Curveballs

My daughter is in surgery. I think one of the hardest things I have done is walk her in, hold her while they try to find a vein, then move to the second hand, then epidural, then oxygen and finally watch her eyes close. She got in a good eye roll towards the end. 

We grump and we argue, but gosh, I love this child-almost-woman. Who will be in such pain when she wakes but, I hope, have a beautifully reshaped chest. It must be documented that we both owe each other chocolate for the bet over whether the doctors would wear blue or green scrubs!

Oh Lord, guide their hands!

These shoes

 I wrote the story below for a climbing blog competition. And I won! I wanted to share it here too, because in the wee hours of last night, I was thinking about what I had quickly written at 11pm on the final day of the competition deadline. And how profound (and real) what I wrote is to me. 

  

This is what I wrote...

These shoes are part of our marriage. 

My husband bought his first rock shoes from the legendary Chris Vind who had a climbing shop in Hillbrow in the 90s. Small, student-orientated, next to Wits... a real hangout for the Wits Mountain Club. And of course, Chris talked many students into manning the climbing walls he ran at different events. They're not La Sportivas, but the Boreal Ballets had their inaugural trip to Tonquani, followed by many more to the Magaliesberg, Harrismith, the berg, Boven... you name it. 

They were also the shoes that led me on my first rock climb with some crazy MCSA mountain rescue guys, then several "dates" to Groot Kloof, belayed me on my first lead at Boven. 

I learnt that I could trust those shoes - where they led, I could follow and know I was safe. Those climbing trips led to Mountain Rescue, Wolkberg, friendship, then love, then marriage. Then lots more Magalies trips, and then down to Cape Town where we explored TM, Muizenberg, Higgovale, Cedarberg. I followed them up Little Red Rooster, Staircase and even to Rocklands and Truitjies. 

Then small people came along and the shoes weren't taken out quite so often for a few years. 

A camping trip with other families to Montagu saw them out again, rather battered by now and 20 years old. Children played at our feet at Steeple. As our children swung on ropes too, the shoes set up routes, cleaned routes, encouraged and cajoled. 

A few comments by fellow climbers... after all, Danny had resoled them a few times too through the years. 

This photo was taken on a later family trip where we introduced more friends to climbing at Truitjies. Below are our children, their friends, our friends... this is what climbing is also about. It's about chalk dust, warm rock, balance, belayer's neck, laughter, sharing, dirty hands, the clink of gear, finding holds. 

And to me, climbing is about following those shoes (now nearly 30 years old) knowing I can trust the person who wears them, the one who belays me. 

First date to this date. 

Those shoes are part of our marriage. 

Day 487 since covid arrived

Yup, really. 487 days from the first mask I saw driving past... then into lockdowns, levels, alert levels and blah blah. On Day 123 - which was pretty much exactly a year ago - I was counting all the things going on. 

Today I can add a few extra numbers. My parents 50th wedding anniversary. Luke is now 12, Jessica about to turn 14. Two hockey games this year. One holiday away to Vermont/Onrus. One pulmonary embolism experience (with several embolisms in my lungs). I have forgotten how many "My fellow South African" speeches. Ah, and of course, the mad few days of looting and rioting that has left SA shaking. 

I'm not sure we can make sense of it all. Maybe we don't have to?

That embolism had me walking the narrow path between fear and faith, all with the strange out-of-body-feeling that you get when you can't quite believe it IS happening and happening to you. Facing eternity wondering what is/was on the list to do before stepping across the line. And what has been left unsaid, undone, unfinished. All while dealing with achy sore lungs, kids who don't really realise how fine that line is/was and my own selfishness while a very patient long-suffering supportive husband picks up all the slack and works 200% throughout too. 

I do know that God is the strength of my heart, and comfortingly, my portion forevermore. I pray that He will be the strength of my family's hearts. And of my nation. 

I have become fascinated with the sunrise and early morning light. It's so beautiful and soft. It's gentle and a gift to hold in the harsher light of day. It's a bit like hope. And rainbows.

Which brings me back to 487 days. I am not sure I am more resilient. I cannot grab and own the light or gifts or people or hope. 

Instead, I find that it is my God who gently holds and whispers to me. He's even in the silence.

Souper Trouper

Well, life is not a sonic sunbeam if you are my 12 year old and on the way to a braai and find out that the bread remains but the meat is now soup. 

Says said child: "“Why are we even going to them now? Why!! We don't need to visit soup lovers! The word is 'braai', not drippy soup!”

😂😂😂

PS: Dear friends, only two of our family eat soup. Please do keep on inviting us anyway. We'll bring an alternative for the souper troupers.

Thoughts

My last post was on 21 December and here we are at the end of January 2021. I've spent the last 30 minutes hunting for cheap online wine lockdown specials (wine is not cheap, at least, not what I would call cheap). I've trawled some FB and I found this...

SHE ON THE TIP OF HER TONGUE

May we raise children

who love the unloved

things - the dandelion, the

worms & spiderlings.

Children who sense

the rose needs the thorn

& run into rainswept days

the same way they

turn towards sun...

And when they're grown &

someone has to speak for those

who have no voice

may they draw upon that

wilder bond, those days of

tending tender things

and be the ones.

~ Nicolette Sowder

wilderchild.com

May we raise children like this! Oh darn, how do I raise kids like this?