I had everything ready for this post before the phone call. I'd even saved the draft copy on the blogsite. Vi was a special family friend. With her husband, a crusty old many with a heart of gold, she babysat our girls when they were small. More than babysat, she loved them.
Vi delighted in dancing as a younger woman. But she has walked with difficulty and pain all the years I have known her. I wonder if she's dancing now?
I cried a bit this afternoon, rather glad for a load of firewood that needed stacking -- something to occupy me while my mind savoured special memories. I hope I can share a tribute at her funeral, or better yet, have one of my daughters share a tribute.
Vi never accomplished the things our world labels as greatness. A stay-at-home wife and mother, she fostored more than 100 children. She called them her kids. They called her "Mom." It's a little word, but it speaks volumes. We came on the scene in later years, but she still had measureless love to give to young children. She never accomplised the things our world thinks are great, but is there a better investment anywhere, than in loving children? I can't measure her impact on our family, and I've met only a few of the children she fostered. But I have a hunch there is a lineup in heaven, waiting to welcome her, thanking her, celebrating a life that has earned God's applause.
Vi needed a Giant Print Bible years ago, but found the bulk and weight almost too much to handle. She delighted in pictures of our grandchildren, although we never know how much she could actually see. I wonder what she sees today?
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Yellow crocuses will be blooming any day in our flower beds, although the snow has not yet given up. Daffodils will follow them very shortly. I can turn from this computer screen and watch birds in a pair of blue-spruce that now reach 30 feet high, though I carried them home in small pots and planted them many years ago. A pair of robins nest in one of those trees most years. A soft maple spreads branches with buds just beginning to swell. Pale blue seeps through the thin cloud cover. Jet contrails often etch that sky, although none show at the moment. In the past week I have seen and hugged every one of my grandchildren, one of them still scabbed from a recent bout with chicken-pox. Vision -- eyesight -- do any of us grasp the wonder, the blessing?