confessions

Bookclub with Amy Greene, author of Bloodroot

January 23, 2011 by Edie Wadsworth 47 Comments

At least four people told me about it. “You HAVE to read this book. You’ll love it. It’s about growing up in Appalachia.”

So when Ms. Cindy told me that the author Amy Greene was signing books at the fall festival, I felt guilty that I hadn’t read it yet.

But I went to meet her because I knew. I just knew.

I apologized profusely that hadn’t read the book yet. She was warm and kind and easy, like talking to my sister. I was instantly drawn to her. I loved the book already without reading one page.

I devoured it in two days and a long night. It got under my skin, Avett Brothers style. The characters wouldn’t leave me alone. I wrote Amy an email declaring my love for her work. She graciously agreed to come to my bookclub.

***********

Fast forward three months. A lot has changed for me. My life will never be the same.
It was two weeks ago when it dawned on me that Amy was scheduled to come to our bookclub on January 21st.
I had been looking forward to it so much but I wasn’t sure I was ready. Could it get through it without crying? Could I moderate the discussion at all?
Maybe we should postpone.

But I knew her paperback was coming out and she’d be busy with book signings and tours so I decided to ‘keep calm and carry on.” I’m so glad I did.

*************

My bookclub friends have been so generous and loving to me during this trauma. They’ve done every kind thing you can think of and more. It was so good to see them all. And then my sister reminded me that it was the one month anniversary of the fire. My dear neighbor Ms. Jan, who has been like a second mother to me during this mess, had graciously offered to host us at her house so it was kind of like ‘going back home’ for me, difficult but therapeutic. I’ve had a hard time finding my words lately so I’ll sum up my thoughts about spending the day with Amy in an email I sent to her yesterday.

“I don’t even know what to say. I’m so blessed by you, by your heart, your sharing. It was our one month anniversary of the fire and so to be with you, back home, near it all, was kind of overwhelming. Johnny was so right, the healing comes with remembering, with going back. It will go down as one of my all time special days. I will remember it with the tragedy, which is so fitting, really. I know my friends loved you so. I don’t think any of them, save one, are from here but they have embraced us and our quirky ways and have learned to love our life here by the mountains. I’m so proud of them too, for learning to love us. I looked at the pictures and it’s funny, you and I both have the same blue eyes, almost exactly the same color. The color of healing and joy. I’m so proud of you for giving so much of yourself. For learning to live vulnerable, to give freely, to be willing to be hurt. You are so easy to love, like a sister——right there among us —-but teaching us to live our calling, to follow our dreams.
It was magical and enchanting, just like Bloodroot. You have a very special gift Ms. Amy and I am so blessed to know you.”

I can’t thank Amy enough for the gift of her presence and if you haven’t read her book, by all means, get that baby soon. It’s now available in paperback at Target!

********
My gifted poet friend Patty wrote a beautiful piece about our day together and a big thank you to my dear friend Sue, who loved the book, read it three times, and had wonderful questions ready!

I have the best friends ever.

I’m including Amy when I say that. I love what she said to me, “Some people are just meant to know each other. And I think we are. ”

Amen.

It’s all just stuff?

January 14, 2011 by Edie Wadsworth 163 Comments

After our house fire, I can’t count how many times I rehearsed the words over in my head these last few weeks?
“It’s just stuff. It can all be replaced. Thank God we’re all okay. Forget about the stuff.”
I’ve said it a thousand times if I’ve said it once.
And I know it’s true. I know it is.
And really, in the big scheme of things, none of it is permanent. It’s all temporary.
So why am I lonesome for the stuff? For the house? For its’ comforts?
Why is it so hard to let it go? Why do I wish I could walk in there one more time and look around and maybe just take a few precious things?

Why can’t I just be happy and thankful that we have insurance and someday we’ll have a house again?
We’ll rebuild. We’ll buy new furniture.
Family members will reproduce pictures. It’ll all be back to normal soon. If there is such a thing.
Some days and moments that explanation works and some days it just doesn’t.
It’s okay–and healthy even—to grieve it all. To miss it. To remember all the little things that are now gone.
On the hard days, here’s what I think of:

1. Caiti’s sweater. I started knitting on it 2 maybe 3 years ago. When Caiti left home, it was my therapy. I prayed for her as I worked on it. I cried, I prayed, and poured myself into it so that when she finally wore it, she would know that a mother’s love is tenacious and deep; a shelter from life’s cold. I was about 2 inches on one sleeve from finishing it and hoped to wrap it up for her this Christmas. Often, I took it with me wherever I went so it was frequently sitting in the front seat of my car. I’m sure people were tired of seeing me tote it around. I brought it inside a few days before the fire to finish it. And now it’s gone.

2. My recipes. I love to cook and had 20 years worth of handwritten recipes in a stuffed-to-overflowing binder. That binder is so much a part of my daily life as a wife and mom. I miss it alot.

3. Our homeschool stuff. So much of our homeschool materials were an eclectic mix of things I’ve gathered over 3 years. We had binders of all the memory work we’ve done over the past 3 years along with binders full of our *best* projects. I’m so thankful some of it is preserved here online but I will never be able to recreate it. So much of it is not ‘purchase-able’. But we’ll do our best to carry on.

4. Our books. I know—we can buy more books. But you know how your favorite books are dog-eared and marked in and coffee-stained and worn? I miss my books. I miss my Bible. (Thanks to Denise and Lynn and Amy, I know have a new one!) I spent this last year reading the Bible through and made copious notes in the margin. I’ll start over. I’ll mark it up again. Mercies will be new. The scriptures will sound different this time. Perhaps for a short time, I won’t take it for granted to have a Bible that I can read at my leisure. As for the other books, I have the most amazing friends. THank you so much to everyone who has so wonderfully began replacing my books. I’m in awe of you, Darcy and Lana and Jessica and Jennifer and all of my bookclub friends. To see my old familiar books is like seeing old friends. So much comfort. So many thanks.

and so many other things I miss…

~my grandmother’s ring (I could hardly believe when Richella sent me some of her precious things from her grandmother. My mom even cried when we opened it and said ‘how do you get through these letters and gifts’. So incredibly thoughtful, thank you sweet friend. )
~my many scrapbooks
~the afghan Steve made when he had a ruptured appendix at age 12 and his mom and grandmother insisted that he learn to use his hands productively during his 6 week recovery.
~the many hand-knit things from grandma
~ my mother’s cookbook
~all my children’s special boxes
~10,000 pictures (Jessica, you are amazing. I am so grateful for the album. Such great memories. Love you)
~my sewing machine
~a houseful of handmade things
~all my antique store finds
~my latte bowl collection (you have been so unbelievably kind to me Ms. Amy.)
~my vintage aprons
~Jadeite cake stand
~all my boots (oh and there were many)
~Taylor’s senior picture
~ the queen chair
~ the bust of David (you are some kind of wonderful Nester girl, thank you for replacing him)
~ Mr. Orange Owl (I can hardly believe you girls replaced my owl!!!!—many hugs and thanks to Amy and Valerie–love you girls–I’m giving one to Caiti, who has always wanted to steel mine–it’s the perfect gift for the angel on the bridge!)
~my yarn collection and all my finished and unfinished projects

So as I sit here in our temporary home, I can’t help but grieve the losses.
Someday soon , there’ll be something to knit, something to cook, something to read, a house to decorate, children to teach.
But for now, we sit quiet and thankful for the stuff of memories, those things we *ponder in our hearts*–like Mary—that nothing can destroy, for they are imprinted forever, wonderful gifts from God that will comfort us in our waiting and strengthen us in our doubting.

**here’s what else I need you to know: I have been completely swept off my feet by your kindness and outpouring of love and compassion. The cards, the emails, the messages, the stories, the love, the gifts, the prayers, the blog posts, the food—-I don’t even know how to tell you how much it has all ministered to me. I don’t know how I could have gotten through all this without you. I really don’t. I’m still working my way through my birthday wishes but I get so emotional when I read them that I can only read a few a time. I’ve read and enjoyed every word you’ve written, whether it’s been online or by mail. I wish I could hug you all and tell you how much it all means to me. Please know that I cherish you and thank you for every last precious word. I will never forget. Thank you.

**While my mother and my sister remind me not to buy chickens to roast until I own a roasting pan, my sainted brother-in-law spent the evening at IKEA in Atlanta for me last night buying desks/tables/chairs so we can start school this week. He will surely receive special heavenly rewards for this. My sister and I waited for his phone calls last night, half expecting at any minute for him to just dump it all in a pile on the floor of IKEA and leave the store muttering curse words in Swedish. He was such a trooper. I will NEVER be able to repay him for this. And he will likely NEVER darken the doors of IKEA again. Thank you Mark. Love you. You’re the best. You took one for the home team. Stevie is now in awe of you. (I always have been.)

**Oh and btw, just for a little comic relief, here’s a list of everything I owned until a few days ago

a computer, a camera, a smattering of MAC makeup, a dutch oven and 3 pairs of boots. psychoanalyze at your leisure.

You are Mine

January 9, 2011 by Edie Wadsworth

**edited to add—this is one of the best sermons I’ve ever heard on baptism, from my pastor Paul Bushur.

Two months ago, Susan and I and the girls were making necklaces for my ’12 Days’ series. I knew right away what I wanted mine to say. I called my friend Kim, who had recently shown me pictures from Salisbury Cathedral in England. On their baptismal font were the words that I wanted on my necklace. Kim reminded me.

“I have called you by your name and you are mine.”

What a promise we have in our baptism. Christ calls us by our name. He marks us as one of His own. He seals us, protects us, hems us in, preserves us.

He opens heaven to us and promises to keep us safe in Him.

He gifts us with more than we can comprehend; life, forgiveness, heaven and the Holy Spirit and divine protection against the fires that threaten our very souls.

I wore that necklace everyday until 3 days before the fire. It got caught on something and came off, leaving an empty shell.
I laid it on my nightstand and planned to re-attach it soon. It now lies in the ash heap——but the promise it gives does not.
Yesterday, I read Susan’s blog and saw this post. I sat dumbfounded. She was thinking about my necklace too and looked up the context of where the verses came from.

Isaiah 43

Fear not, for I have redeemed you, O Isreal;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Isreal, your Savior.
you are precious in my eyes, and honored,
and I love you.

It may look hopeless today.
What we have worked for lies in ruins
but He is there.
What we have loved is destroyed
but He will never leave us.
We may see no hope for tomorrow
but He holds tomorrow in His hand.
He alone repairs our broken.
He has given His promise and its’ everlasting melody calms our fears.

” I have called you by your name. You are mine.”

As the church celebrates the baptism of Jesus today, we rejoice and remember our own baptism. And we know that all is well.

Because we are His.

*comments closed

Turquoise Hope

January 6, 2011 by Edie Wadsworth

It’s 3 in the morning and you wonderful people have been my company tonight. I’m so humbled and blessed by your giving.

For so many days and in so many ways you have wrapped me in loving words and prayers and given me a beautiful ray of hope.

This birthday party may be my undoing. I’ve only made it through a few of them and I found myself wallowing in a brand new heap of tear-mingled joy.

I can’t believe you all did that for me. I am pretty much speechless. Wow. I have amazing friends.

I can’t wait to read them all. But duty (sick children) calls so it’s gonna take a while.

***********

I’m doing kind of okay, some of the time. But then yesterday morning I cried for three straight hours.

I don’t know if it was the stomach virus that’s making its’ way through our family, or the sleep deprivation or because all I can think of is I want to go home.

I miss my house. I miss my kitchen. I miss cooking and crafting and reading and teaching.

I miss normal. I hope I never take normal for granted again.

This turquoise chair is one of maybe 3 things that’s recognizable from the fire.

I could hardly believe it when I first saw it. A little turquoise gift in the midst of ruins and overwhelming loss.

I have a feeling that this *night* will seem long and dark and heavy.

But the Son will rise again and all will be well. I just know it.

comments closed

Send Some Rain

December 28, 2010 by Edie Wadsworth

I was gonna try to string together a post tonight.

Then I saw this.

I sat with my family to watch it and tears and mercy flowed.

I am overwhelmed yet again that every provision has been made for us.

Even my heart’s desire to remember. To *go back there*.

Thank you dear friend, for loving us and leading us toward healing.

Just when my heart was fighting despair, He sends you to minister to us and He melts this heart of stone again.

You’ll never know what this meant.

Send some rain.

*comments closed

Our Christmas Journey 2010

December 13, 2010 by Edie Wadsworth 109 Comments

I’ve joined The Nester’s Christmas Tour both in 2009 and in 2008. I love that girl. She gives me a goal for finishing my decorating.

I haven’t finished decorating yet, despite her promptings but I’ve decided to tell you about my Christmas journey anyways.

This year has been different for me. This is my first Christmas in the lake house. And honestly, I’ve had a hard time completely letting go of the other house, at least in my heart. I have so many wonderful Christmas memories from that house. It’s different here.

And then with that geographic change came a heart shift.

I found myself not wanting a fancy, glitzy perfectly decorated house.

I wanted to slow down. To take an Advent journey without all the rushing. A quiet journey of waiting and hoping and longing.

For the Christ who would come in lowly means to a world that is messy and hurting and broken.

I’ve been a little hamstrung. Wanting to ‘get in the spirit’ but not knowing for the life of me how to usher it in.

Not depressed. Not a Scrooge. Just quiet. And waiting.

Slowly, but surely, a few decorations go up. Not in my normal frenzy. But a few things here and there along the way.

I missed this party and this one and especially this one, since I have no tree yet.

But I didn’t miss this or this.

I think I like my new Christmas. You have to slow down to see it.

So instead of spending lots of time and money decorating, I’ve decided to do a few things different. I’ve been:

1. Studying the poem “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity” by John Milton. I’m leading my bookclub discussion this Thursday and I picked this poem, partly because the girls and I are memorizing the first four stanzas and partly because I find it so fascinating that Milton wrote such a brilliant piece at the age of 21. Wow! So, I’m taking copious notes and reading lots of commentary. You can read the poem here.

2. Hand-Writing my Christmas cards. Novel, huh? I haven’t handwritten cards in many-a-year, since the computer generated labels became so avant-garde. It’s all so old-school and fun. I love writing—with a pen!
3. Baking like there’s no tomorrow. And then freezing it all for the holiday rush.

Which means I always have a sink full of dishes. It looks less messy from this point of view. Don’t let that fool you. It’s messy.

And that candle? Winterberry from Target. Hands down the best Christmas-y scent I’ve found this year.

4. Doing a lot of arts and crafts with the littles. Today? Snowman paintings to go along with our snow. We painted the Voyage of the Dawn Treader ship this weekend and hope to brave the snow to see the movie later today.