jpg - generations

Welcome to the first edition of JPG!

Christmas came a little early for me this year and I got a new cell phone over the weekend. I'm excited because we switched providers and the one we are on now supports mobile blogging! That means I can send pictures from my phone straight to my blog! Ah, technology... That's where JPG comes in. I intend to post a daily photo that brings me joy. JPG stands for Joy Per God. Holman Bible Dictionary defines joy as "the fruit of a right relation with God. It is not something people can create by their own efforts." Joy comes from God; it is different than pleasure. Pleasure is something we seek for ourselves.

My hope is to share a picture of something that reminds me of the joy that God has put in my heart. Some days it may be a reminder that God has me right where I am supposed to be. Other days it may be something in nature that glorifies his majesty. And still other days, it may just be for fun. Who knows? Most of the time, it will be just the picture but occasionally I might get long-winded about it (like today). I'm excited to see where this takes me.

This first picture is of my mother-in-law showing my son a sign that is posted by her childhood home. It is a memorial to her grandparents and she was reading it to him and explaining who those people were to him. It touched my heart to see all those generations lining up with one another.

Hopefully, I'll post another picture tomorrow...

goodbye thoughts

I come here because I know that the only way for me to process this and wiggle my way out of the fog, is to write. I know someday I will want a trail to follow - a way to see how far I've come from where I am today. I guess that is truly the reason for this blog. To build history. For someone years from now to know the how and the why of the things I did. Even if the only someone is me.

There is a lot of suffering in the previous generation of my family. For a long time, I have relentlessly pursued the details - not wanting that suffering to be in vain. In the process, I have adopted that suffering and carry it with me. It recently dawned on me that I do not need to hold on to the suffering for it to be real or valid. It is my suffering, and it is not mine. Jesus Christ came and suffered so we do not have to. Will there still be suffering? Yes. But he has paid the price. The mercy and grace of God is ours because he suffered for us. That mercy and grace covers all the suffering on this side of Heaven. The hard part is letting it go - letting it be washed in the blood that was shed for me. I feel like I had to carry that past suffering for it to be redeemed, just as I have thought I need to carry my sins down this road of life in order to be redeemed. The a-ha moment for me yesterday is that both things are redeemed, not by my power, but by the power of Jesus Christ. Nothing, nothing I can do is stronger than that.

These thoughts have been triggered by the news that my father's brother has died. He died in mid-March. He didn't have a phone. He was eccentric. They could not find my contact information in his apartment - if they looked. They placed an ad in the paper looking for me, and I didn't see it. The deputy coroner waited a week, waiting...and when no one responded, they buried my uncle in the pauper's cemetary in an unmarked grave. Does the sadness of my family ever end? Do the feelings of failure ever end for me? I tried so hard to connect with this man, so like my father in so many ways, and he spoke of the delight of knowing each other, but he ran away from connections. Only on his terms would he be comfortable. Those terms were never clear, nor consistent. The last time I saw him, I knew it wouldn't be long. Down deep, I recognized the same patterns of conversation that so mimicked those last few precious conversations with my dad, almost 10 years ago. And like my father, he withdrew even more - more aware that the time was coming than he knew.

His heart stopped. And with that, the last full blood relation I have on that side of my family is gone. I'm sad. To not have more time. I'm mad. He didn't fight, knowing he could have prolonged his life. I'm relieved. The generation of suffering is at rest. I'm frustrated. There's a mess he left behind and I have to help fix it. I'm hurt. All the pain of my father's death has rushed back to the surface of my heart. I grieve for all these boys didn't have. For the time I didn't have with them. For the lack of depth that they found acceptable.

He loved to talk about his mom. Not many people had much respect for her. To me, she was the center of the suffering. The center of the mystery. I craved information about her. He knew that. I don't know if that's why he talked about her so much with me - or if he was wondering back to a time and place when someone loved him unconditionally. She wasn't capable of much, but I'm sure she loved her boys with all her heart. Call it a guess, but a mom's heart can go through quite a lot and that mom love is still very much intact. I don't think he ever felt that love again.

All I can do is see him in my mind's eye, the day before he had his surgery. It's been two and a half years from that time. I couldn't find him and out of the blue, there he was. Sick. In another hospital room. The same skin tone as my dad. It threw me for such a loop then. And now, all I can do is see him there, shaking his leg like I'm so accustomed to doing, scared to death. This little package of a man. I've only seen two men display fear in my whole life - and it's the two men who spent their entire lives building walls to conceal the fear. And in a matter of days, I was thrust to the center of their souls - and I saw the raw fear. Two men. Two different times. The tears came both times. For both of us. I reached deep both times to comfort a man I barely knew. I tried hard to bridge that gap of neglect and hurt, to reach into the heart of the matter, and bring peace. With my father, the first time, I didn't mention Jesus. I was afraid. But you better believe I did the second time. I would not let another one slip away. And I don't know where he stood at the end, when his time on earth was through, but I can tell you he knew that Jesus loved him and wanted to meet him right where he was. Oh, how I pray he reached out for Jesus.

Rest in peace, my uncle. No more fighting to survive. No more pain. No more loneliness. No more searching. It's over. You've run your race. You are whole in a way you've never been, just like Dad. And while I'll miss you both, and wonder what could have, should have, might have been, I know you both are far better off now than you've ever been. And someday soon, I will be happy about that.

question and answer #2

Time to finish up this question and answer thing. Here are the last questions...

I answered a question from Barb at A Chelsea Morning in my last post. She also had another question:
I know you've lived in Ohio all your life except for a brief time in Kentucky when you were in college. Have you ever dreamed of living anywhere else and if so, where and why?

I am going to combine my answer with this question from DK from A Flyover Blog:So, tell me what your "perfect vacation" looks like.

I dream of blue water. Anywhere. I love it. It speaks to my soul every time. Last summer, we took a trip to Put-in-Bay, Ohio. It's an island on one of the Great Lakes. I posted about it here (with pictures!). I really felt like I was home when I was on that island. I even took a couple pictures of my favorite house on the island. Sometimes when I'm having a really stressful day, I dream of being on the shore of that water and things melt away. The only thing I would change about that trip to make it my "perfect vacation" would be to stay somewhere with a bed. We camped and while I love camping, I'm not as young as I used to be. My dream is to one day have a home on the island. On the other hand, I also dream of living near Chicago. I think it's a cool city and it has blue water too - what a great combination! I've spent many moments at the end of the Navy Pier, soaking up the peace of the blue water. Both places are dear to my heart.

Diane from Diane's Place asked: If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be? People and pets are a given, so I'm speaking of material things here.

It's hard to come up with just one thing. I mean, I'm not all that materialistic but our worlds do seem to be full of stuff, ya know? My thoughts gravitate towards things that can't be replaced, like pictures, letters, keepsakes. I'm so glad that the digital era is upon us because it's easier to save those kinds of things. I thought about saying my laptop because who knows what all I have saved on here that I don't want to lose. But then I figured if I don't know I have it on here, it probably isn't all that important, huh? And then it hit me - I've been keeping a journal since the day after my wedding to Handsome. It's spotty in some places. It kind of tapers off once I started blogging but it covers almost five years of my family's day to day life. That's something my great-grandkids might enjoy reading someday. My own kids may even like to see it. I often go back and read it myself. So, long story short, I would save my journal.

I really appreciate you ladies asking questions. I enjoyed this little exercise. :) Hope you learned something new about me. Have a great week!

keys

My dad's childhood was pretty much a mystery to me, as was much of his life, and when he died, it was like I was handed a key to the first of many doors. Right after he died, I opened each door and quickly ran to the next one, beating on it until I could get it open. With patience, you can find a key that will unlock the next door. But I had wanted to know for so long, there was no patience left. So, I burst through as many doors as I could and figured the rest would just be left locked. Forever locked.

Then, for those of you who have been reading here a while, you know my father's last known living relative, his brother, called about a year or so ago and was in the hospital. Through the cryptic blog entries, you may have deciphered that I visited him often. The first day I went to see him, the first time I'd seen him since I was a really little girl, the tone of his skin brought tears to my eyes. You see, my dad and his brother were half American and half Chinese. There is no easy way to describe their skin color, but it is unique. And the last time I had seen that skin color was the last day I saw my father alive, shortly after he was released from the hospital to go home. He died before I saw him again. And to walk into another hospital and see that same skin color, well, it shook me to the core. I vowed to unlock more doors.

I've learned a lot from these two men. These two men who didn't speak the last years of my father's life. Both having lived through things children shouldn't have to and yet they chose such different ways to cope and adjust. Well, in some ways, they just didn't adjust. But that's a story for a different day. My father taught me that no matter what adversity you face, you can still be successful. But he also taught me to treasure my children - sadly, because I don't think he did. I don't think he could. My uncle has taught me to pay attention to the details of life because sometimes the details are what matter. This is funny to me because he is the most untidy man I have ever met - well, besides my father. My uncle is also the one who taught me the things I needed to find the next key.

Like the time right after my father died, once you find one key, sometimes a bunch of doors open in a row. And boy, has that been happening for me in the last few weeks. Unfortunately (and as I expected), there is so much sorrow in the stories I have learned. Such suffering and pain. I am understanding things I never have before but processing it all, well, it's just tough. I know these people don't really have anything to do with me, but they do. The puzzle pieces are falling into place and it's just this most horrible picture. My heart hurts for these people. For the circumstances and unfulfilled dreams, for the loneliness and dark clouds, for the anguish and unknown. And for the children. The poor children.

Someday I will go into all of it. Once I've been able to process things more and they don't weigh so heavy on my heart. But for today, I wanted you to know why I haven't posted. My mind is just too busy.

On a lighter note, I did locate two of my second cousins and they were able to provide me with a picture of my father's mother and his grandmother. My grandmother is the one standing in the white shirt. My great-grandmother is the one sitting in the chair. The other children are my grandmother's siblings.