The 22

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

Despite politicians’ bleating about the War on Terror and withdrawal timelines, the truth remains that we are still at war.  Well into its second decade, it still rages, and like so many other wars it rages in a foreign land far from our eyes and ears and even the western world we know. So, we civilians see the casualty lists but they are just names and faces to many of us.  We love to share patriotic articles on Veteran’s Day and the Fourth of July and Memorial Day, post our flag gifs and decals and rage a moment or two about who loves our soldiers more; the pacifist who doesn’t want to see soldiers die in an unjust war, or the pro-war patriot who wants to see our boys honored with respect to a war they are fighting.  My own opinion has shifted over the years, but this isn’t about the justness of this war, it is about Decoration Day and the men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice for a country that you and I profess our allegiance to.  Memorial Day isn't Veteran's Day, it is to honor the fallen, our casualties of war, those who gave all.  The problem is that our war dead aren’t just coming home in coffins, they are coming home by all appearances among the living.  They are men and women who have experienced something haunting and carry demons they just can’t shake.  So many of us have become numb to the headlines of our war fatalities, they have lost their luster and we turn to the next headline.  How many have shared and read article after article about a Kardashian, a football game, a Duggar, or a new princess in a country responsible for our first fallen soldiers, or insert some other polarizing and trivial matter.  We can turn the page, click a link, or cut the coverage of war dead off, but there are men and women who can’t because even when they go to sleep at night the war is still there and they can’t unsee the things they saw, the brothers they lost, or maybe even the people they killed, all so we can lose ourselves in some other ridiculousness.  So, where does relief come for them, for far too many; pills, alcohol, fleeting relationships and then what? When that ether wears off, where then?  Too many are joining the ranks of the memorialized, a search for relief leads 22 veterans a day to take their own lives.  I have no idea what it must be like for any veteran returning from war, especially those veterans with wounds and scars we can’t see, but that run so deep they feel them in their dreams, but I know what it feels like to lose one to those wounds.  I know what it is to know one of the 22 and it is haunting and painful.  I know that the guilt is crushing for those left behind, and the statistics make the contagiousness undeniable.  I find my comfort and strength in all things in Christ and would hope to point those I love to the truth of his unflinching love and place for his people.  But, I also want to say to any of those who came home but haven’t really come back…come back.  Let us celebrate you in November, not May.  Turn to us and know you are loved and help show us the best way to honor the fallen on Monday. If you are a civilian like I am, revere Monday with a solemnity it deserves and honor our war dead, take a day off of the trivial pop-culture war you are engaged in and just spread a little love.   

A Shared Affection

There is a lot I didn’t know about my grandfather that I regret not taking the time to ask him about.  I think we all have a touch of this regret about our grandparents’ generation.  When we are young we are too busy or shamefully just don’t appreciate it, and when we are old enough to care it seems strange that you don’t know about their childhood or time in the War or young adulthood that there is an awkwardness about asking.  That said, there are wonderful things I do know about Bubba Ely.  I know the love he had for my Grandmother, Boo.  And, although her bubbliness and lovable flightiness drove him insane at times, he loved her faithfully.  My heart is joyful when I think of their reunion and his reunion with his son.  I know that he loved and feared the Lord and I remember one conversation with him about the importance of prayer that has not left my memories.  I know that he loved his grandchildren dearly and showed that love, not in typical grandfatherly affection, but in a better, warmer, deeper way; a love of shared interests and respect. 

I never wrote Bubba a letter that went unanswered and I cherish those faded and cracked pieces of correspondence, especially those letters we exchanged after my Grandmother died and I was so worried about losing touch somehow.  I also never told Bubba about a book I was reading that he didn’t make it a point to read (if he hadn’t already) so that we would have something to talk about.  He taught me how to saddle a horse and took me riding, taught me how to (literally) get back on that horse after I had been thrown, and he taught me the beauty of just being who God made you to be and enjoying that.  Basically, from him I learned that real swagger comes from not trying to be something you aren’t, but just embracing who you are.  There was nothing fake or pompous or unnatural about the man.  It’ll inspire confidence in anyone having a grandfather cooler than John Wayne.

Beyond all this, I know that Bubba loved the Delta and the Land.  I have fond, vivid memories of the times Bubba would drive me from Shaw to Cleveland and most of the time the conversation would come back to the land.  “You see that road over there? “ pointing to some back road. “Do you know where it goes?”  he would ask me.  “No, sir” “Neither do I, but some day we should take it and just find out.”   He would explain and now I understand how your love for this wonderful, rich Delta grows just by exploring the patchwork of farmland covering its sprawl; loving it, not for the “culture” of it, but for its almost paradoxical lushness and rawness.   Loving it for the way it stretches out endlessly, and for the unrivaled beauty of the sun setting miles away uninterrupted by buildings or elevation, just melting into its deep dark level land, and the way rows finally meet on the horizon of a planted field.  I learned to daydream about a clump of trees standing alone in an otherwise perfect field.   I love this place, this land, in great part because of a mutual affection nurtured in me by Bubba Ely, my Grandfather, the coolest guy I’ve ever known.  

Unexpected Grief

We planted some kitchen herbs not too long ago and just when they began their groundbreaking Holt asked if we could plant watermelons and a lump of grief welled up from deep inside and settled in my throat.  It took many swallows to get the mass back down to my belly where I have stored my grief since my grandmother's unexpected death right before Christmas.  I blinked away the tears and looked for an onion to chop to act as a cover up.  Who knew a hypothetical watermelon patch would be the catalyst to break the dam of grief and memories I’ve been bottling up.  For five summers in a row my grandmother and I tried to grow watermelons.  I remember sitting on a towel on the carpet in her den wearing a damp bathing suit from morning swimming lessons eating a watermelon.  I love watermelon (my mama attributes this to the fact that I was a late June baby resulting in her consumption of somewhere around 2 tons of it at the end of her pregnancy) and always have.  There is no better way to eat watermelon than the way I was eating it on that day and the way that I ate it for the better part of my childhood, which is on the floor or grass or dirt or concrete, with a pie tin and a quarter wedge between your legs.  I can see my seven year old self hunched over the pie tin with sweet pink juice running down my chin and arms.  If I got tired of hunching, I would pull my knees up and prop my elbows on my knees and hold the watermelon wedge in both hands before leaning in for a prolonged gobble.  I would store the seeds in my cheeks or gums like a chipmunk until I could hold no more and spit them into the pan.  It sounded like a rapid fire bb gun hitting tin cans.  There was nothing ladylike about this feasting - and it was wonderful.  My grandmother was watching me devour my fourth quarter of watermelon when she suggested that we save the seeds and plant them in her back yard.  Summer after summer we tried and failed to grow a watermelon.  Slugs or rain or drought or cutworms would always step in just when the vines were starting to really get going.  But, year after year, I would feast on watermelons and we would plant the seeds.  When my grandmother would cut into the watermelon I would beg her for and she would give me a chunk from the heart of the deep pink meat of the fruit before portioning off a wedge in a pan.  She never made me wait and indulged my impatience.  I missed her this spring, but I am missing her painfully this summer.  I miss her for my mom, who misses her mother, and for my kids who miss their GG, and I just miss her.

I miss the woman I spent every summer of my childhood with.  The woman who would lay with me until I fell asleep, who took me swimming even though she hated swimming, who made me pajamas and princess outfits and tried, on several occasions, to teach me (unsuccessfully) how to sew, who taught me the proper way to make a bed with hospital corners, who taught me how to cook and how to burn bread with every meal.  Who had an intolerance for bad grammar.  I miss the woman who didn’t tolerate any other kind of intolerance and believed in giving everyone a fair shot.  The woman who saved my life when I had pneumonia as an infant by putting me in a steamy bathroom until I was able to breath long enough to get to the hospital. The woman who let her children and grandchildren grow and learn and make their own mistakes without judging them.  The woman who let her grandchildren build forts out of her furniture and cared more about her grandchildren's happiness and joy than how much dirt they tracked into the house or how loud they were.  The woman who would let eight children come spend weeks at a time with her and always said yes when they wanted to invite a friend over for supper.  The woman who loved to play dominoes and rook and taught me how to win and lose gracefully.  The woman who taught me to choose friends based on their character rather than popularity or what they could do for me.  The woman who didn’t make a fuss if her grandchildren wanted to grow their hair long or cut it all off, or what kind of clothes they wore or the music they listened to.  The woman who was understanding when I couldn’t make it down to visit but who would sit and listen to me for hours when I needed to cry or talk or just be listened to.  The woman who served as a touchstone for so many of my major life decisions but always let me make my own decisions and never made them for me.  The woman who was a champion of modesty and grace.  The youngest daughter of five who lost her sister as a child and three brothers as an adult.  The woman who did not indulge pomp and circumstance or bigotry or hate or pridefulness or pity.  The woman who grew up in western Kentucky during the depression and thereby hated wastefulness, but was a prime example of generosity.  The woman who battled insecurity with kindness and holding steadfast to her principles.  The woman who never valued people based on the title they held or the status or money they had, but valued them based on their shared existence in the human race.  The woman who let me play dress up in her old costume jewelry, slips, and heels.  The woman who let my cousin Stephen keep a flock of baby ducks he found one summer, no questions asked. The woman who fell in love with a poor young country boy who found a way to go to college but found himself headed off to war, and the girl who married him and made him the happiest sailor in the Pacific.  The young girl who rode a train cross-country to see her new husband in California while he was on leave and then moved from Kentucky to Indiana to Arkansas to the Mississippi Delta while he went to business school and got his PhD.   The woman who loved that sailor until she took her last breath.  The woman who prayed for me ceaselessly and who planted a gospel seed in my heart as a child.  The woman who encouraged me to marry young when Jonathan asked me to marry him but reminded me that neither one of us was perfect.  The woman who told me to serve my husband and told him to love and cherish me. The woman who loved so well and taught me to love well. The woman who taught me to take chances and enjoy life and love others and to be selfless, never by telling me, but by just living that way.

I remember leaving the grocery store the summer after my grandfather died and a middle aged black man came running up to us in the parking lot saying, “Miss Gibson, Miss Gibson,” he started to say I know you don’t remember me, but my grandmother cut him off.  “Of course I remember you,” and she called him by name and they hugged and he told me that he worked for my grandmother in the cafeteria at Delta State twenty years before. They chatted in the blacktop heat for a long time and after they hugged goodbye he told me, “Your grandmother’s a fine woman, you should be proud to be her granddaughter.”  I was proud to be her granddaughter and I am proud to be her granddaughter and I am blessed beyond measure to have had her for so many years.  We loaded the groceries into the car and she told me about what a hard worker that young man had been for her all those years before and how proud she was to hear how well he was doing and she paused and smiled for what seemed like a long time.  Then we went home to unload the groceries including the watermelon riding in my lap. 

My Life in Quotes

"Harper Ann please put on clothes" - said eleventy billion times in one day

"No Harper Ann you cannot wear pink goggles to church...There are lots of reasons why but the most important is because I said so...No, they will not make Jesus happy"

Harper Ann on the Fall of Man - "God doesn't give spankings when you do bad things he just makes you naked and then makes you leave his pretty Garden." Me later in the day..."No Harper Ann you may not get naked instead of getting a spanking"

"Well, Holt, if you didn't want to be late for school you shouldn't have told me I looked like a boy in those clothes as we were walking out the door."

I was putting JC down for a nap and Harper Ann came in and asked if she could tell us a story, and so she began,

"Once upon a time there was a little boy, and do you know what his name was?"

"No. Tell me."

"his name was Holt" she said. " and he had a sweet baby sister, and do you know what her name was?"

"hmm. What?"

"Jane Cannon." she said with a smile. Then, her face turned serious and stern. "and then...the evil came, and do you know what the evil was named"

"no."

"Harper Ann."

Hahahaha

 

Harper Ann was taking a bath the other night and I walked in to find her floating in the water staring at the ceiling turning her head side to side:

Me- "Harper Ann, what are you doing?"
HA - "I was just thinking and trying to figure out what's wrong with me."
Me - "Well, what's wrong with you?"
HA - "I don't know I haven't figured it out yet."

Me - "Harper Ann, why are you sitting in the sink and how did you get in there?"

HA - "I just wanted to see if I could get in here and I could - you can help me out now."

HA was in the kitchen asking for some dip for her chips. When I told her we didn't have any she looks at me and says, "woman, you better fix me some before I spank you naked and hide your clothes."

I was dropping HA off at school a few weeks ago and I was reminding her to use good manners.  A trick I used with Holt that my mom used with me was telling him that I was giving him a pocket full of pleases and thank yous to use during the day and that I wanted him to come home with empty pockets :-).  This is the conversation that transpired with my girl:

Me - "Harper Ann I'm going to give you some pleases and thank yous to put in your pockets and I want you to remember to use them today ok?"

HA - "No thank you I'll just take money"

Well at least she used her thank you.

I was fixing Harper Ann's hair the other morning before school and if you have never had the pleasure of brushing a 3 year old girl's hair against her will, especially one with a penchant for wiggliness and a fiery ahem personality, it's not unlike trying to coral a wild stallion for branding - what you've never experienced this?  Well, take it from me, try the stallion thing first - I'm sure it is far less painful.  After a dance of wills that involved thrashing, tears, screams, sweat and only minor bloodshed - I had her pinned between my legs and was almost done putting the ponytail in when she jerked her head...I threw my hands up in disgust and asked "What is wrong with you child?" then she leans back and in a moment of brutal honesty drops her head and shakes it from side to side, "I'm just impossible sometimes"

Amen

Harper Ann - Hallelujah I Love Her So

Happy Birthday to The Wild One

To Celebrate Harper Ann's 3rd Birthday (and as penance for being a lousy blogger - Although I did have a little side project blog during lent that you can find here) I offer you Harper Ann's Year in Review.  It's going to take several blog posts to recap a year with such a lively one.  My mom kept the kids overnight last weekend and this is the text I got when I asked how the kids were doing: "JC is sleeping, Holt is being sweet, and Harper Ann is being Harper Ann." Yep, that's my girl.  So, let's have a recap of Harper Ann's year:

- While she talked before her birthday last year, around August the verbal floodgates opened and she has been talking non-stop since then. In fact on the way home from Irene's birthday last year the only time she did not talk between Houston and Cleveland was the hour she slept after lunch.
- The girl has developed an attachment to a pink bear lovie that she has aptly named bear.  She cannot sleep without bear and pappy and occasionally her monkey blanket.
- Around her second birthday she started using the big girl potty and has not looked back and was deeply insulted when I suggested she sleep in a pull-up at night.  We have been completely diaper/pull-up free since September and I have still never had 2 in diapers.
- She loves her Disney Princesses and has an unnerving fondness for Melificent in sleeping beauty who she affectionately calls "the evil"
- She made her first trip to the beach when we went to Galveston for our first real family of four (5) vacation.
- She sings a mean version of Jesus Loves Me - seriously she goes into headbanging and death metal mode on some versions - it's quite violent
- She hates her car seat and seat belts
- She has a smile with a little more character since she decided to tangle with the coffee table and ended up with slightly grayer and misplaced teeth - but they are baby teeth and in a few years we'll never know the difference
-    She and her daddy have a song, "My Girl" and she makes no qualms about letting you know it is her and her daddy's song and no one elses
- She loves to be naked, or Nakey as she likes to call it.
- She loves butterflies and tattoos - and much like the naked obsession, we hope she outgrows this or at least the combination
- She cannot pass up a bottle of fingernail polish to save her life.
- This winter she found Holt's old Johnny Poppers boots and wore them with almost everything - there were many a Sunday morning spent in battle over those boots (sometimes the fuzzy ones) - do you even have to ask who won?
- We have the opposite problem this summer - we cannot keep shoes on the girl - we literally have to chase her down and put clothes and shoes on the child
- She likes to pick up pebbles at the playground or around her swingset and swing them in the swings very gently and she calls them her babies - who knew she would be so maternal
- She loves to Dance, alone or with someone, it doesn't matter - she is a dancing queen
- She loves Music - one time in the car I thought she was asking to hold my hand, nope she just wanted to listen to "the devil's right hand by Steve Earle. - HA is not a Hand Holder
- One of her favorite movies is "The wind is Gone" (gone with the wind) and her favorite character is "her pittypat" and she calls Rhett Butler "her dancing man" - her of course being Scarlett
- She loves Crawfish
- She loves her sleep and wants to sleep in her bed, but still lets me rock her for a little while at night (it's my favorite time of the day - rocking my girl and then reading to Holt) - She will tell me after a few songs that she is ready for her bed and I tuck her in and that's all she needs, well that and her night night music (a random CD I burned wit slow soft music that has everything from Aaron Neville and Emmylou Harris to Warren Zevon and Bruce Springsteen)
- She loves to dress up like a princess or a ballerina, the girl loves her tutus and tiaras
- If you ask her who she is going to marry she says Jesus because she loves him- hopefully this doesn't mean she is headed for a convent, but it is very sweet.
- She says "Yea Ma'am" in the sweetest little voice and expects a kiss on the cheek for saying it and will kiss you on the cheek if you tell her yes ma'am
- She can say Holt and Jane Cannon's names a hundred different ways and each one carries with it a distinct order
- She loves to paint, particularly on her toys, pumpkins and herself - do not leave this child alone with paint or lotion for that matter
- She loves makeup, but will tell you that if you wear too much you look "cheap and twashy"
- She is a Mama's girl
- She greets me and Jonathan with the most joyous squeals and screams of "MAMA and DADDYYY"

Harper Ann's Year in Review

Part Un, Deax, and Trois 


She has had the sweetest change in character from a shy toddler to a kind, joyous and friendly little girl, and while she may give us fits, she is never boring and is a constant source of laughter and genuine happiness in our lives.  We love you little one.
 

Harper Ann's Year in Review - Part Un

Oh how we love our girl, let us count the ways

She is a fan of jewelry too

She sure does love her Holt

Sleeping with Holt

Napping with bear and pappy and monkey

putting her baby dolls to sleep

being silly before bed

Stickers were our reward for potty training - she is not a fan of moderation

Watching Alabama win another National Championship

Making mudpies

We had to give her ice cream just to keep her quiet

Wait Holt - she had so much fun jumping over the waves with Jonathan

Follow the hyperlinks to parts two and three

Harper Ann's Year in Review - Part Deux

In case you missed our little recap...

before school pictures

She is independent to a fault at times

our little indians

she wanted to be a butterfly - the girl loves butterflies

She also loooves to dance

This is her polite way of saying please don't speak to me

This is what happens when Harper Ann finds an untended tube of lipstick - I would say this falls into the cheap and trashy territory

Nothing to see here just giving "naked baby" a bath

she is a proud big sister

that's my girl

Stockings go on feet right?

This picture captures so much of who they all are

The red stains are from the lipstick we had a time trying to get off

She's almost always up to something

Some of Her babies

Painting the Cow

Pumpkin painting with my girl - it was spring before I finally threw the pumpkin out - she had so much fun painting it

That's her bear

This is the face I see right before I discover an incredibly big mess I've got to clean

I told HA to go wash her hands one day - she quickly responded "don't tell me to do that like that, I'm a princess, my daddy said so."  - Oh good grief

Harper Ann the Walrus

Sweet deception

Dancing with Daddy

The paint always ends up on her body somehow

She wanted curlers in her hair too

The Elephants were saying "hi Harper Ann" she told us in a high pitched sing song voice

Sweet sisters

Harper Ann "helping"

A princess tea party

Our little butterfly

It huwts my eaws she likes to say

Meeting her baby sister for the first time