Straight to the Heart

I so wish we had taken pictures of the front and back yard of our current home when we purchased it because the yard was certainly not one of its selling points.  In fact, if we had been looking for complete curb appeal, this house would have never even made it on the short list of those to be considered. 

Shortly after moving in, we had the front yard landscaped with new sod and two rock bordered flower beds.  However, we decided to tackle the back yard on our own.  It was bare and covered with a thick layer of pine straw, which had fallen from the surrounding pine trees and had been there for years.   

On her first visit, my mother-in-law graciously took charge and shared with us that removing the pine straw and scraping and roughing up the dirt with hard rake prongs would allow the sun to reach the ground and promote the grass to grow.  We owe her a world of thanks for that advice AND for her labor because after several days of raking, the grass did start to grow! And what is absolutely amazing is that it has grown and is gorgeous without having much other tending or care at all now some seven years later. 

It was obvious by the condition in which the previous owners left the yard that they did not enjoy yard work.  BUT - we saw beyond the yard.  We were able to see our future home straight from the heart.  We saw the house for what it was, the floor plan, the neighborhood, the quiet street and the cul-de-sac.  It was a complete package minus the yard.   

I often think about my life and how jam packed busy it is most of the time.  And I think about my own personal insecurities and struggles – my Type A personality with OCD tendencies which drive my family insane, my complete inability to read a map which my husband simply will never understand, my weight struggle, my never ending unhappiness with my hair, and so many other things.  But I’m thankful that God sees beyond my “yard” and He looks straight into my heart and sees me as a complete package no matter what I think I’m lacking. 

The patio in our back yard is now my favorite place to sit and enjoy all the green.  It was and still is a true labor of love adding plants here and there.  The rake prongs surely did their job scratching the surface to promote the grass to grow.  Kind of like scars on your heart that hurt but then heal - they always make you better than you were before.

1-2-3 Like a Bird I Sing

Music was something that filled her heart with motivation and inspiration.  While she loved music from all genres, she grew up in the 50's and 60's and along with bouffant hairdos, she especially enjoyed the music and dance moves of that period in time.  All through our childhood and even up into our adulthood, she would often lovingly grab our hands to hold them as she began to dance and show us how to jitterbug and do the mashed potato which were popular dances of that era.  It was evident by her sense of free movement and pure joy that it took her back in time to younger years when life was filled with less responsibility and reminding of sweet memories she shared dancing with her younger brother, Ron, in the living room on Saturday nights. 

In addition to dancing, she loved to sing.  Although she did not think much of her singing ability while belting out some heart felt lyrics, I truly enjoyed seeing her sweet smile when she would sing along to her favorites. 

On her first and last visit to see us in early April 2007 after we moved to Texas, she shared with us that her two favorite songs at that time were "Last Dollar (Fly Away)" by Tim McGraw and "In the Arms of An Angel" by Sarah McLachlan.  And in a rather casual conversation, she commented that she had recently dreamt about playing with the cutest blonde haired boy, but had no clue who he might be and that God had shown her that she would leave this world at a time when she was home alone.  I found this conversation to be quite odd and unsettling.  I did not want to talk about her leaving me....EVER!  Little did I know that two weeks later, all of this would make sense.

She did leave this world while at home alone.  Alone without family, yes, but not alone.  In the midst of and following her heart attack, I have no doubt the angel band was there to carry her to her eternal home to meet our glorious Lord.  Both of her favorite songs were played at her funeral and how fitting they were as she had just recently been able to fly away in the arms of an angel.  Oh, and that blonde haired little boy - he must have been Uncle Ron.  I know they have enjoyed dancing in their living room in the sky on the streets of gold together.

In quiet moments I can still feel her hands in mine when we were dancing.  And I can close my eyes and see her face when she sang - sometimes smiling, other times with a serious expression, eyes closed and singing the words as if she was the songwriter and it was her story.

Today, seven years ago, mama, as you ascended upward like a spiral flying butterfly, the words to one of your favorite songs were being carried out  - and it was your story.

1-2-3 like a bird I sing cause you've given me the most beautiful set of wings.

 Mom, Uncle Ron and Uncle Carlton 

Mom, Dad and me

Mom and me summer of 1989

A Game of Love

It all started during our senior year of high school at the pencil sharpener in Ms. Jones’ 1^st period accounting class.  I would sharpen my pencil and he would smile at me and say something funny to make me laugh.  This went on for several weeks until I arrived to class one morning and found him sitting in the vacant desk to the right of me asking, “Did you do your accounting homework?”

For the rest of the school year, that was his seat - the one next to me.  We did our accounting homework together, studied together and it became a competition to see who could achieve the better grade.  I’m not ashamed to admit that he won and the truth is – it was more than a competition for grades.  It was a competition for love.

We were members of FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) and it came time to vote for officers.  As class clown, you can imagine the reaction from our classmates when he not only ran for the position but won!  I was the shy serious wallflower and along with winning votes, he won my heart.

We were married three years later.  It didn’t take long during our first year of marriage to realize that things such as not squeezing the toothpaste just right, loading the dishwasher properly, or putting the toilet paper on the roll correctly became BIG things instead of being little things. In all honesty, it was a tough year getting through those idiosyncrasies and I tell everyone the first year of marriage is certainly the most difficult.  At least it was for us. 

Since that time, we have celebrated moving on from our Taco Bell meals on a string tight budget that first year of marriage, graduating from college and the birth of our daughter.  We have watched each other grow on a spiritual, personal, and professional level.  We have had our fair share of heartbreaks and losses and we have seen areas in each other where we know God is still working. 

23 years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart, Barry Bullard.  He is the man who won my heart and has loved me unconditionally all these years, even when I didn’t deserve it. He makes me laugh when I am too serious. He is the calm voice of reason when I am in a frenzy. He knows me better than I know myself most days. He is the one I will grow old with and the one who will have my heart forever.

I smile when I think about our wedding day, but even more so when I think about our first date.  It was on that first date that he asked me to marry him.  In complete shock, I smiled and laughed out loud.  So thankful all these years later he wasn’t kidding after all.




Candid shot on our wedding day - April 6, 1991

 

 

 23rd wedding anniversary - April 6, 2014

After the Fear There Is Freedom

It was around this time last year when I asked my husband what his thoughts were on the idea of me starting a blog.  Not knowing what I would be writing about, his first response was concern that some blogs can be very offensive.  I smiled and reassured him that this would not be the case.  Although, I surely realize it could have and may yet happen – unintentionally I hope.  The fear I was more concerned about was the risk of judgment of others in sharing my heart in print.  
 
I’ve shared my testimony with our middle school youth group at church on a couple of occasions and each time I start out by telling them I was jokingly nicknamed “Loud Mouth” by my second grade teacher.  Not for obvious reasons, but because I MIGHT have said two words the entire school year.  That was me – the painfully shy girl who smiled at everyone but never said a word.

Today, even though I know I have a Savior who has no doubt master planned my life, I am ashamed to admit that I live in fear more than I should.  If you’ve ever raised a teenager, you have lived there or are living there yourself.  Fear that they will always remain true to God, fear that they will make the right decisions, and fear that they will grow up to trust Him in every aspect of their life.  In only two short years, my teenager will leave to go to college.  I won’t be at her fingertips … and what she will have to rely on (in my physical absence) is her faith to get her through whatever difficulty or trial she will face.

God has transformed that scaredy cat little blonde haired second grade girl and He has helped me overcome the fear of judgment in sharing my heart in print.  Chris Tomlin’s song Amazing Grace describes it perfectly.  My chains are gone.  I’ve been set free.  And I know that He will continue to be there for this mama on days when raising a teenage daughter are challenging.  I also know that He will always be there for her when she needs Him.  He is our foundation and He always will be. 

The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures

After the fear there is freedom.

A Friendship Made in Heaven

One of her sweetest gifts is her singing voice, but on that particular day, her gift was not expressed through song - it was expressed as she spoke the words to a precious eulogy given at her best friend's funeral.  They had met at church over 30 years ago and had been best friends ever since.  This sweet lady's name is Karen Couch and she was my mother's best friend.

As she spoke about their special friendship, she shared that they were truly best friends.  They stood up for each other.  They shopped together, prayed together, laughed together, cried together and most importantly loved each other without judgment. They were each other's confidants.  They could tell each other anything without being judged or criticized.  They would ask each other's opinion and advice about all sorts of things and always knew the response was coming from a place of love. 

I recently saw the YouTube video "100 Year Old BFFs" and as I watched these 100 year old ladies being interviewed about pop culture with responses that had me laughing so hard I almost fell out of my chair, I was reminded of my mom, Carol and her best friend, Karen and their best friendship.   Had they made it to 100 years of age together, they would surely be like these sweet ladies being interviewed.  It's a hilarious video and if you haven't seen it, check it out!

I watch on social media as the middle school and high school girls post selfies with what they refer to as their best friend, but as time goes on, I see them rotate to others they now refer to as their best friend.  I've seen it with my own daughter and I've seen first hand the hurt of words and betrayal.  But what I do understand is this - it could take one, or three or 10 for that matter, so called best friends until you find the one who is willing to love you for who you are, lock your secrets in her heart and throw away the key, and tell you the truth no matter how much it hurts. 

Karen is now battling bone cancer and is on a form of oral chemo.  She says she worries about leaving her family and grandchildren, but she is at peace with leaving this world when the time comes because she'll get to Heaven and see so many she has missed, especially her best friend, Carol.  She misses her laugh and her sweet smile, which was contagious.  On our last visit to Georgia, Karen said to me, "I miss my best friend and I see her in every butterfly."  She visits us all in the form of a butterfly and my face lights up every time I see one nearby ... because I know it's my mother.

In Karen's most recent email to me, she asked, "Aren't you just a little jealous that I'll get to see her before you do?"  With big tears, I paused and thought, I'd be lying if I said no.

"If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies."  Author Unknown

How To Love A Pig

I knew there would be tears and I had been preparing myself emotionally to comfort her the day she would have to say goodbye.  How is it that a relationship could develop within a three and a half month period of time between a 16 year old girl and (of all things!) a pig that could cause your heart to break?

It all started back in October when Hannah drew number four out of 100 FFA students in the school district to select her pig.  She was nervous and wanted to select one with good coloring, great body structure, and well - one that would prove to be a champion.  She picked a 50 pound, black and white Hampshire pig she named Paisley. 

The first day I met Paisley I said, "Hannah, please do not get attached."  Her response was, "Mom, I will give her the best life possible while I have her and that is all that matters."  I accepted that and kept a distance for quite a while. Until that weekend when Hannah was out of town and I had no choice but to be on pig duty.  What seemed like a pig who grunted and charged at me most of the time became putty in my hands when I bathed her and rubbed her skin down with skin softener.  All it took was for her to roll over on her back for me to rub her belly like a dog and it was instant love  - right or wrong.

If you had told me the day my "girlie girl" was born that she would be raising a pig in her lifetime, I would have laughed out loud and never believed it.  However, I'm so glad it was part of God's plan for her and in spite of the sadness in saying goodbye to her pig, she will remember Paisley fondly as a part of her sophomore year in high school. 

While it's difficult to compare the two, the heartbreak of loving a pig for a short time and losing it to the fate of the agricultural process is similar to loving people.  The only difference is -- a pig doesn't intentionally hurt you in its life span to eventually become bacon.  However, whether you invest and open your heart and soul up to people for a short period of time or a long period of time  - sometimes  they will hurt you more than you ever imagined. Does that mean we shouldn't love either one of them?

Most of the time children are to learn from their parents, but I learned something from my Hannah in her relationship with a pig.  ALWAYS love unconditionally and love with all your heart - in spite of the hurt that may come.  Enjoy the journey.

Paisley won first in class at the progress show and then on her final weigh in at 241 pounds, placed third in her class at the Humble ISD livestock show.  This pig, tagged #240 had a huge impact on the hearts of our family - even if it was for a short time.

How to love a pig.  One feeding, one bath, and one belly rub at a time. 

 

Humble ISD Livestock Show

3rd Place Ribbon!

It Is Well With My Soul

From the moment my mother-in-law extended the invitation over the phone back in the fall, I really didn’t want to go.  I reluctantly agreed that we would - and right up until the very moment we pulled out of the driveway, I felt like my little dog on a trip to the vet.  He’s fine until we arrive and then he literally stops dead in his tracks outside the door of the vet’s office.  Without fail, he either has to be dragged in by his leash or picked up and taken inside where he will shiver uncontrollably and cling to us until the whole visit is over.

I had not been “home” in over a year and previous visits had been short ones.  Intentionally.  Barry and Hannah have visited more often, but each time -- well, I chose not to go.  The plain truth is it hurt too much and not going was my way of guarding my heart.

While we have lived in Texas for almost 7 years now, I’m reminded of what “home” is to me on a daily basis.  Every morning my sweet boss greets me with a loud “Good morning, Peach!” and even today, most people I meet here say, “I can tell by your southern dialect that you are not from here.  It sounds as if you are from the deep south.”  Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.  And correct me if I am wrong, but the last time I looked at the map, here in Texas, we are as deep south as you can get without going to Mexico, right?! (Okay, yes, I get it.  Texas is more west and not deep south.) For a while I became very self-conscious about it and then came to the conclusion that this is who God made me to be - a girl from Georgia, from the deep south - with a southern drawl, who loves sweet tea and every Zac Brown song about red Georgia clay, pine trees and Highway 20. 

I miss Georgia, but most of all, I miss the memories of all that was there for me.  All that was there until now - which makes my heart hurt.  As I write this, I feel a lump in my throat at the thoughts of visiting the small town I grew up in, riding in the back seat with my brother as my mom drove us to the same grocery store every Saturday, seeing the house we grew up in and the long driveway we would ride down on whatever we could find when it snowed, prom pictures in the front yard, and opening Christmas presents together on Christmas day.  To drive by or even visit the cemetery where my mom and stepdad are buried is just so very painful and honestly, I just don’t have the courage.   They are now gone and so is all that I once knew of “home” as I remember it.  

Today, I’m glad that like my little dog at the vet’s office, I was picked up at the door to go “home” and it was so much fun to go to the only existing old style cash only movie theatre in Cedartown, Georgia (where the mom and pop owners will tell you if you don't carry cash with you, just stop by and bring it tomorrow),  have some girl talk in the nail salon with my niece, Madison, witness the culinary expertise of my nephew, Brandon, who made a swan centerpiece out of an apple, laugh and share stories about life and raising daughters with my brother, Britt and his family, visit with my mother's lifetime best friend, share in a devotional from Sarah Young's Jesus Calling with the Bullard family and hold hands as we prayed, be a part of the Bullard girls playing a Duck Dynasty shooting game in our matching pajamas on Christmas Eve, and our trip to the lake to shoot guns on Christmas day (yes, I sure did).  Oh, how I feel blessed to have these new memories of my time at “home”. 

The history behind my favorite hymn reveals that its lyricist, Horatio Spafford, wrote it following a family tragedy.  Right in the midst of a heart that was hurting.  I’m thankful that the holes in my heart have been filled with special new memories of “home” but even more so that … 

It Is Well With My Soul. 

With Love,

The Georgia Peach