Well, the house is a complete disaster zone. Davis and I have been working for the last week to get things ready for the contractor to come since we received word that he will begin just as soon as deer season ends in less than two weeks. We do live in Mississippi, after all, so this is not a complete surprise. So, to get ready, I’ve packed up most everything that could possibly get in the way and have taken pictures off the wall and rolled up all the rugs and removed the window treatments. Davis, always eager to save, has taken down light fixtures, pulled up carpet in some bedrooms and is working on removing vanities and such. Basically, our house currently looks similar to Cindy Lou Who’s place after the Grinch’s night of unbridled plundering. 

The following has been Carson approved. 

Well, Carson starts his last semester of college, next week. (Cue the singing angels.) He’s been home since December 11 or so and he plans to go back to school just as soon as some shoes are delivered here on Friday. I imagine he’ll have his truck packed and idling at the end of the driveway, waiting on the UPS man. It’s been a wonderful holiday season with him, but it’s time. I think we can all agree. It’s time. 

There’s something so magical about when your kid comes home from college for the Christmas holidays. They’re relieved to be done with schoolwork for a while and excited to be home to enjoy the food and festivities of the season and you’re happy finally feeling like your holidays can begin. They walk through the door and it’s almost like a sappy Christmas movie. You’re sure you hear Bing singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” softly in the background. The lights are twinkling. The smell of cider simmering on the stove fills the air. Their favorite meal is in the oven to welcome them home. They rush over to hug you. Even with the season’s frost on the window panes, all the cozy feels of your fuller home are bubbling up inside of you. Even their bag of dirty laundry reminds you of Santa’s pack as you happily take it to the laundry room. It’s just like when they were kids. You’re finally under the same roof again to enjoy all the family traditions together. 

The first few days are considered the honeymoon period. You can’t wait to get started on the list of Christmas activities you have planned. There are movies to watch and lights to see and presents to deliver and friends to visit and food to cook. The refrigerator is full of all of the ingredients needed to make their most favorite 42 dishes over the course of their stay. You’ve got whipped cream for the cocoa, all the favorite cereals, a hearty supply of sausage balls formed in the freezer, and a pantry that looks like the snack aisle at Kroger. You’re happy to play the role of doting Mom for a while and they’re more than happy to be on the receiving end of it after eating the standard college fare and doing their own housekeeping. 

Pretty quickly, there are noticeable changes in the flow of the household. After all, it’s been on auto-pilot, running on the schedule of two old people, who are neck deep in their habits and routines. All of a sudden, you hear the door open at 12 a.m. as they head out for a midnight jog. The kitchen light is on intermittently throughout the night. Eggs at 1:00 a.m.. Leftovers from dinner at 2:30. The clothes pile in the laundry room has been self-perpetuating ever since Santa came home with his pack. The washing machine knows no holiday. That package of Chips Ahoy, you bought the day before, sits on the counter housing only crumbs. A box of cereal that would normally last a week is gone in two sittings. Milk pours out from its cartons like gutter downspouts in a rainstorm. It’s lunch time and you find yourself putting the barking dog outside, so she won’t wake the slumbering house guest. You wonder what time of day would warrant you entering their bedroom for a wellness check. Is that the shower running again? Is that the third or fourth time today? 

But, this is what you’ve been waiting for, so you’re quick to overlook any disruptions or inconveniences. You’re just so happy to have them home, so you look for the cuteness in it all. It’s the holiday season and you want them to feel full, rested, and loved as long as they’re under your roof. With Christmas just around the corner, you can sense they’re starting to feel the excitement of the impending festivities. Just maybe being back in their childhood home reignites a small spark of that long-gone childlike anticipation of Christmas. They’re in a jolly mood. Laughing. Joking. They’re the picture of merriment in the glow of the twinkling lights and flickering candles. Each gift seems to bring out the excitement they had when they were small. All is merry and bright in the warmth of kith and kin. 

Carson: Appears as pictured, flaunting his chest hair. “I’m ready, girl.” 

Happy Christmas memories. All is well. 

Cue record player needle scratching across record. 

The holidays are over. The house is a complete wreck. They’ve been home for three weeks now. That regenerating laundry pile has lost its luster now that the twinkling lights have been unplugged. The errands they were happy to run for you, a few days ago, are getting to be a pain since Santa is no longer working on that list thing. Your insistence that they rinse the dishes off before putting them in the dishwasher is seen as nagging now that Bing has stopped singing in the background. Long moments of silence in the car are no longer periods of reflections on the season, but simmering aggravation fueled by someone being too something or another. Extended time holed up in their room is not for wrapping up surprises in pretty paper anymore, but a retreat from too much time spent where the love light gleams. Cooking 4 meals a day has lost its appeal since the candles have been extinguished. AirPods become permanent ear plugs for reducing exposure to irritating parental music and banter. So, yeah, it’s getting about that time. 

“Stop with the pictures, Mom.”

So, Carson will leave us on Friday. Back to just the two of us and Ruby. The thing about a man leaving his father and mother sounds so unbearably sad to a mother of a little boy. She just can’t imagine living apart from her little man and not being the center of his world. But, it’s a miraculous thing that God does. He ever so carefully and gradually and gently takes us, mothers, to the place where we’re really fine with that. Not to an uncaring and unloving place, but to a warm and proud place where the mother of a son is ready for him to go and be a man and she knows he could never do that under her feet. For me, I came to the place not long after he’d gone off to college. When I look at the once little boy who wanted to marry me, I see a man now and my heart finds it a lot easier to let go of him that way. 

So, Friday, we’ll wave goodbye as he drives off toward his last semester of college. Davis and I both pray for God to lead him to the life, love, vocation, and destination that are meant for him just like we did for his sister. We really did enjoy our time with him- likely our last extended Christmas holiday together. But, I imagine we’ll all be doing a jig Friday to get back to our norms. Him being out from under our watchful eye. Us being back on our beaten and familiar path. Ten years ago, the thought of him leaving us would have left me sobbing in my pillow. On Friday, I’ll be waving and smiling. Not as big as him though. It’s pretty cool how God helps a Mama’s heart get from one place to another. 

I found this prayer when Carson was born and have it written in his baby book. 

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak; and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat and humble and gentle in victory. 

Build me a son whose wishes will not take the place of deeds; a son who will know Thee- and that it is the foundation stone of knowledge. 

Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail. 

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past. 

And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength. 

Then I, his father (and his mother) will dare to whisper, “I have not lived in vain.” 

General Douglas MacArthur 

Lord, be with all the mothers on the path that starts with holding a boy and leads to letting go of a man.

Happy Thursday! 

JONI 

So, I’ve been on extended holiday break, but here I am- all rested and refreshed. I’ll hit some of the highlights of the last couple of weeks and their coordinating life reminders that I can take with me into this new year. 

Probably the first thing that happened after I last blogged was my trip to the ER with my mother who had a cut from some Coke cans that fell on her head from an upper shelf at the grocery store. My sweet friend, Debra, happened to be there when it happened and stayed with her until we could get to her. It wasn’t serious- she just had a big knot and needed a couple of staples, but the real story was in the waiting room, where we spent 6 hours before getting the said staples. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but my mother is nothing if not fiercely protective of her people, so for 6 hours our conversation went something like this. 

Mama: “Joni, go home. You’re going to get sick for Christmas. I’m just fine to be here by myself.” 

Joni: “Mama, I’m not leaving you here, so you can just forget that. 

Mama: Big sigh followed by frustrated silence.

3-4 minutes of small talk and waiting room observations. 

Mama: “Joni, I’m serious. Go home. You’re going to get sick for Christmas sitting up here. I’m 79 years old and capable of being here by myself.” 

Joni: “Mama, like I said, I’m not leaving you here alone, so let’s just talk about something else.” 

Mama: Big sigh. 

Silence. 

5-6 minutes of small talk. 

I take another trip to the information desk to see if, in fact, they do have information on how much longer it might be. 

Mama: “Joni, now listen to me. Look, that lady over there looks like she is so sick- coughing and holding her head. It will ruin Christmas for your family if you catch something up here. Please, go home and I’ll call you when I’m done.” Big, frustrated sigh.

Joni: “I’m not leaving you and it doesn’t look like either one of us will be home by Christmas at this rate, so it won’t really matter.” 

Repeat verses 2 and 3 and then the chorus. 

I start googling things like “What is the window of time for stitches after an injury?” And “Can you really close a wound with super glue?” 

At last, the heavens open up and we hear her name called. 

Life reminder to myself: Your mama doesn’t ever quit being your mama until she goes to meet Jesus. It’s a love that doesn’t ever soften or show cracks or wear thin over time. Enjoy the years that you have of being someone’s baby- even if if seems as if some of them are spent in a waiting room. There’s a finite time that we are given to be daughters. Be a good one. 

Christmas was kind of different. We had a small family gathering on Christmas Eve night at my aunt and uncle’s house. Our celebration with Davis’ family, earlier in the day, was cancelled due to cases of Covid. It was Blair and John Samuel’s year to be at his parents’ house on Christmas morning, so Davis and I sat and watched Carson open a few of his presents and then we went to Waffle House. Yeah, you heard me. If you’ve ever wondered who would go to Waffle House on Christmas, well, now you know. We were all set to have our usual Christmas night feast, so I didn’t want to cook a big breakfast for just the three of us. We started that new tradition of going to Waffle House on the years that the married couple is celebrating Christmas morning elsewhere. You wouldn’t believe the exuberant Christmas cheer the workers and other patrons had that morning. It was fun. 

We have our children and my mother over to enjoy a big meal and open gifts on Christmas night. I did a tenderloin and John Samuel boiled shrimp. That time has become one of my very favorite parts of Christmas. 

Everyone seemed to love their gifts. 

Just like Christmas, the next day was hot as blue blazes. Seriously, it was 79 degrees. In recent years, my family has been getting together the day after Christmas and we usually do soups and light finger foods since everyone feels like a big gray tick at that point in the holiday season. A couple of hours before everyone got here, after having bumped the air down for the second time, I decided we were moving the party outside into the spring-like weather and so we set up tables for a family Christmas picnic. We did that last Thanksgiving because of Covid, but this was purely a weather decision. Yes, there were some shorts and flip flops present. And on top of all the food everyone brought, I had all the food that I’d bought for our cancelled meal with Davis’ family, so we had an eclectic mix and enough to feed the neighborhood. None of us could remember a warmer Christmas week and, while it didn’t give us all the usual Christmas feels, it was pretty neat in its own way. After we ate, we put our chairs in a circle and opened gifts outside. My family is pretty much an outside people, so we enjoyed being together in the most unusual and un-Christmasy way. 

My little brother and I were gifted quilts made from our daddy’s old shirts by my sister in law, Teresa. With the completion of ours, she has now made one for all of his children and grandchildren and, of course, his wife. What a labor of patience, time, and love. 

Life reminder to myself: Christmas changes through the years. Every year, it becomes harder to gather everyone at the same time and place as in times past. Some years, it may not even “feel like Christmas” because of the adaptations. Life is constantly changing, so stay ready and willing to adjust and make new traditions, while remembering the quilt of memories from Christmases and lives past. 

Two days after Christmas, we left with our kids and Ruby and our granddog to enjoy the mountains for a few days. It was warm and rainy, but we didn’t let it stop us from getting out and enjoying the scenery. We tried to do two hikes a day. I’m the dead weight- the one whose stamina they have to consider when choosing the trails. Any one marked as family friendly, I’m generally up for as this distinction would indicate that small children, women with babies in slings, and elderly grandparents could complete the course. I stayed back one afternoon so they could all enjoy a legit hike. One day, we walked a short .6 mi from the parking lot to the highest point in GA- albeit a straight up vertical .6 mile. There was one point, I wondered if it was, indeed, my last day. I so didn’t want the last words I heard on this earth to be, “You comin’?” The fog was so thick that we couldn’t see a thing when we got up there. We could’ve taken our group picture back in the parking lot and no one would have known the difference. Supposedly, you can see Atlanta, North and South Carolina, and Tennessee from there. I’m sure it was all out there somewhere. 

One day, we went to Long Creek Falls in the Chattahoochee National Forest, which is on the Appalachian Trail. We’d been to the area before and it’s really beautiful. Well, we hiked to the falls about a mile from the car and we snapped a few pictures and explored the area and then hiked back to the trail. The rest of my party turns left back onto the trail heading away from the car.

Anyway, back to my story. I thought the objective of our hike was to go to the falls, look around, and then go back to find other natural attractions, but they say,“We want to hike on the Appalachian Trail for a while.” When I hike, I’m the type of person who wants there to be a grand finale- the trail ending at a waterfall or with a glorious view to behold. I’m not really into walking uphill for miles to just turn around at a random spot and go back the way I came. I don’t really see the point in it. But, I’m a team player, so I take my place at the back of the line and follow. 

We met a man who was just a few miles from finishing his trek down the entire Appalachian Trail. He’d been at it since July 6 and had lost 80 lbs. As a side note, he smelled like someone who’d been hiking since July, but he was just a few miles from the end when we passed him on December 30. Whatever it is that those kind of people have, I was clearly absent the day God passed it out. 

Anyway, I follow behind my group. And then further behind. I mean, I can walk all day long on level ground, but that uphill stuff is for mountain goats of which I am not. Finally, when my left lung collapsed, I called ahead that I was turning around and would see them at the car when they came out. Davis wouldn’t let me go back alone. He didn’t want his cook to be abducted or ripped apart by wild animals, so he walked back with me. I sat in the car in the drizzling rain, while he explored the area nearby. I dozed off for a while. I waited and waited. I wasn’t worried though. I had a gun, the car keys, a bag of sausage balls, a cooler of water, and some leftover Christmas candy. I was perfectly content. Almost three hours later, they came back out having turned around at some random spot on the trail and Davis wandered up from another direction. Life reminder to myself: Life isn’t just about searching for the wow moments and momentous pinnacles. Most of life is made up of just going along routinely with nothing particularly unordinary to see. Appreciate the quiet beauty in the everyday journey and in the people traveling along with you. 

Since we got back in town, I’ve spent the last few days picking out colors and finishes and materials for our renovation that starts “at the end of the month.” Of course, that could be contractor talk for “you’ll see me when you see me” or maybe he was careful not to name the particular month at the end of which we’ll see him. Either way, I’ve been looking at paint samples with names like Temporal Spirit and Dove Wing and Balboa Mist. I don’t know who’s in charge of paint naming, but I’d love to get in on that. Kitchen fixtures, pull handles, the varying heights available in toilets. If one weren’t a decisive person, I could see how one could get bogged down in the ridiculous amounts of choices and details. Fortunately, indecisiveness isn’t something I usually struggle with- I either like it or I don’t. I have asked a trusted friend to validate a couple of choices, but I’m typically a quick decider. I mean- it’s a bathroom faucet- not a life changer. Life reminder to myself: While you’re spending time putting a fresh face on your earthly home, see it for what it is. Like the paint name- it’s just temporal. This home ain’t where it’s at. 

It’s a new year. It’s a new start. A clean page. A fresh supply of potential. What will we do with it? I’m excited to get started. 

Glad to be back with you, friends.

JONI