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Clear Eyes, Full Heart

August 4, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 33 Comments

My eyes couldn’t take it all in last night.

It may have been the most beautiful barn in the world, surrounded outside by an abundance of hydrangeas, lantana, and gorgeous urns full of summer’s bounty. The stained concrete floors, the rich wood walls and ceilings, the antler chandeliers, and one hundred pairs of the world’s most beautiful boots—it was a sight for sore eyes.

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure heaven will be something like a square dance.

The age range was something like 7-77 but it was hard to tell which group was having more fun.

Teenage angst doesn’t stand a chance against this kind of fun. There were a few on the fringes who were a little too embarrassed/shy/fearful at first. It’s easy to focus on ourselves, on our own insecurities, on the self-doubt that can so easily cripple us.

But the key to square dancing (and maybe to life?) is to look outward. To be willing to see how the world shines. And to honor it by dancing.

To be willing to look beyond ourselves, if just for a while.

To take someone’s hand, whether she be 7 or 77 and honor her however we may.

Last night, to do honor meant to dance. (In cute boots, of course.)

Today, it means to finish the laundry, talk to the teenager, chop up the salad, and write the words. It doesn’t seem very precious at all, actually, but doing the next thing needed to bless the next person in front of me is to show honor.

And oh, the times I’ve blown it. Too busy, too full of self, too burdened, too afraid.

Opening my eyes and my heart are always harder than I think.

I have to wade past my selfishness, my doubt, my impatience, my heartache and my own stubborn agenda.

Today—I hope I have eyes to see.

I hope I can muster the courage to jump in with both feet. To dance. To listen. To see how the world shines and to find some small way to honor it.

What precious things are you holding today? What would it mean to honor them?

(p.s. I’ve MISSED you like crazy!! Also? You should totally hire a square dance caller for your next event!)

First Love

June 24, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 14 Comments

I woke up this morning before the sun came up, just like you always did. I sat quietly under a flood of memories—of the books and places and people that have changed my heart forever. I asked God for more patience, for the gentleness of heart to lead my children to the truest things in life. I begged for wisdom, for the bravery to be alive and pay attention. I prayed for grace to endure when the dark shadows hover, knowing that the lights of dawn are coming.

Then my thoughts turned to you, like they so often do.

The kind spirit whose life marks my soul forever. The funniest man I ever knew. Whose life gave me life and whose death changed me forever. And whose courageous choice to laugh when life constantly brought heartache is my teacher always.

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

Your children miss you.

Your grandchildren would make you proud.

Your struggle was not in vain.

Can’t wait to see you some sweet day.

It’ll be one glorious reunion.

(p.s. Wish I could’ve seen the angels faces the first time you danced one off.)

The Year I Lost $150,000

April 2, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 89 Comments

Death is to lose the earth you know, for greater knowing; to lose the life you have for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth. ~Thomas Wolfe

Seven years ago this month she made one of the hardest decisions of her life. She remembers it like the anniversary of a death. She was sitting in one of her own exam rooms, hashing out the options of leaving her medical practice for a time. Her nails were perfectly manicured and she was dressed to the nines. She had a lot of help at home, she brought home the bacon and cooked it too, she had fewer wrinkles and was more carefree. Seems to me she had everything. People called her doctor and she tried to live up to it.

She decided to come home and some days she grieves the loss.

She traded doctoring for writing.

She gave up money for a different kind of treasure.

She turned in her white coat for yoga pants and a ragged ponytail.

She looks hard to see any evidence of the woman she left behind.

Then, she remembers that healing comes in all kinds of ways. And sometimes words cut deeper than steel.

Either way, someone’s always bleeding.

A Father to the Fatherless

March 12, 2014 by Edie Wadsworth 57 Comments

I drove to Knoxville while the sun was still trying to peak over the horizon, listening to Ray LaMontagne and Scott Avett. The hour’s drive passes easy when there’s good music. I looked down at my list trying to figure out how to do the ten things I had scribbled down before time to truck back and pick up the girls from school. I went to my doctor’s appointment first and walked out feeling like a real grown up who practices what she’s always preached about wellness and health. Then, I found a nearby coffee shop and sipped on a strong cup of french press while I worked on an upcoming deadline. The words came as fast as I could type them and then like they often do, they turned on me. Out of left field, I was twelve years old again and needing to be tethered and protected, like a little girl caught out in a rain storm. The peeling brick walls closed in on me.

It would have seemed awkward to ugly cry in front of a handful of hipster 20 year olds studying Herodotus, so I fumbled around like a woman late for something, trying to gather up my belongings before the first tear fell. I walked fast and blurry eyed to the car and looked down at my list, trying to steel myself against the weight of old wounds. Trader Joe’s, Barnes and Noble, Anthropologie, Belk, and Costco—I can do this. I don’t remember much about the drive but twenty minutes later I was kneeling by my daddy’s tombstone in Mount Olive Cemetery, brushing away pine needles and leaves like I always do so that Daddy would be clearly visible.

He died the year before I graduated from medical school. He made me laugh and cry more than anyone I’ve ever known. I miss him still. Now, I’m left with the story he wrote on my heart and a longing for the story that was never his to tell.

I stretched out on the grass and listened to George Jones and let fatherlessness have its say.

Then, I walked among bare March trees, looking for hope in tight fisted buds.

It was the Mount of Olives where Jesus was betrayed but it was also the mount where He was transfigured.

He was writing the one story that mattered for us all—fighting off demons, sweating drops of blood, and headed to a Cross so as to mark us forever as ones redeemed by His Grace. To make us His sons and daughters.

Before I left the windy graveyard, I prayed the prayer Jesus taught us to pray. The prayer He prays with us and for us not just to His father but to ours as well.

Our Father, who art in heaven

Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil

For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory

Forever and ever

Amen

I made the sign of the cross over my heart and walked to back to the car, more sure than ever before that I am his beloved daughter and an heir of His redemption—my tattered pages exchanged for the greatest story ever told.

“I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest and said do your best to destroy me

You see I’ve been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kinda bore me

There’s a lot of things that can kill a man, a lot of ways to die

Yes, and some already dead that walked beside me

There’s a lot of things I don’t understand, why so many people lie

It’s the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me

Will I always feel this way, so empty, so estranged?”

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Fatherlessness has been a real life wound for me, but also a weapon that the evil one uses over and over to destroy me. Would you be willing to share yours and let us pray for each other, for faith that He will hide us in His wounds and heal us? And that we will by faith accept the Great exchange of his life for our death, his beauty for our ashes, and his wholeness for our broken pieces.

Blessed Lent to you and lots of love.

This Goodbye

August 12, 2013 by Edie Wadsworth 45 Comments

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I’ve been anticipating this day for months. The first day of school. The first day my 7th graders will call someone else teacher. As I drove home from Asheville this weekend, memories of our days together flooded my mind. I came home, collapsed into Stevie’s arms, and asked him how in the world I was supposed to get through this. Somehow, I managed. We spent our day making sure the girls have everything they need. We loaded up their backpacks to the gills and filled out a host of paperwork. We talked about how they should wear their hair and which notebook to use for math and which day to order lunch. It was a precious day. I fought hard to be strong.

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Then it was time to say goodnight.

I started to pray with them, like so many nights before. I prayed that God would give them peace, as they live out their days in a new way. I prayed that He would grow them into kind and gracious young ladies and use them to bless those they meet. I prayed for their teachers and for new and old friendships. I said thank you for the gift of girls, for the hours and years of life together at home. We held hands tight in the dark and felt the weight of this goodbye. Lately, tears are all I have.

I cried myself to sleep, crushed by a sadness that I can’t even explain. I will miss them so much. Life rages on like a river and seasons change. I’ve never been good with life’s transitions.

But, He promised new mercies, so the sun came up this morning and we walked into our new life together, with a fresh start, a blank canvas. There is so much left to paint, so many words left to say, so much grace yet to give—as He writes His story on our hearts.

So, today, I will paint, on that big white canvas, and the colors will tell the story of a momma who is still learning what it means to love and yet let go.

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In a twist of perfect mercy, my two oldest are home with me today, painting, reminiscing, and reminding me that beautiful things happen after goodbye. My gratitude overflows. Thank you for all your notes, texts, emails, messages. You have surrounded me with love and I’m so thankful.

family fourth fest

July 14, 2012 by Edie Wadsworth 34 Comments

The whole shebang was Stevie’s idea. He wanted the family to join us for a huge, week-long Fourth-A-July fun fest. He started inviting them a year ago so that everyone could make plans to vacation in Bean Station, Tennessee and celebrate with us the rebuilding of our home. It was a family fun week of epic staycation proportions. There were beds set up in every nook and cranny. We got up early and stayed up late. The fellas sipped on good whiskey late at night and talked theology, while we girls made food like we were running a restaurant and then layed on floats soaking up the hot summer sun. I don’t remember laughing so hard in recent history and I’m sure our very loud karaoke version of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody will go down in history as my favorite family fun fest moment. I hope our guests, who had to endure our crazy, will forgive our temporary lapse in proper decorum.

I’m so glad I made everyone take a moment for pictures in the chaos of it all. The photos bring back so many good memories!

We set up a cute little ‘photo booth’ and then commenced snapping away. The outtakes were the best!

We spent oodles of hours on the water.

sunup

to sundown, most days….

cliff-climbing….

cliff-jumping….

jet-skiing……

wake-boarding….

water-skiing…..

and in general making every bit of daylight count…..

Then there was the food……

I’m such a foodie and had so much fun planning out the menu for the week. I’ve mentioned before that I had ten pages of hand-written notes on what to cook/what to marinate/what to take out of the freezer next.

Here are some of the things we had: roasted cauliflower and chick pea pasta, homemade waffles with homemade strawberry jam, peach and raspberry crisp, spicy vodka pasta, BBQ sammies, Texas sheet cake, corn and zucchini soup with southern cornbread, spicy meatball soup, and on and on. It was a food fest.

Then we had all the traditional stuff for the fourth, including a flag cake and the strawberry pretzel salad. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. If I were stranded on a deserted island and I could only have one food, it’d be cake with buttercream icing. I’ve got no lies to tell. And look at my little cutie-pies. How did they get this old when I’m only 25 myself?

The girls made homemade pickles one day and we ate a whole jar every time we opened one……

I couldn’t have made it through the week without these two, chopping and cleaning and making me tiny little strawberry shortcake shooters. I can totally understand the appeal of sister-wives. 3 women to cook and clean every night? You can’t imagine the efficiency. And soooo much fun to be around!

These three steered clear of the hen fest in the kitchen. They had issues and concepts to chew on. Church and world problems to solve. They like to really hash it out, confessional Lutheran style.

And I always enjoy seeing the brothers. They are HI-LARRY-US together.

We were so blessed to spend the week with our kids and family and won’t soon forget the happy times.