Last Sunday we celebrated my Aunt Lila’s 80th Birthday with a whole bunch of wonderful cakes and ice cream at the Nursing Home. There were so many people there..like I have said before I have lots of cousins..and they all like cake and Aunt Lila! Even though Aunt Lila has crippling Rheumatoid Arthritis..she is still sharp as a tack and loved by many!
When we left we heard a tractor. Far Guys relatives were in the parking lot. We had heard that there would be a reunion of sorts..but we were not sure what time it would unfold.
Alaska Guy and his Dad (Uncle Willard) with the newly restored John Deere tractor.
They had worked on this tractor project together several years ago. The tractor had a few problems that they could not resolve.
Uncle Willard is now in the “Memory Unit” I am not quite sure why they call it that..he has few memories. He was having a pretty good day Sunday and remembered his son, the tractor and his wife.
The day before Uncle Willard was going to town with his parents…and working in the fields. He will be 95 in April. Before his memories left him he would call me up and talk about the olden days, I took old photographs into town so he could tell me about the people in them. We had some wonderful visits. He had quite a sense of humor..that seems to have left him also.
Alaska Guy saw to it that the tractor was completely restored and running, his Dad got to see it go round and round in the parking lot. He is a little too old to drive it..but you could tell that he wanted to.
Some things can be restored..it works fine for tractors..not so much for people. My Aunt Lila struggles with arthritis..but she has all her marbles. Far Guys’ Uncle Willard can’t remember much, but his body is in pretty good shape. Then there is my Cousin Rosemarie whose funeral is today because her body failed her at age 41.
Two weeks ago my best friend from High School buried her husband. He had barely turned 60 when Cancer claimed him. I did not know him, but I know her well. Ever thirty years she is widowed..she has been down the widow road before. I cannot even begin to imagine her heartache.
There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the how and why of things. I cannot make sense of it all. I must remember that God is in charge.
The Plan of the Master Weaver
My life is but a weaving between the Lord and me,
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be
for He can view the pattern upon the upper side,
while I can see it only on this, the under side…
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow, which seemeth strange to me,
but I will trust His judgement, and work on faithfully,
‘tis He who fills the shuttle, and He knows what is best,
so I shall weave in earnest, leaving to Him the rest…
Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why –
the dark threads are as needed in the Weaver’s skillful hand
as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
When I am feeling a bit down and doing much wondering about “the stuff of life” I find that the poem above helps me get through the rough spots:)