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I’m an emotional southern country girl. Wife to a handsome farmer boy and mama to a little tornado we named Summer

Friday, December 29, 2023

Missing you


This post feels unfinished. Rugged. Torn. Raw edged. This is also how I feel. I reckon that’s part of having someone or ones(papa g) gone from here.


Also I know that some of the other grandkids (the real ones) pry feel this more keenly than I do! So understand me here!😅


Oh Granpa… how we missed you.  Your stories. Your presence. 

I’m so glad I knew you for as long as I did. I’m so glad you’re in Heaven. I’m so glad you’re whole again..

How I wonder what Christmas in heaven was like. Was the snow falling? Did you worship the Baby King? Did you sing in the Heavenly Christmas choir with energy? 


Could you see your children and grandchildren and great grandkids these past couple days? Were you our guardian angel? 


And thank you. Thank you for the legacy you left. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for being you!

Friday, December 1, 2023

Christmas Angels

My mind is full. Many thoughts shuffle past each other, bounce off the wall of my brain, and look for a place to call home. Through them all though comes a thought pattern that does have a beginning and an end. And keeps resonating with me.

    What inspires you this year about Christmas? Different years being different inspirations for me. Here is this years inspiration from Heaven.

     “Angels sing to Him, sing your love to Him, He’s our Lord and King. Alleluia! Angels sing to Him, sing your love to Him, He’s our Lord and King. Alleluia!”*

  Angels. Light. Song. Him. Love. 

  Early morning brings a puking feverish little girl, who fights taking medicine. As the medicine comes back up, my temper rises as well. And then I hear it. “Angels sing to Him, sing your love to Him, He’s our Lord and King. Alleluia! With the sweet song comes a message that can’t be misunderstood. “You’re Summer’s angel. Sing to her. Show her your love. Do it for Me”  and the job that was sour now has purpose.

    Keeping blonde bangs from getting in the way of the bucket, a camping trip tainted with fussy children, a little girl in a tailspin after her knee and palm meet with asphalt, I despair quite easily at the endless opportunity to give. But if I listen, the song is still playing. “Angels sing to Him sing your love to Him, He’s our Lord and King. Alleluia!”

   Miraculously it makes a full December bearable. Somehow it makes Christmas a collection of treasured memories and peaceful moments. It makes the “snatches of joy” in life sparkle.

  Christmas comes home to my heart. In being someone’s angel. Being someone’s music. Giving someone light.

*Bethlehem by Dorothy Good

02-08-2025

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