A Life After Death

Am I a major dork because I'm sitting in my house going on a trip down memory lane...like...when I say a trip down memory lane, I'm not looking at pics on facebook, I'm not reading old letters or emails, I'm actually going on Google Street View through York...baha...I'm just now passing the little newstand place on Walmgate where we used to buy our phone cards..haha- Google is incredible!

I'm a little jealous now that everyone from church went off the all my old Bible college stomping grounds- Sara gets to chill in York and Schylo gets to tromp across Hungary, and everyone in California is getting married and I'm just sitting at home with grandmom, in Langhorne, drinking coffee.

But in reality I would not be happy anywhere else, because sitting here in Langhorne is where God has me. He does not have me in York. He does not have me in Vajta. He does not have me in Prague, in San Diego, in New Jersey (surfing!), He does not have me in Haiti.
He has me in Langhorne, tending chickens, planning my garden, baking bread, reading, going to Calvary Chapel of Philadelphia, serving where I'm called- learning and growing and stretching and breaking. I'm so thankful. And I'm happy. I really truly am happy to be in the center of God's will. As much as I wish I had the cash flow to hop on a plane right this minute, God's plan and timing is just so perfect and He absolutely knows what He is doing...if there is anything I've learned walking with Him the past nine years is that He has the best plan and the best timing.

Now I'm passing Dreams Tea house! Where Becky from Canada used to work!!! It's so cute!
Aw, and now I'm on Piccadily! Where we talked to the Homeless Man....oh, and here's the Public restrooms where we talked to the prostitute...and here's the beautiful town center where all of the Holiday building were set up and the rides and stands...
Oh! And the Disney Store where Josh the intern worked! And there's Borders where I bought my giant journal before Speaker's Week...oh, and here's the corner where the man with no legs would play music!And here's Ask, the restaurant where they had dinner before Helen's bridal shower! ANd I can almost look down off of Museum st. and see the park where we would go street witnessing!
I love it
It's nice to remember
and nice to look forward
and nice to be where I am now- knowing that God is always faithful!

Today is my grandfather's 80th birthday.
Well...i mean, it would be today, if well, you know, he was still alive. But this post is not to be all "grandpop reflective;" it is instead a post about nothing much- just wanted to comment that my grandmom did not once mention that it was his birthday today. She has forgotten.

She wrote the date on her check at CVS.

She mentioned multitudes of times that tomorrow is my birthday (we've shared a birthday for well...the last 20 years) and even bought me a card and wrote out a check for me

She had mentioned for weeks before this that her husband's birthday was coming up...and yet today she has forgotten. I'm kind of sad and kind of glad she did...

I was a little nervous she'd catch on when the guy from Peruzzi's called and left a message on the answering machine "to be one of the first to wish you a happy birthday" for my grandpop, but instead, since Peruzzi man did not mention grandpop's name, she assumed he was calling to wish me a happy birthday.

Go figure...I've got Peruzzi men, whose car I don't even own, wishing me a happy birthday. Cool!
It's not that she didn't mention my g-pop today (she mentions him everyday), but it never clicked that today was his day.

Last year at this time I was in England.

I called my grandpop from the phone in the hallway. It probably cost me 5 pounds to call him the way that those phone cards ate my minutes and my money. I'm really glad. That was the last time I heard his voice. Weird. He hadn't realized it was his birthday when he woke up because he had thought it was only the 22nd. I know how it is to forget which day of the week it is...that's why I missed a Spanish assignment last week. My grandmom took the phone to talk to me and yabbered endlessly about how her garden this and dinner that and blah blah blah...but then my grandpop took the phone back with his usual "dear..." and "she probably has to get going- it's long distance" and then I wished him a happy birthday and he wished me a happy birthday and then I said I love you and he said I love you and I would see him in a few months...little did I know...little did I know.

But I knew. I knew. In the back of my head I had that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked down the steps and sat on the leather couches in the living room of Flat 10. I knew. I knew my grandmom was going crazy...we'd seen it already the summer before when she started saying things like "is Jeremiah (my brother) Owen's (my father's) son?" (how funny it is that having to answer that question is so normal to me now, whereas, when she said that at this time last year, I felt sick to my stomach). I knew something was going to happen. But I kind of rubbed it off as you always feel that way when you go away...but something (some many many things) were going to happen.

And then I really knew...I really really knew something was wrong when I got my grandmom's birthday card in the mail. My grandmom always had beautiful cursive handwriting ( i mean, she's German- obviously it must be perfect). The chicken scratch I recieved in the mail was not her handwriting "Tiffie (below a scribbled out "Debbie")" and some ramblings about my call and coming home...it scared me...I remember clearly, being so excited to get mail, and then holding my card as I walked back into one of Ed Major's classes, shaking a little.

It's strange this was all a year ago. Life was different a year ago. There were marzipan cows and pigs and sheep on a blueberry cake a year ago. A carefree fall day in England...a year ago. Coffee with my friend English Hannah and a day of yarn shopping and getting a cute green top a year ago. A surprise party with all of my girlies a year ago. A magic apron...a year ago. And now...I don't know. I'm not sad or depressed that that isn't my life anymore. That was a season. This is a season. A time to laugh. A time to cry.

Tomorrow, I won't wish for things to be how they always were. I don't want them to be. I'm thankful for every single aspect of this last year. Even the horrible, scary, utterly painful parts of it. I'm thankful for who this year has made me to be...and who God has shown me He is. I wouldn't give it up for all of the yum yums or kinder buenos or marzipan animals York has to offer...

So...I better go figure out what to do with my last fifteen minutes of being a teenager...hmmmmmmmmmm...bye!

Fecal- derived from the latin "faeces" meaning "dregs" definied as "the most undesirable part"...we get the word "feces" from it...
Immunochemical- Describing the chemistry of antigens, antibodies, and their relation to each other.
Kit-A set of articles or implements used for a specific purpose.
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Fecal Immunochemical Kit- fancy name for A little envelope containing a child's blue paintbrush, little waste bags, a "test card," and a return envelope...in which I am supposed to supply a sample of my grandmom's poo poo. Yes. My job for this week is to rub the brush across my grandmom's poop and wipe it on a little card, throw it in an envelope, stamp it, and mail it to some doctor for testing. Poor mail carrier who doesn't know what I am putting into thier hands.

I do this because I love my grandmom. This is my new life. Three months ago I was tromping around England, drinking tea, and being a regular old college student. Now, I spend my days trying to convince my grandmother that my father is her son-in-law, and not the president, and my mother, her daughter, is not "the boss's wife" (sometimes our house is Pizza Hut...confusing, I know).

It really isn't that bad, and for the most part entertaining. My days can be exciting, filled with physical therapists who sell me girl scout cookies, to driving my grandmother around the block at night so that we can trick her into thinking we took her "home" (she's lived in the house for fifty years and thinks that we are tricking her by taking everything from her house and putting it in this other house- I know, we are sly, aren't we?)

After four months of Bible College in England, I knew that I was supposed to come home and serve my family, applying everything I had learned. My family had already been dealing with not only the deterioration of my grandmother's mind (she has dementia and a low sodium condition for which she was hospitalized for two months- but that is a whole nother story), but with her husband, my grandfather, being hospitalized since November after a heart attack, triple bypass surgery, and then a mulititude of complications that left him on a breathing tube and sedated until January. He is only now beginning to recover. So I know that my place for now is at home, showing the love of Jesus there, which isn't always easy, but it's been a learning and growing experience already, so we'll see if by the end of this season of my life I am a mature adult, or if I end up being driven crazy and living in a mad house...right now the latter is more probable, but we'll see!