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photo by Chandler.
Like a whirlwind, the last 365 days have passed, and I feel compelled to begin sharing my life again. It hasn't just been the milestones of Lizzie's life that has made this year fly by. She has, however, made it a most wonderful, memorable, blessed year. It has been the combination of having a newborn, a kindergartener, a Year 6er, and having to pack and sell two properties, whilst encouraging the development of a new ministry in our church. It has been in moving and settling my mother in a new home, and visiting my 99 year old grandmother, as my father had done before me, as the nearest living relative she has left; dealing with the sadness of her dementia, and reminding her repeatedly that my father, her step-son, has died, yet dealing with the joy my visits with Lizzie have brought her, the other patients, and the staff over the year. It has been finalising Dad's affairs, and the long drawn out process of finding him a niche and saying goodbye to his remains. This is the thing that has caused much guilt (his ashes have finally, this week, been placed at the cemetary, due to much indecision on my part), but also peace, as I scattered some in the tiny memorial patch of garden I planted for him.
I expected that the anniversary of Dad's death, having finally scripted the brass plaque, and planning to scatter my half of "the balance", would be the day when the tears came. I thought, after stoicly arranging his funeral and wake at 7 months gestation, giving birth with the aid of an initially half-effective epidural, having to have my mother forcibly hospitalised when she wasted down to 45 kilos after consistently refusing to open the door to aged care respite services, and then almost singlehandedly packing and moving the contents of my childhood home, selling it, and organising all of the finances to secure a place for mum in an Aged Care facility where she would be safe, fed, hydrated and medicated, near me, that I would finally have the chance to cry.
The tears came when the doctors told us Dad was gone. They came when telling Grandma that Dad had died. But they didn't come at the funeral. I spoke of Dad with an enormous sense of peace. I was carried miraculously through that day. I was aware that my prayers, and those of dear friends, had been answered, as I felt the real power of God's Spirit giving me "the peace that surpasses all understanding". I pray I was living proof of God's existence, and great love and comfort, on that day.
I expected the tears to come at many other points during the last year. They didn't. I was surprised by this. On the night before the anniversary fo Dad's death, I went to bed with a plan to scatter Dad's ashes amongst the weeping Camellia and Mr Lincoln climbing rose I had planted for him. I planned to cry. But I didn't.
Instead, I woke with a resounding sense, not of sadness that Dad had been gone for a year, but with this understanding-surpassing peace, again. This day was a day to celebrate. My Dad had been in the arms of His Heavenly Father for a perfect human year. No more pain. No more cancer. No more wasting away. No more cigarettes. No more suffering. Just peace. The promise of peace that would last for all eternity. I rejoiced that for Dad, "the old things had passed", and he was happy and whole and made perfect by Jesus. He was where I long to be! I was so thrilled by this knowledge.
Because of the year I had, I got a little taste of heaven. I know I will see Dad again, because he trusted in Jesus, and Jesus dealt with all of Dad's sin and failings. Dad was seen by God as perfect. The knowledge of my father's heavenly status has helped repair my understanding of him. God has transformed my heart, so I can see Dad through Jesus' eyes; not yet with perfect vision, but at least more clearly in the light of Jesus' saving grace.
One day I will be there with him forever, and we will worship God perfectly together.
This hope has been precious. It has sustained me through all of the things I had to do in the last year. God has blessed me more than I could ever hope or imagine over the last year, and I want to publicly acknowledge that, and praise and thank Him for it.
I pray you will ask for and experience this joy and hope too.
I haven't blogged much ikn the last year, but soon, I'll get on top of it.
Hang in there, readers...
This is going to be one gorgeous baby!
The exquisite Aish and Little B are going to become parents, and Big B Amitabh Bachchan and wife Jaya, doting grandparents.
With her eyes and his long legs, and a Bollywood pedigree, this tiny Indian equivalent of Kate and Will's future offspring is destined for stardom.
Really Long Link
Here's a list of articles covering the story:
Really Long Link Rai Bachchan&ie=UTF-8&rlz=1T4TSHN _en___AU342&q=aishwarya rai bachchan pregnant
Congratulations to Aish and Abi! Wishing you a safe and happy gestation and delivery.
This is going to be one gorgeous baby!
The exquisite Aish and Little B are going to become parents, and Big B Amitabh Bachchan and wife Jaya, doting grandparents.
With her eyes and his long legs, and a Bollywood pedigree, this tiny Indian equivalent of Kate and Will's future offspring is destined for stardom
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Well, one does, at least.
A 17year old prankster/criminal decided to show his Bieber hatred by breaking into the Acer Arena roof at his concert, and proceeding to egg him. Ironically, it appears more like the boy has a little crush on JB. He travelled from Bondi to Homebush, sneaks in to get a bird's eye view, and then does what many a teenage girl has wanted to do to Justin; he throws his eggs at him! Not naturally equipped with his own ova, the boy's were store-bought, but what better way of symbolising Bieber's status as a chick magnet, than causing a scene where "tween chicks", hidden within their shells, seem to fall from the heavens to sacrifice themselves at his feet?!
Not quite the message the boy was going for, but such a silly act, which attracts such silly pun headlines, deserves an equally silly reinterpretation
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A historic day!
The PUSA just announced that Osama bin Laden, mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks almost a decade ago, has been killed by American troops.Your text goes here
The WhiteHouse is yet to update us on FB, but the ABC just showed Barack's address to the nation, as has the SMH website.Your text goes here
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When we arrived, we were charmed by the gorgeous vine-covered facade, the lead-light doors, and suit of armour displayed in the foyer. We were less than impressed with the musty, dusty room in a desolate part of the building (Rm 45, from memory), which soon triggered allergies, and even less enamoured by the attitude of the caretakers of only two months, an unidentified male voice loudly indignant that I had a problem at all, and a Manageress, who asked "What do you want me to do about it?" when I came to reception to see if something could be done. I stared blankly whilst she remembered she was in the hospitality industry, and found us the unoccupied, slightly larger, and significantly cleaner room with better air quality. This then begs the question of why we weren't offered this room in the first place, as there was enough room for the rollaway (which we had to relocate) and our portacot. Things were looking up until, at about 10pm, our 11year old became trapped in the bathroom when the door knob jammed, and then fell out altogether. She remained there for half an hour whilst we attempted to contact reception (which is staffed 7am-7pm. Our initial concerns were taken by their adolescent daughter who happened to be using the Internet in the office at about 9:30pm). An emergency call was averted when a sheepish manager eventually got the door open. We resisted the strong urge to leave then, and thankfully had a sound night's sleep, a hearty breakfast, and an apologetic attitude from the Manager the next day, with cold smiles from his partner, which continued until the bill was paid, but not when we lingered after using the pool facilities, to enjoy our vending machine snacks in an enclave within the manor house. The indoor heated pool and spa are an asset in this very chilly, but lovely part of NSW, and there is a gorgeous guest lounge, beautifully furnished, which we may have utilised if we had travelled without children. The entire building is well heated. Ultimately, we enjoyed the stay after a very shaky start, but we hope the management become more obliging, and more fastidious, as they settle into their new roles. It would be a shame to see this lovely heritage building turn into Bowral's own Fawlty Towers.
Local Attractions
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because with the climate-skeptic Libs taking power in NSW, we need all the coal reserves we can get.
Switching off now, in the hope that a Liberal Government is not sustainable, like their preferred power source.
You'd have to be living on another planet, possibly the one inhabited by Danna Vale et.al., to not be shocked and or concerned by the recent cataclismic events devastating ours. Japan has been this week's hotbed of seismic activity, but QLD has struck back, again, in the worst run of natural disasters a state could possibly have. Poor Anna Bligh really needs a holiday.
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Alive.
Lizzie, by Grace
I do intend to resume writing at some point, but at the moment I am absorbed by the hectic nature of my life. Plus, I have to swim through squalor to reach the computer...
I'll explain later
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Comments (2)
Comment by Jeannine Baird
on Still
Clean Green Neen
Not the most helpful comment, Noor.