Going Home

Going Home


The word home takes on a special meaning to me. I have lived in more homes than I care to count, went to twenty-two different schools, learned to pack quick and many times lived out of boxes. My parents moved a lot, no, my father was not military; I liked to say my birth mother was just a bored housewife who lived on the excitement of new houses.

Going home for me is traveling to my parents home in which I never lived, in a small town where I never unpacked a box or paid rent. However, it is where my dad and mom live now and have for several years, in a big rambling house that often is full to the brim with family.

The miles seem to stretch further apart these days and the trips home less frequent than when I was a young mother. I find the older I get; the busier I get and the less opportunities to travel the distance. I get homesick often, miss my folks and send cards, letters and try to keep in touch on the phones. It’s not the same as walking in that door and being embraced by my mom and dad, or seeing my grandmother smile.

Pictures line my rooms with photos of family in an attempt to gather them close to me. The substitution is not easy and my heart often aches for a visit. We have six children, all fairly close in distance from our home, a home I have lived longer in than I ever thought possible. We have several grandchildren, busy jobs, four pets and a multitude of commitments. I don’t know how I did the travel when my kids were smaller, but it seemed we found more time back then.

Lately, I could feel the disappointment and something like anger in my dad’s voice quite a few times as he encouraged us to make the trip. They were both lonely and health made it harder for them to travel to us. We recently lost our grandfather and grandma is now staying with my folks. I needed to get home, but found it near impossible with football schedules, school commitments, working loads of overtime and just plain exhaustion from trying to keep up with it all.

I noticed a certain edge in my father’s voice when I spoke to him, a longing to see his only daughter and the guilt weighted heavy. I even found myself defensive and dreading the calls home. My father has never been harsh with me, rarely raised his voice and I can only remember one time in my youth did he spank me. So when dad’s voice gets tense with me, it breaks my heart. What’s worse is I knew it was just plain ole homesickness on his part that we come home.

It took a few weeks to clear the calendar, make sure teen son was going to be responsible and daughter would handle the pets. Hubby and I took the first trip ever all alone with no children or grandchildren in tow. We took our time, stopping often on the four hour drive to give my leg a break which swells often from a recent blood clot. We stopped at our favorite shop along the way and loaded up on goodies.

I found myself getting more and more eager as the miles between my parents and our home drew closer. I wanted; no I needed to see them. As we walked into the door mom enveloped me in her arms, she is much shorter than I and almost has to stand on tip toe to greet me, but it was a hug much needed. Grandma’s face lit up in such a beautiful smile and our ole dog Duke came slowly hobbling our way for a sniff. Dad stopped in twice during the evening, taking short breaks from work and I was so happy to feel his rough beard against my cheek. I was home.

The days flew by, the hours of talking, catching up, laughing, touching each other as we walked by just ended way too quickly. Aunts came by, one of my brothers stopped in and the house filled up with the chatter of family who miss each other very much.

As I sat across the table from my father, my dad, no my daddy, I noticed the years had made him even more handsome. His hair gone whiter, his face a little more weathered, his hands tapping as we spoke just like his mother’s used to. All of it endeared me deeply. Mom was her usual happy self with lots of laughter and telling stories. I tried my best to memorize it all, to take some photos, to capture each precious moment as best I could.

Every time I part, I leave chunks of my heart behind. I often go silent in the car ride home and feel the heavy weight of homesickness clamping on my heart and soul. I long for the things I have never had with my parents, living closer. We have always had these miles between us as jobs and husbands took me further away. I have missed much in their lives and they have missed much in my own.

I wish so often that this could change, but I know in my heart, I can never leave my own children to move closer and my parents just wouldn’t be home moving closer to us. So we settle. We wait for those phone calls, we stalk each other on social network, we plan time together and we wait for the chance to see each other once again.

Although we may have so many miles between us, although we miss a lot of the day to day stuff, we can never erase that feeling of going home. We embrace our time together and cherish those moments together. Until we meet again.



Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment: Sweet Laughter

Just A Single Moment:"Father and Son:"

Snowfall

Snowfall


Early morning dog walk,

brings biting winds

tore into my aching limbs.

Hobbling with the dogs,

who run circles around me

excited about their frolic

in the white powder.

Tall trees blanketed in white

groan with the wind,

I turn my head skyward,

to the top of the trees,

watch as they seem to nod

down at me in agreement,

limbs reaching out against

the bitter wind.

I hobble up the driveway

marveling at the trees

and self.

Aged with the years,

groaning against the cold

aching limbs in tune with

each other.

Teresa Gale

1/21/11

Dance of Dawn

The lazy fingers of dawn,
creep into my window,
shining in on me.

Dancing rays of light,

filter through smoky windows,
warming me with its touch.

I am awake!
Alive!
Thirsting for more of life.

I await the challenges of a new dawn,
seeking the surprises of the day,
I unwrap the day with trepidation.

The sunbeams call to me.
"Dance with me,
sing your song of life."

The illumination of light
plays a sweet melody,
serenading soft lullibies.

Not one to sleep,
nor willing for the lullabies
to lull me away,

I change the tune.
Dance to my own beat,
moving in the rhythm of the new song.

I welcome the dawn's fingers
as they beacon me to
join in the dance of day.

Teresa Gale

Setting Life Straight

Goal Setting


I did it and have only myself to blame. There is something about a New Year that makes me always want to wipe last years’ slate clean and start again. I love the New Year, it gets me motivated and moving. So when a Mom’s writing group that I belong to started a Goal setting group, I jumped in head first.

Well, I think I am in over my head.

I love making lists, have several notebooks full of notes, to do lists, appointments, resolutions and goals. This year is no different. However, when you count I am a lot older, have many more responsibilities, several children living with us and pets, hubby and over full time work, well, I jumped too high off the bridge.

I made a short list, then extended it, then laid it aside when exhaustion set in and was running to keep up with my writer friends. So, today I took a second look at my list and decided to expand more. I broke it up and my next step is to make plans on how to complete these goals.

It is not impossible, it is very probable. So why do I feel like I am drowning in a sea of over stimulation? Because my eyes are always bigger than the rest of me, my brain wants to cram more in than I am comfortable with, so I am re-thinking all this.

I mapped it out on paper, chopped it up in categories which I borrowed from my one of the writing mom’s and took a deep breath. If you are a list maker, I am sure you understand how it feels to make a long list and then cross one thing off, then another, then another until satisfaction or exhaustion sets in. I love seeing my accomplishments.

I will develop a plan and try not to be too stringent, but also, set a habit, a ritual so to speak to see myself off and complete my tasks.

I set up several categories, such as; Home, Ministry, Children, Work, Creativity, Family, Personal, etc. Then I broke them down further and my next plan is to develop steps and how many days per week I want to tackle some or all of my goals. Such as my Relationship Goals with God, I want to continue my daily bible reading, but add more worship and prayer time. I also want to read more inspirational books and develop or find my ministry in life. For Family, I want to spend more quality time, be more encouraging and supportive.

I am starting out late and slow, but today tackled a few of my goals. I wrote for fifteen minutes some gibberish, but I wrote. I completed two scrapbook pages for my creative goal and put together one small magnetic photo frame of my oldest granddaughter. I did a short journal entry, read, threw out two piles of paper for my organization goal and managed to get some house chores done. Whew! A lot in one day, but oh how wonderful it feels!

I have a habit, which I am sure many others do, in which I tend to let my busy life push back the things I really enjoy. I love to write, but seldom do enough to satisfy. I love to scrapbook, but only recently went back to it. I enjoy reading to the point of addiction, but only find time for small snatches of reading.

I am excited about setting my goals and I will be constantly evaluating my progress and re-vamping as necessary. If you are like me and really want to pursue some dreams or just get organized, consider writing down your goals, dreams, task and see what you think is possible. As for me, I am on a new journey and loving every moment.

Till we meet again.



Teresa Gale

Just A Single Moment

Garden of Love

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, a family was born. Each member of this extra-ordinary family was as different and unique as the flowers that once grew in their mother’s garden. Every member of the family bloomed and grew at different stages in their lives and when the wild weeds threatened to over-take and choke them out, the mother and father gardener would tend to the weeds.


The family grew in love and became one of the most beautiful bouquets their mother had ever seen. The years swiftly moved by and mother would often reminisce along with the father about how their once tiny infants had transpired into the strong adults that now stood before them. Mother mused often over the memory of each birth, each new beginning in their family and how the once small child felt in her arms.

A mother’s love grows deep as does the father and the hearts hold each precious moment, and the not so precious moments close. The family had many happy moments and at times suffered through many storms that threatened to tear them to bits. There were times that the family had to hold tight to what they knew was true in their hearts and struggle against the strong winds. Many times, just when the mother felt sure she could not with stand another storm of worry, the calm would set in and before her would stand a stronger child and a more loving family than she ever thought possible.

It was through these stormy times that they each grew stronger and blossomed even more lovely. Mother turned her worries over each time to her heavenly Father and prayed over each child and her husband until the peace enveloped her. She knew in her heart of hearts that God held their family in His mighty hands and that no matter what, they would survive.

Mother’s heart was overfilled with love for her children, so much so that often it felt as if her heart would burst from the joy she held. However, once the children grew and scattered in the wind like seeds of the flowers, planting themselves in other parts of the great city, mother felt at a loss. The once upon a time full house, that had been filled with noise, laughter and talking now felt silent and empty.

Mother and father felt truly blessed by each of their children and as hard as it was to see them leave and go out into the world on their own, they stood quietly back and watched. Sometimes, not so quietly, mother would voice her worry and give unwarranted advice much to the amusement of her husband and children.

One by one the children left the humble home of their mother and father and each time the mother’s heart felt like it was breaking in two. When the first one left, she cried for days, worrying over how young her little girl was and fretted over every little thing. As hard as it was, she supported her child’s decision, remembering how young she was when she had left her own home to build a life.

Then when the second one left, mother refused to help pack one box; instead she stood and snapped photos of her baby girl loading the truck that would take her out into the world and into a new life. Mother often helped the children build their homes, lending a hand to unpack but never assisting into the packing up of childhood dreams. The house seemed more quiet with two gone and her heart ached for them to return. Then before long child number three left and then the fourth and the fifth. Before long only the mother, the father and the youngest son was left in a home empty of the laughter that once filled it. The rooms groaned with the weight of sadness that often envelopes a family parting.

Soon however, more family members came to be and the mother and the father became even more blessed with the off-spring of their children. Children moved back in and back out and the circus of life began again. Their large family grew even larger with at first significant others, then husbands and at last grandchildren.

Often, at night, while her husband lay sleeping, mother would slowly walk through the still halls of the house and remember. Pictures lined walls and tables of each child and their children. She would smile at the memories the photo’s held, still shots of captured moments in their busy lives. Small imprints of hands from grandchildren marked the walls and she would remember how the same walls once held crayon marks and how upset she had been. Now her wish was to uncover these painted walls and let the marks remain. If only she had known then what she now held in her heart, never sweat the small stuff.

She wished she could turn back the hands on the clock and hold still. Why had she not played more? Why had she not snuggled them more, or listened more? It was life and the busy moments that often fill it that threaten to choke it just as weeds filled her garden.

It was in those quiet moments in the early mornings while most slept, that mother would miss her children. She would think of them, write in their journals her thoughts and love and worry over how they were.

The building of a family is never easy, each family takes bits and pieces of their past and their significant others past and bring with them memories and traditions to blend together. Sometimes it fits, sometimes it doesn’t. She hoped her children knew this or at the very least was learning it as they set out into the adult world.

The things mother found most difficult and least understood was the letting go of each child. There are moments in a child’s life in which you watch them take those first tentative steps and observe as they begin to wobble unsteadily. Mother would start to reach out, to try and prevent the falling, but often drew back her shaky hand and let them go. It is in the struggle to help, to watch painfully as the child grows into themselves that she felt the most helpless. There were times the children doubted her love, wanting her more involved and sometimes wishing she were less involved.

The mother knew in her heart that the only way her children would grow and become the strong individuals they were to become was to allow them to go on their own. Many times the mother and the father bit tongues, other times sarcasm in advise would spew forth, but in the end, they waited, they watched and they continued to love.

Each time the mother would struggle, she would call to mind a father and son from long, long, long ago. The father loved his son with such a love that his pride would swell and lightness would fill his heart. He watched his son grow, raised by others from afar. Even though he loved his son so very much, he knew it was best to allow two others to bring him up in the world. The father was never far from his son and often would speak to his child. Many times the father watched in pain as those in the city would bully his son, not understanding the strange and unique ways of the young man.

The son often turned to the father, knowing that wise advice would help him through matters and it was this bond that cemented their relationship. The son and the father were extremely close and the love that grew came from mutual respect. Other people could never understand the close relationship of parent and son.

One day though, the son fell into the hands of some very devious people who could not understand the father/son relationship, it threatened their very beings. Because they could not understand, they beat the son, they ridiculed him and finally, they killed him. The son’s father, his other parents stood by and watched all the while inside also were dying. The son however, in his last words turned to his tormenters and forgave them.

The mother drew from the stories she had heard and kept them close to her heart, for she knew the love of a parent and child was strong. The father had faced more pain than she could imagine when his son died and her heart ached at even the thought of this. The father knew best what lie ahead. Mother wished she could see into the future, know in her heart that her own children would find their own way and learn to love enough to forgive.

So for now, she would continue to watch her garden grow, her flowers bloom and life carry on. The seeds of her love would scatter in the wind and she learned to trust the Father knew best, even when she was unsure.

The Garden

The flower only grows

if there is sun to lift it up,

and if the rain nourishes.

Weeds must be pulled

so it does not choke off

the blooms.

Earth must be turned

over now and then to

loosen the hard ground.

In order to transplant

the flower, the roots

must be handled with care.

To let a garden grow rampant,

only allows it to go at risk

of losing it.

So much the garden can

teach us about love

and about life.

Teresa Gale

1/9/11

Just A Single Moment

Just a single moment in a day. Frozen Pond.