  Oh we laughed!!  

I really miss my grandma.

I really wish she could be here these days.

More than anything I want to go out for lunch with her and catch up.  I always knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was my cheerleader in this life.  She loved me.  I always knew when she was proud of me.

And when she wasn't!!

She was sick for a long time and deteriorated into someone unrecognisable from her healthy self.  

Those days leave an impression.  She was there and gone at the same time.

The last time I saw my grandma she was asleep in bed, in the hospital, with her mouth gaping open, lightly snoring.  Nav was 6 weeks old with problems so and I had limited time to see my grandma before it was time to get back.

I still remember what I was wearing.  I wanted to look nice for her. I went in my office work clothes.

I was sad she was sleeping but there was no way I was going to wake her.  So I sat in the corner for a while, watching her sleep, sad that we could not talk.

And then I left.

I found out she had died while I was at a cabin Jon was working on.  We were all camping out there, trying to figure out our new family dynamic.  I don't remember who called me but I remember not being able to stop crying.  Gasping, really.

I wonder why I miss her so much these days, and I don't have a real answer for myself.

In part, I really want to know how proud she is of me.  I want her approval for the service I co-lead at church, I want her to take my kids berry picking, I so badly want to go to the Olive Garden with her.  Or some other random restaurant.  I loved going out with her.



When I left the hospital, I touched her foot and said "Goodbye, I love you grandma."  I just remembered that.

For years I have been saddened because I never said goodbye.

I am glad I pushed into these memories or I would not have remembered that!

Some days, homeschooling is the best.

Things are taught, my child picks up what she needs to know and life is good.

Other days, it's horrible.   I am impatient, she refuses to even consider what 13-1 is and it all sucks.

On the good days I LOVE homeschooling.

On the bad days I HATE every thing about it.

On the bad days I consider what it would be like to send her to public school.  It sounds soo much easier than I have to do.

But it's all a lie, both are hard and both are good.

Just on different levels.

Public school, I would not have to think about what we were going to learn for the day.  It would be taken care of and it would be someone else's problem.  Until she got home with homework....

Homeschool, I get to customize my curriculum to my child's individual needs.

Public school, she would be in an environment where adult input is minimal and I don't feel that it is age appropriate.

Homeschool, I risk our relationship at the cost of her education.  To much adult time.

And I go back and forth in my mind.  Over and over again.

Surrender seems to be coming up a lot for me these days.

And so, in this quiet blog space, once again, I surrender our days into the care of Jesus.  Asking that he lead and guide me as a mother, to do his will in the lives of my children.  All the while, trying to remember that they are not mine.  They are His and he has wonderful plans in store for them.

That I would be a help, not a hinder to them.

Lord have mercy on this conflicted mother's heart.

It's been 6 months since I began leading music at church.

And I still hold to the belief that a song is only worth singing if EVERYONE is singing.  

Well, the majority anyway.

We lead music as an expression of... (fill in the blank)  to our God and unless the congregation is joining in, it's a show.

Personally, I don't go to church Sunday morning for a show.  I go to participate in a worship service.  I like being an active participant.

I am thinking of this because I am currently trying to choose songs for an upcoming service and my very favourite thing is when we are singing and worshipping together.  Nothing in all the world beats a room full of people all singing in unison.  I love it.  And I think my saviour does as well.

But it's hard.  Because we all come from different back-grounds and I song I know like the back of my hand from 1993 might be brand spanking new to someone else.

And so, I gingerly and prayerfully consider the songs to be sung.

Doing my best to ensure they are singable, known and lovely.