February 4th is our Meetaversary. February 15th is our Dataversary, and we even celebrate our Ask-aversary – The day John finally asked me to marry him! We celebrate the dog’s birthday and every other notable occasion in our lives. We’re really into setting up memorials and making traditions.

And so…drumroll please…today is my one month Blogaversary. I started writing Paladini Potpie on April 29th.

Only a few months prior to that that date I really didn’t even know what a blog was.

This last month has been quite a learning experience, stretching the old brain to grasp so much new stuff. But in the words of the elderly Michelangelo Buonarotti, “Ancora Imparo!” I am still learning!

Today I decided to celebrate my Blogaverary by researching a little about what a blog is and how it all got started.

To begin with, I learned that blog is a blend of the words “web” and “log” – web log.

The fore-runner to the blog was created sometime in 1971 by Les Earnest. He created something called finger protocol. This was a technical program that enabled people to see who else was using the computer network, and to find out basic information about the other users.

By the early 90’s people were beginning to journal and write articles online.

This was about the time John brought home 3 big boxes from Costco and plunked them down in our living room. “You are a writer,” he told me, taking the yellow legal pad out of my hand, and holding it behind his back, out of my reach. “It’s time you learned to use a word-processor.”

I thought about my drawer full journals – a lifetime of journals written in my beautiful penmanship. And all the scattered notebooks of thoughts and ideas… half written stories… the start of a fabulous novel…somewhere. There was some merit to working on the computer, but I still really liked my yellow legal pads and I love all those pretty journals…

I haven’t abandoned my handwritten journals, but I am being inexorably drawn into this exciting new adventure. I certainly never expected to be doing a journal or a log on the computer…let alone on the web!

The name web log was first used in 1997, and in 1999 Peter Merholz of peterme.com put the words together to make weblog…or blog for short.

And, as happens with so many nouns…the noun “blog” became the verb for writing the blog.

And so I now blog on my blog.

Wikipedia says that as of February 16, 2011 there were 156 million public blogs on the internet. But that was 3 months ago. Today it’s anyone’s guess!

                      “If I had known I was going to meet Mark when I was in my thirties I would have enjoyed my twenties a lot more!” Monica told me that this off-the-cuff comment by her Aunt Tracy stabilized her.  It gave her hope when, as an early twenty-something herself, Monica was discouraged.  She had lots of great friends who were guys, but not an inkling of the man she would marry and spend her entire life with. That prospect changed very quickly just a couple of short years further into those early twenties, but that will be another (wonderful!) story. 

                       Today I want to talk about the fact that my adorable sister-in-law, Tracy,  even had that conversation with Monica. I want to talk about the countless hours of conversation, the sought-after advice, and the listening ear my three kids got from about a dozen very special people who cheered them on, hugged them, and just loved them.                 

 Yesterday John and I received many “high-fives” and congratulations as David graduated from college with so much to show for his life besides an honors GPA.

We accepted the handshakes and hugs and said “Thank you” and we did look at each other a few times with proudly  beaming smiles – “Well done, co-parent!” 

                      But we had a long and very serious conversation about how much we owe to other people. People who loved and mentored our kids, who talked to them when they were not in a place to hear from us.

                   My brother, Uncle Brian, has been Matthew’s buddy and confidant his whole life. He was Matthew’s “father figure” for the few years I was widowed and single.

                       And Dave Perata, who taught Matthew his first electrician lessons, instilled in him a godly work ethic and encouraged him to go to school and get his journeyman’s certification.   

                    My precious friend Geigy, who is somewhere between Monica’s and my age, has been Monica’s lifelong mentor and girlfriend.  I know they have had hundreds of hours of crying and hugging and long, long talks. I’ll never know most  of what they talked about, but I know that Geigy pointed Monica to the right spiritual track when my darling daughter was physically and mentally rolling her eyes at a good deal of my wise motherly counsel.

                      David’s youth pastor and life-long friend, Jeremiah, spent time with him week after week, “discipling” and doing a bible study that continued for years.

                       Yesterday at David’s graduation party, as we talked about how fast the time passed, my friend Sandy recalled the time she took a very young David horseback riding and then to Taco Bell. (“I made the mistake of telling him to order whatever he wanted!)

                     I know I’ll forget someone. I don’t even know everyone who has spoken into my kids’ lives.  But I’m glad you did.  We thank you.

                       I still have not met the Nix family, who opened their home to Monica when she was in college on the other side of the country.  They became family to her and they did something John and I could never do.  They taught her taxidermy. So Monica was able to stuff and mount the buck David shot a few years ago. 

                   And finally, how can I talk about David shooting a buck without thanking the Lord for all the hunting trips, the hours of driving, and tramping conversation David has had with Grandpa Frank. I could spend a whole page raving about the encouragement and supportive love and advice all three of our kids have received from their grandparents – the stability of family and tradition.  

                    I close this chapter, and it feels so unfinished.  I thank God for our three kids and where they have been and where he is taking them. I thank God for all of those who have come alongside of us and helped our kids know the truth of Jeremiah 29:11, “ For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

                      The woman is covering her eyes with her hand, and her head is bowed. She stands, wrapped in a blanket, slumped in the midst of destruction. My toes curl and I shift my weight as I stare at the image on my computer screen.   My toe curling and weight shifting is an uneasy reaction – not a purposeful action.  It is a mixture of pity and horror and almost something like guilt.  For the last twelve hours I have been walking around my house curling my toes and squishing my feet into our new carpet.  I’ve been lying on the floor basking in the soft new luxury while this woman has probably been lying on the hard concrete floor of a disaster shelter. I’ve been joking that my house is upside down because we‘ve been moving furniture from room to room, and stacking it so we could carpet the whole house. This woman’s house is literally upside down.

I pray for the woman in the picture. I have been praying for all the people in Joplin and neighboring areas who have been hit by tornados this week.  I don’t think I know any of them personally, but I still have a vague feeling of guilt.  I have just been given so much and they have just lost so much.  How in the world do I reconcile this?

Matthew 5:45 says God causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends the rain for the just and the unjust. So it has nothing to do with deserving.

                         Romans 12:15 says to rejoice with those who rejoice and to mourn with those who mourn.  That’s kind of a tall order.  My frail human brain – as magnificent as the human brain is! – can’t seem to understand how to grasp both feelings at the same time.  My mourning for all those people who have lost their homes to tornados and floods must surely put a damper on my rejoicing with the people I know who just had a sweet new baby, or got the job of their dreams or bought a lovely new home – or new carpet.  How do I reconcile it? It seems almost hypocritical to rejoice one moment and mourn the next.

                        As I sit here wrestling with this huge concept I remember my airplane window lesson. It comes to me every time I fly in an airplane and am fortunate enough to have a window seat.  The ground falls away and before long the houses are the size of Monopoly houses.  Soon the streets and freeways are ribbons with little coloured beads running along them. And I know that every one of those little beads has at least one life in it.  Each Monopoly house represents at least two or three lives. Thousands of lives spread out as far as I can see from this heavenly vantage point.  I will never know most of those people, but God knows every one of them intimately.  He is working out details in each of those lives as surely as he is working out the details in my life. He takes me through times of personal grief and mourning and personal victory and advantage.  He is a God of most intricate detail.

                       He is the only One who is able to feel real rejoicing and real mourning all together at all the right times for all of us.  (Whew!)  I know this when I am above it all and catch a glimpse of his perspective.  Down here all I can do is try to recall that heavenly perspective, trust in God’s capable provision, and remember that to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

                       I sit in my “magic chair” looking around the empty room. Monica nicknamed it the magic chair because it’s so wonderfully comfortable that every time she sits in it she falls asleep.  I don’t usually sleep in my magic chair, but it is magic in the best sort of way. I spend a lovely hour of quiet time here just about every morning. The room is always so peaceful…so full of just the right kind of morning light. I’m surrounded with some of the things I like best in the world.  My books – the shelves are filled with books and pictures and interesting things like an hourglass, an abacus, a little world globe… And the mantle clock on top of the book shelf cloaks the tyranny of time in beauty. So I sit here in the mornings.  I pray. I read my bible. Sometimes I watch the fish in the aquarium.  Sometimes I take a hymn book from the piano and sit here and sing quietly – thanking God that everyone is still in bed and probably can’t hear me.

                  But it’s different this morning. It’s kind of echo-y. The familiar overflowing bookshelf now stands naked. The books are stacked in six boxes in the garage. The tables are gone…the lamps, the rocking chair, the little book shelf. They are all stacked in the garage and on the wood floor of John’s office.  

                         The big empty bookshelf, the piano, our 60-gallon  aquarium… and my magic chair. We’ll need help to move these four things…somewhere.  And then, the carpet man cometh!

                           In recent years John has been saying, “One should get new carpet every 25 year or so, whether you need it or not.” And our kids have told us that we really need new carpet. I have been the lone holdout. But this is the carpet to which John carried his new bride almost 27 years ago. This is the carpet where our babies learned to crawl and walk, and where the kids sprawled to play games.  It’s probably been steam cleaned a hundred times over the years – and that is another family adventure memory. I like it. I’ve really never seen the need of new carpet. I like the colour of this carpet…it still has nap…sort of.   

                         John has been talking about new carpet for a long time but I always say I’d rather spend the money and the time on a nice trip somewhere – and he ends up agreeing with me.  And we have had some wonderful vacations.  But one should really have new carpet every 25 years or so…or so they say.  So we decided that this year we will have a carpet installation vacation.  I can hardly wait!