She’s halfway through her freshman year already. It has been a season of firsts. Learning curves. Turning pages.
My Sweet Louise.
I picked her up from school this afternoon, like I’ve done so many times. That broad, beautiful smile spanning her glowing face.
A typical teenage day spent in a multiple choice existence.
Foreign language studies. Factor quadratics. Acids and bases. Business presentations. Oh, yes…
And Shakespeare.
“To be, or not to be?”
She shares her day with classmates whom she has come to love. A small, tight-knit group. Common yarns spun of dreams and happiness.
Our ride home is always filled with silly stories of the day. Discussing diligence and highlighting homework.
…
It’s Thursday afternoon.
Anticipating the weekend, I asked if she would like to head north and go tobogganing before the season is over. It had been a tradition for us off and on through the years.
Memories of lugging that heavy sled up the hill, all for the sheer and speed-filled joy of sliding down the icy track. Our best time ~ 35 mph! Between runs snowflakes fall, melting in our mugs of cocoa. Marshmallows toasted crispy brown over the fire.
She paused and sighed.
“You know, Mom, it sounds like fun but I’ll probably be too tired. I’ve got lots of homework this weekend.”
It felt like a tiny dagger had pierced my heart.
Friends had told me we would get here one day. It’s inevitable, they would say. The pulling away. The separation.
Autonomy.
And for as much as I’ve always dreamed of it for her. The going off to adventure into God’s great plans for her life.
I don’t know why it hurt so much.
For that moment in time, it all became so clear.
We were at that precipice.
Time had sped by me just like that sled. My darling little girl was now turning away.
You can bet your bottom dollar that if those world-revolves-around-them friends from school called and asked her to go sail those icy slopes she would be there.
And quick.
Proverbs 22:26
Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.
I’ve always loved old things. Antiques. Pieces of the past.
Simpler machines. Softer hues. Weathered paints and worn-out stitches.
Holding an old book. Pondering phrases on translucent pages. Inscriptions. Wondering about the life of its original owner. Their joys. Their heartaches.
Vintage.
A new word for something old. It conjures up an air of warmth and a promise of history. Timeless and treasured. Classic.
But everything old is not so cherished.
…
This new chapter.
This uncharted territory with Emma has sent me for a whirl.
As I step back and look at the last months I recognize an uneasy, yet familiar tugging. As I hold tight to strands of years past, I recognize the melancholy memories of my own teenage trials.
Snapshots of sadness.
Images from a lifetime ago. I remember reciprocating emotions in my home. Tremendous tensions between my mother and me.
A dance of distance and anger. A tug-of-war between yearning for love and running to the arms of independence.
Those were agonizing years.
I used to think those were miserable only for me.
But now in that same place, on the other end of the struggle, maybe I have been given a little window into my mom’s heart. A tiny kaleidoscope of sorts.
Mirrors and patterns.
I can see her reflection when I look at myself in the mornings. My mother. There are days that I hear her wounding words, now projected at my own daughter. A possession of presumption. Similar qualities ~ less than amiable.
Stepping back in time I can peer into her pain.
Perhaps the anger was her way to build a wall around her crumbling heart.
Maybe she could see me growing up and moving on, away from her. Could it be that she didn’t know what to do with those emotions? Caught in the rigors of parenting us all, running a household, she likely felt closed in. Losing her grounding. Her center.
Clinging desperately, trying to hold together the past and the future in our relationship. Leaving her exhausted and discontent.
This, a consistent impression of my mother’s earlier life.
I am able to look back and see the potential for a grieving heart.
Through my own experience, I can better understand the years that were then wrapped in mystery and resentment.
Now living in a similar scenario I can find gratitude, learning from the past and knowing that I can choose a different path for Emma’s teenage years. That our story might be different.
I can choose peace in my Jesus.
Romans 5:3-5
And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.
As we go through life, we are all becoming a little more vintage.
Not merely by the passing of time, but by the condition of our souls. The impressions that this life leaves on our hearts.
Just like the ‘distressed’ piece of furniture. The tarnishing of silver spoons. Our hearts, too, have endured the rigors of our experiences. Of our days. Those of our childhood, and into our parenting years.
They all leave their mark.
Our hearts may be tattered by disappointments in our lives.
They may be torn from the losses we’ve endured.
Sometimes, we have seams splitting from pride.
There are years that seem to finish us ~ weary and barren. Like an old quilt, leaving threadbare places of our hearts exposed to the cold. Vulnerable to hurt.
But God calls us ‘beautiful’, even in our heart’s ragged attire.
For we are His, my friend!
The Maker Himself is waiting to stitch-up our shabby hearts. Filling the empty places with the grand stuffing of new life. New JOY! Mending the frayed memories with new patches of color.
Rewarding us on our faith-journeys.
Pleased with our testaments of trust.
All that we might see the beauty betwixt the ashes. A blending of our lives to create something of grand purpose.
Because of His grace, we can let go of the past and be secure in embracing the beauty of our future with Him.
And if your lucky…old, sepia-stained photographs will find their way back into your memory. Through the cobwebs and beyond the dark, frightening corners of the past.
His love beckons.
Warm and inviting. Calling us out into the Light.
For me ~ past the struggles, I can see more clearly a mother who truly did love me. Showing me in the ways that she knew how.
I can look back to see how she cared for me.
In the little things.
She would create tiny masterpieces with her hands. From that same kitchen she spent hours in each day of our growing up.
I recall little hand-written notes like “Have a good day! XOXO”. A happy face drawn on my paper napkin packed snugly in my brown paper bag lunch.
I remember oranges with my sandwich. Wrapped in shining silver.
When I peeled back the cover of that shimmering sphere at lunchtime, the juicy orb was sliced so that it would fall open into a blooming flower : )
Yes. My mother loved me.
…
There is another memory I hold dear.
Philippians 4:7
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
It’s one of my favorites.
A special birthday cake of my choosing each December. Layers and layers of chocolate decadence. I remember the icing ~ so thick and so sweet.
There was a candle for each year, and “one to grow on”, my mom would say. Each one held by a specially formed, hand-made jewel.
Gumdrop roses.
Tiny artful creations of sweetness and love.
…
What a joy it is to see beyond the hurt!
Possible only because of His mercy.
That we might let go of the struggles, and recall the good things. The happy memories. They can be found beneath the coverings of sadness and heartache that accompany each of our lives.
For they do exist.
Memories to be passed down through the generations.
Framed in love.
And when it’s time for Emma’s children to be blowing out birthday candles on their special cakes, she can make those same sugar-sweet roses.
Fashioned from loving hands.
And in the glow, maybe she’ll remember her mom who loved her with all of her vintage heart.
My Sweet Louise 
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