Out of the mouth of babes...

"I had a big splinter in my foot but my dad was still alive so he pulled it out."  

This was a profoundly consuming week.  

That quote?  

Spoken with such truth and innocence by the seven year old daughter of a friend, that it pricked my heart with the earthly finality that it conveyed.  Another friend had brought this child and the child's five year old sister to a park day we had planned.  "What a good memory of your dad," my wise friend responded without missing a beat. 

Some years ago a group of home school moms began getting together.  The group has had different takers over time, we all attend different churches, but somehow through a web of connections our lives  have been woven together.  This week the husband of one of these dear women died of a heart attack.  The sweet teller of the splinter story is one of the six children left behind.  

This week I thought of 'light' blogs from the places of enjoyment that sustained me.  There were also reassuring  Summit Summer hikes, pleasantly mundane things like laundry, shopping for my step-niece's upcoming wedding, and Thirteen's golf camp.  But the undercurrent was ever present,  waking me up at night or early in the morning.  You see, this circle of home school moms also holds the friend who awaits 'the call' for a new liver.  Though very fragile, she somehow plans for the school year and calls to ask what kind of sweet peppers were on that sandwich I made her.  The need is real and deep and can wash over you and leave you gasping and questioning, seeking counsel and perspective...where is it?  Where is the boundary?  Where is it?  Where is it? Where do you find the true boundary?  How do you decipher between wise service, true need,  and your own selfish flesh that screams out for untroubled, idyllic summer days on the lawn sipping iced tea?  

Friday afternoon I went blueberry picking with an Oldest-and-Dearest--you know, one of those friends from your early twenties?  One of those who attended your wedding and was there when the kids were born?  We weren't able to go early in the day so we went in the hot afternoon, slathered on sunscreen, and picked.  For nearly three hours we sweated and picked.  In the quiet, and in the sometimes overwhelming loudness of a SE Asian tonal conversation on a nearby row, we talked about loss and responsibility, and the realness of human feeling and struggle about such matters.  I shared some of the counsel we received this week (some of which was hers) and she shared about their journey as caregivers/guardians of a disabled, adult orphan, and the recent death of her mother.  29 combined pounds of blueberries later (not counting the ones we ate) she picked up the tab and my extreme gratefulness for the honesty of her stories and for allowing me to share mine.