Life is A Maze(ing)

     If you're ever feeling a little out of sorts with the world, a little unsettled, a little discouraged, nothing will put things into perspective quite like a field trip with a bunch of four year olds. It's hard not to smile when thirty little pairs of eyes are sparkling with glee and bursting with anticipation over a bus ride to a pumpkin patch.  I, aka "Aunt Be-yeth", had the honor of accompanying my niece, Madison, not once, but TWICE, on a fall field trip with her pre-K, half-day, four-year-old, wildly enthusiastic class.  My joy was doubled when our first attempt to the pumpkin patch ended with a downpour, and glory hallelujah!, we GOT TO GO BACK AGAIN THE NEXT WEEK!!! (deep breath, deep breath.....)

    Our first adventure began the day before with a spend the night party, because, as you can imagine, a field trip to the pumpkin patch is a VERY BIG DEAL, and VERY BIG DEALS call for a little something extra. It had to include a spend-the-night-party. Madi arrived Tuesday evening, bags packed and head a-spinning with all the wonderful things she had planned for her two-day celebration. We played Candyland, read a gazillion stories, brushed our teeth, said our prayers, and hopped into bed, hoping to fall fast asleep. But it's oh-so-hard to fall asleep when you have a field trip the next day, don't you remember? So we sang a few songs, read a few more stories, gave a few backrubs, but still, things weren't going so well. Someone tossed and turned and needed a drink and needed a story and needed another song.  By midnight, Aunt Be-yeth was getting a little grumpy, realizing 7:00 was only minutes away and she needed her full 8-hours before delving into a pumpkin patch with four year olds. At that point, Aunt Be-yeth switched into her mommy voice and said, "Either go to sleep or we don't go to the pumpkin patch tomorrow." I had forgotten how easily that worked.

      Bright and early the next morning, after just one cup of coffee, Madi and I hopped on the big yellow bus for our big field trip together. We arrived at Cotton Hills Farm on an overcast morning, with occasional droplets of rain threatening our fun as we entered the maze.  We darted and dashed up one row and down another, getting stopped at some turns and meeting success at others, as we worked our way through the puzzle that had been carved into the surrounding field. We dodged fire-ant hills,  got lost in intersecting circles, bumped into each other as we backtracked, and ran and shouted our way through the stalks and leaves.It was a perfect life lesson not only for the four year olds, but especially for the adults, as we met one failure after another with smiles and determination, as we rounded curves only to be met with an-in-your-face-dead-end, as we diligently turned around and kept going, seeking solutions to each challenging bend in the path.  As we worked our way through the maze, the occasional droplets became more frequent and the clouds darkened and billowed in sky.   What began as a drizzle in the maize-maze had turned into a gully-washer by the time we found our way out of the field, and we quickly hit the path that led into the barn. What we had hoped was just a passing cloudburst eventually settled in as a steady downpour. It was obvious to the adults that the field trip was over, and even though the pre-K's were wildly optimistic, we herded them all safely back into the dry confines of the bus.  You can only imagine how different the ride home was compared to the ride over. No hay ride + no pumpkin patch= some very disappointed, very quiet, very sullen little kids.

    Luckily ( did I really just say that?), luckily the trip was rescheduled and glory, hallelujah! we were going again!! Repeat of above schedule the very next Tuesday, only this time, Aunt Be-yeth nixed the extra stories and the extra songs and immediately said, "Go to sleep!" My, my, my....it worked again!
     Round two of the pumpkin patch was a much more successful outing. By this time, I was a pre-K, half-day, four-year-old kindergarten pro. I had memorized the "Class Agreement," and realized that those five simple rules were all one needed for life:

1. I will be a good friend.

2. I will be a good listener.

3. I will take care of our school.

4. I will keep my hands and feet to myself.

5. I will use nice words.

( I am thinking of asking the pre-K, half-day, four-year-olds to mail a copy to every member of Congress and every politician in the nation.) We efficiently and politely boarded the bus, keeping our hands to ourselves and using only nice words as we plodded down the highway and headed back to the farm.   

      The second time around, we were greeted with a classic fall day. High blue skies and a slight gentle breeze were all we had to contend with as we climbed into the hay-filled tractor, bumped along an old dirt road through the woods, and then bounced through the cotton fields and  into the pumpkin patch. 
 Every leaf, every lingering flower, every migrating bird and every fluttery butterfly....all were points of wonder for this excited bunch. They brought a freshness and joy to such simple sights....a horse! a pond! a pumpkin! a tree!....that it brought a calmness and a serenity that this aging soul needed. 
     To see life through the eyes of a four-year old, to be disappointed one minute but full of glee the next, to happily run through life's crazy, tangled maze and laugh all the way to the end, to be filled with awe at a butterfly or a leaf or a tree, to live obediently by five simple rules...it makes you wonder why adults have to make things so messy and complicated.  As we rounded the bend and passed the field, with a tractor full of little laughing voices and a deep blue sky above, I could only affirm, with a smile on my face, that Life truly is A Maze-ing!!

Confessions of a Peeper

     Hello everyone. My name is Beth Daly, and I am a peeper.  It's an addiction that I have long succumbed to, and thankfully, one that happens to occur only seasonally, so it is an obsession with which I can live.  It starts to creep up on you after that initial crisp fall morning, when the first frost of the season has iced the ground and the sky deepens to an azure blue so intense that you have to stop just to stare into its depth. A red leaf appears on the maple and a tingling starts in your veins, a craving in your gut, and you know it's time. You have to go look. You have to go stare. You have to succumb to your addiction and satisfy your longing. Yes, I admit, I am a leaf peeper.

     It would be I that was one of the two million peeepers crawling along the hills and curves of the North Carolina mountains during this past weekend. And yes, I was blaspheming and cursing all the other peepers for invading my territory, for stealing my views, and for staring at my leaves. This was my addiction, but suddenly, it seemed to be the obsession du jour, as my normally quiet drive along the twisty mountainous backroads became reminiscent of a holiday interstate. Streams of unseasoned mountain drivers tried to navigate unpaved, tortuous curves and inclines, backing up traffic for miles as fellow peepers slowed, stopped, stared, and then crept along the parkway.

    But oh, it was so worth the effort, as the full glory of God was splashed across the hills. Each red and gold and amber leaf  lit the mountain tops with such a fiery glow that it made you gasp and point and throw up your arms and laugh at the beauty of it all. It had to be shared. It was too awe-inspiring for just one man's eyes, and so I denounced my fury at the traffic and  rolled down my windows and laughed and called to my fellow peepers, "Look! Isn't this wonderful!

    It was a weekend of crisp and sweet Mutsu apples, the first roaring fire of fall, steaming mugs of hot cocoa and cider. It was a weekend of  wooly worm races to predict the severity of the coming winter weather.  It was a much needed and long anticipated five day break from classes.  It was a time to stroll along lakes and crunch through leaves. It was a time to sniff the seasoned wood- smoke rising from fall's first fires.  It was a time to watch migrating geese and homeward-bound ducks as they cut across the sky, only pausing  for a short rest on the cold mountain lake.     

And so, I, a confessed and unrehabilitated leaf peeper, a raging addict to fall's brilliant show, yes, I, I fed my addiction with abundance, with guilt-free indulgence. I crept along the parkway with the speed of a snail. I filled my eyes with visions long to be remembered, and I breathed in the scent of fall and tasted it's bounty. I clogged the parkway and filled up the overlooks. I snapped hundreds of pictures hoping to catch the brilliance of the sun reflecting off the reds and golds of the trees. I saturated my soul with the glory of fall and bowed my head and thanked my Creator for this moment in time. 

 And so, I stand before you today and say, my name is Beth Daly, and yes, I confess, without shame and without guilt, with no intention of ever seeking rehabilitation or help, with abundance I shout and with glee I confess,

 I AM A LEAF PEEPER!!!!

Nancy and the Big C

     So what do you do when you learn your best friend has breast cancer?  After the gasping breath, the panic, the anger and the crying, the numbness and the shock---what do you do? It is more than ironic that her diagnosis came during the first week of October, which is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and the entire world is bathed in pink.  It is devastating that her diagnosis came so soon after her brother was tragically killed in a wreck while driving to meet their dad for a hunting trip. It makes you wonder about life, about God's plan for His children, about His compassion for us.  It leaves you angry, anxious, and agitated.  I don't doubt God, but I have to cry out to Him in pain and confusion, "I don't understand! Help me with this! I am too simple to understand."  I read again the story of Job and find comfort, but my limited human brain is still left wondering, perplexed, uncalmed.
     Nancy is the better half of the "Fun Girls From Mount Pleasant,"  and we have been connected at the heart since our college days.  She is the stable one, the rational one, the understanding one, the forgiving one.  She loves me when I am unlovable, she forgives me  when I am unforgivable, she understands me when I am unintelligible, and she steadies me when I am unsteady.   She has been my "sister by choice," as I have been to her, and she has loved me in spite of myself.  We enjoyed each other in college, grew to love each other as roommates in Charleston, bonded as sisters over the years, stood by each other in marriage, matured together as young wives, wept over the death of one child and the birth of others, vacationed as families, held hands through every crises, rejoiced in every success,  survived the developing years of our children, passed milestones and accomplishments and disappointments together, and lived and loved as only a family can.   I can't imagine life without her there to guide me and ground me and keep me sane.
    So what do I do when my best friend needs me? I stutter and stumble and say stupid things.  I panic over my own fear, which seems to supercede hers.  I hate myself for the shallowness of my own reaction, but I am afraid for me, for the possibility of my life without Nancy--  the strong one, the stable one, the one I depend on. I realize how much I have expected Nancy to carry all the emotional baggage of our relationship, and suddenly, I am eager to do the same for her, to be for Nancy the anchor she has always been for me.
     So what do you do when you learn your best friend has cancer? You get in your car and you go to her. You hold her hand, you hug, you cry, you pray.
      And you do what only best friends can do.  You pour a couple of glasses of wine, curl up on the couch, and  pour over a three inch stack of material on breast cancer.  You look at her biopsy incision. You feel her lump. You laugh as you cry.  You discuss what kind of wonderful new breasts she'll get and how fabulous it will be to to have the cleavage of an eighteen year old at the age of 50.
    And then, as we laugh and grieve and plan for the weeks and months ahead, I see the hand of God at work. Nancy's unwavering faith and her conviction of God's plan for her life --these are the mighty weapons she is using to wage war against cancer. She is determined and brave and knows she will not be walking this path alone, and through her, I see God and feel His compassion.
     So  anxiety is replaced with prayer, and the journey begins.
    "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."
PHILLIPIANS 4:6

Study Jail

     College should be the best four years of your life, a time of exploration and growth, a season of discovery, and a pathway towards an independent life. It's one of the few periods in your life journey when you can live somewhere between complete dependency on your family and complete self-reliance.  You have the comfort of having a safety zone that enables you to take a few risks without totally ruining your future, and it is why college students get to do some crazy things all in the name of education. It's that mix of fun, freedom, and the quest for knowledge that makes college that enigmatic mix of halcyon and hectic years.
      It becomes a little complicated, however, when you take your mother with you.  I think Sissey would be the first to agree that it changes the entire panoramic view of college when you have Mom lurking in the shadows, and that her college experience is far from what most people would call "normal"-- but it is what we have to live with for the present and it has worked thus far. She is filling her mind with all the knowledge she can absorb, she is exploring her life options and career possibilities, she is becoming a confident and mature adult--- but she has had to sacrifice some personal freedom and independence along the way.  Living with a disability since birth has taught her that her life journey will be different from the norm, and that she will have to forge her own unique path in a world designed for "normal". I must say that she handles that perspective in a much more gracious manner than her mother, whose claws are often out and teeth bared when that "normal" world is less than kind. Sissey's understanding of life and tolerance level for others far surpasses mine--but that is not to say that she is always in mutual agreement with my perspective. As I said earlier, college is a little complicated when you have your mother sitting in the desk beside you. For some reason, Sissey has dubbed me "the Dictator," which I am sure has nothing to do with my obsessive demand for her to constantly study, re-read her textbooks, practice quizzes on the internet, write papers two weeks in advance,  retype her notes, make flashcards, highlight chapters, go to tutoring sessions, set up study groups, and create spreadsheets out of her notes. This is the point where she wishes her college journey was a little more "normal, " and I can't say I blame her. My intentions are good, but I do admit I have some habits which she would prefer to disappear, and one in particular is about to drive her crazy.   I'm talking about study jail.
     "Study jail" is the term Sissey launched early in her college experience to describe the place to which the Dictator sends her when it's time to hit the books. It is exactly what is sounds like...a quiet and lonely room to which she is confined until the Dictator grants her parole, a weekend pass, or perhaps a family visitation. Every day, Sissey has to spend some time in study jail. Every weekend, Sissey has to spend some time in study jail. Every spare moment I can find, Sissey has to spend some time in study jail.  Don't get me wrong... I let her out for some recreational time, a little exercise, meals, church, and such, but she is required to spend a certain portion of her time in study jail. It's the penalty one pays for taking Mother to college. It is as close to hell as college life gets. Stuck upstairs in her room, studying away, while all the other college kids who left their mothers behind are out whooping it up and having fun. I agree. It sucks.

      But it is what it is, and this too shall pass. I wish she could fly away to college completely on her own, with me far, far away and out of sight. I wish a lot of things, though, that I can't make happen. I wish she could walk. I wish she never had to use that walker another day in her life. I wish she had full use of all her muscles and limbs and bones and tendons and ligaments. I wish she could run and dance and skip and be free to do the things that all the other college kids are doing. I wish for a miracle, for the day when someone discovers a way to heal all who are struggling with cerebral palsy and life's other disabilitating disorders. I wish...
     But I can't make wishes come true, so I do what I can. I push her to excel. I expect her to succeed. I demand that she use all her God-given talents and gifts. And yes, I put her in study jail. 

   So when the day arrives that she struts across that stage, sheepskin firmly clutched in hand, tassel eagerly flipped, future looming brightly, I just hope she will glance over at the Dictator with a smile on her face and love in her heart.  And on that day, I will burn the keys to study jail, bury the ashes, stomp on the ground, dance in the dirt, and thank God above for graduation!