Thursday, February 02, 2006
Grace Triumphant 014
March 12, 2005, Addendum
Today was the closest to normal yet. Amy Carmichael does much of the family shopping at second hand stores, although she can turn out beautiful new clothes on her sewing machine and sometimes makes the jeans that the boys or Rosie wear. Mark, nine-year old Peter, and little Rosie all have long legs and are hard to fit from the store.
"I made the boys denim jackets just like Jim's from the time they could walk," she said. "Before denim jackets came back into style."
We picked up a few bargains. My little Rachel has never shopped in a second hand store, and she wrinkled her nose when we went inside. But she was curious. She is her mother's child, so the idea that you could save money by purchasing second hand goods in excellent condition and end up with money afterward strongly appealed to her.
It surprised me, when we got back into the family van, when Amy Carmichael entertained Rachel by telling her stories from college as we drove on her round of errands. They opened a brand new world for my little girl.
"Do you remember the Cap'n Crunch fight?" Amy Carmichael asked me.
"Tell me, tell me!" Rachel exclaimed.
"Amy Carmichael you cried when Polly and Marcia got into that fight!" I exclaimed. After 15 years I still felt reticence, for her sake, to discuss it.
"Well I'm not going to cry now," she exclaimed, and she told the story, with even more embellishments than I ever added to it, about how Polly and Marcia back at GIBC had started a fight over access to the mirror that ended with Cap'n Crunch flying everywhere. She described the way Marcia had stuffed it all back into the box after Polly had stormed out, including a generous amount of dust, hairballs, nail clippings, and pieces of dead insects from the carpet. The truth came out the next morning when Polly poured her cereal.
Little Rachel howled with laughter, and I saw Amy Carmichael's eyes alight, a smile playing on her lips as she glanced in the rear view mirror to see my daughter laughing herself to tears in the seats behind us.
"Mama," Rachel asked as she got control over her laughter. "Did you really break up the fight?"
"I don't remember it quite that way," I told her. "From what I remember, I went in to make sure nobody was dead."
This sent my daughter off into peals of laughter again. Amy Carmichael smiled again as she watched the road. "I thought you broke it up, Grace."
"No, they were finished. Don't you remember that Polly was in her slip and heels and she wrapped up in her coat and went right to the Dean of Women's office, ripping out curlers as she went down the hall?" Then I added, "I was pretty brave, but even I wasn't brave enough to get between Marcia and Polly when they were fighting toe to toe."
"Mama were you brave?" Rachel asked, startled.
'Your mother is still brave, darling," Amy Carmichael told her, and suddenly she looked like her old self, the young woman of high ideals who discovered that she loved Jim and had to get away from the machine at GIBC. Her eyes became huge, not with fear or emotion, but like she suddenly saw again the same things she realized then: there's only love and its labor that makes a marriage work; there's only love that works for any Christian. "And your mother is wise, dear," she added. Because I had been telling her that all along.
We did more shopping and had lunch at a little family restaurant. I paid for my host. Jim and Amy Carmichael are generous, but they live on a tight budget, and I want to be more aware of ways to be generous with them.
Jim came home at three to work with James Jr and Mark on a cabinet project out in his workshop. He got in ahead of the boys, so he had coffee with us in the kitchen. But when the boys and Rosie came home from school, Rachel met them with the exclamation, "Aunt Amy says Mom is brave!"
Jim strode into the front cloak room that the children use to hang up their coats. "Of course your mother's brave," he said. Then to the boys and Rosie he added, "Aunt Gracie got your mother out of horrible place where she was a prisoner. I came and got her, but it was Aunt Gracie that planned the whole thing and pulled it off."
Even James Jr stopped on this. He was pulling on his work jacket to wear in the unheated workshop. They all stared at me. "For real?" Mark asked.
"Absolutely for real," Jim said. "Your Aunt Gracie's about the bravest woman I ever met. I think she's braver than I am."
Rosie giggled. "No,"' she said with a laugh. She thought he was teasing. Big tall Jim smiled down at his daughter for her unquestioning confidence in him.
Before he could make an answer, James Jr said, "Dad, you never told us that story."
Amy Carmichael came in then and he put his arm around her. "That's because my life began when your mother married me," he said. "We knew God was going to give each one of you to us; and for us, that was life and happiness, to have each other and all of you. So I never told you about things before then."
"Will you tell us now?" Charles Lee asked.
Jim put his fists on his hips. "We all have work to do. Boys, we have to work on those cabinets, and everybody has homework, and Mom and Aunt Gracie will see to dinner. So let's put in our work and eat dinner, and then we'll have popcorn and I'll tell everybody the story."
I admired Jim. His sons think so highly of him that they don't complain about working with him, and the prospect of hearing him tell a story after dinner interests them. Ben wanted to go along and watch the wood work, and Jim said yes.
Amy Carmichael told me, as she sorted through ingredients to pick something for supper, that Jim's own father had "worked" Jim and his brothers for two hours after school every day from the time they were in junior high school. That was how Jim had learned to build houses.
Jim had learned woodworking on his own, and during slow times at work he would come home early to instruct and assist his older two sons as they learned the craft. Otherwise, as long as Amy Carmichael was nearby, they could carry out specific tasks they had already learned.
Amy Carmichael laughed outright when I commented on how nice it was to see that the boys didn't mind working with their father.
"James Jr has been pestering his father to hire him part time in the summers," she said. "And Mark says that if James gets to work with him when James is sixteen, then Mark has to be allowed to when he's sixteen. I think every one of them wants to work with him. Of course, Jim and his own brothers still work together. Dolux and Robert have regular jobs, but they come in and help Jim on Saturdays if he needs them."
Dolux and Robert are just two of Jim's brothers. I have no idea what the name "Dolux" means or even if I am spelling it correctly.
It had been a peaceful day, and I felt more like my old self. During our excursion I had turned on my cell phone to check the time, and I forgot to turn it off. As Amy Carmichael and I chatted and peeled potatoes in the kitchen while the early winter night fell, the cell phone suddenly trilled at me.
Honestly, the trilling of the tone actually sounded frantic. I knew it was Greg. Amy Carmichael looked at me. "I can't speak to him" I said.
"Just look to make sure it really is him, Grace."
I plucked it up and looked at it, but it was a number I didn't recognize, a North Carolina number but not one that was familiar right away. Then I realized who it was. "It's Greg's mother," I said. I looked at Amy Carmichael. But Greg's mother is a good woman, and I have always respected her.
I put the phone to my ear. "This is Grace," I said.
I will write more tomorrow, Lord willing.
|
Today was the closest to normal yet. Amy Carmichael does much of the family shopping at second hand stores, although she can turn out beautiful new clothes on her sewing machine and sometimes makes the jeans that the boys or Rosie wear. Mark, nine-year old Peter, and little Rosie all have long legs and are hard to fit from the store.
"I made the boys denim jackets just like Jim's from the time they could walk," she said. "Before denim jackets came back into style."
We picked up a few bargains. My little Rachel has never shopped in a second hand store, and she wrinkled her nose when we went inside. But she was curious. She is her mother's child, so the idea that you could save money by purchasing second hand goods in excellent condition and end up with money afterward strongly appealed to her.
It surprised me, when we got back into the family van, when Amy Carmichael entertained Rachel by telling her stories from college as we drove on her round of errands. They opened a brand new world for my little girl.
"Do you remember the Cap'n Crunch fight?" Amy Carmichael asked me.
"Tell me, tell me!" Rachel exclaimed.
"Amy Carmichael you cried when Polly and Marcia got into that fight!" I exclaimed. After 15 years I still felt reticence, for her sake, to discuss it.
"Well I'm not going to cry now," she exclaimed, and she told the story, with even more embellishments than I ever added to it, about how Polly and Marcia back at GIBC had started a fight over access to the mirror that ended with Cap'n Crunch flying everywhere. She described the way Marcia had stuffed it all back into the box after Polly had stormed out, including a generous amount of dust, hairballs, nail clippings, and pieces of dead insects from the carpet. The truth came out the next morning when Polly poured her cereal.
Little Rachel howled with laughter, and I saw Amy Carmichael's eyes alight, a smile playing on her lips as she glanced in the rear view mirror to see my daughter laughing herself to tears in the seats behind us.
"Mama," Rachel asked as she got control over her laughter. "Did you really break up the fight?"
"I don't remember it quite that way," I told her. "From what I remember, I went in to make sure nobody was dead."
This sent my daughter off into peals of laughter again. Amy Carmichael smiled again as she watched the road. "I thought you broke it up, Grace."
"No, they were finished. Don't you remember that Polly was in her slip and heels and she wrapped up in her coat and went right to the Dean of Women's office, ripping out curlers as she went down the hall?" Then I added, "I was pretty brave, but even I wasn't brave enough to get between Marcia and Polly when they were fighting toe to toe."
"Mama were you brave?" Rachel asked, startled.
'Your mother is still brave, darling," Amy Carmichael told her, and suddenly she looked like her old self, the young woman of high ideals who discovered that she loved Jim and had to get away from the machine at GIBC. Her eyes became huge, not with fear or emotion, but like she suddenly saw again the same things she realized then: there's only love and its labor that makes a marriage work; there's only love that works for any Christian. "And your mother is wise, dear," she added. Because I had been telling her that all along.
We did more shopping and had lunch at a little family restaurant. I paid for my host. Jim and Amy Carmichael are generous, but they live on a tight budget, and I want to be more aware of ways to be generous with them.
Jim came home at three to work with James Jr and Mark on a cabinet project out in his workshop. He got in ahead of the boys, so he had coffee with us in the kitchen. But when the boys and Rosie came home from school, Rachel met them with the exclamation, "Aunt Amy says Mom is brave!"
Jim strode into the front cloak room that the children use to hang up their coats. "Of course your mother's brave," he said. Then to the boys and Rosie he added, "Aunt Gracie got your mother out of horrible place where she was a prisoner. I came and got her, but it was Aunt Gracie that planned the whole thing and pulled it off."
Even James Jr stopped on this. He was pulling on his work jacket to wear in the unheated workshop. They all stared at me. "For real?" Mark asked.
"Absolutely for real," Jim said. "Your Aunt Gracie's about the bravest woman I ever met. I think she's braver than I am."
Rosie giggled. "No,"' she said with a laugh. She thought he was teasing. Big tall Jim smiled down at his daughter for her unquestioning confidence in him.
Before he could make an answer, James Jr said, "Dad, you never told us that story."
Amy Carmichael came in then and he put his arm around her. "That's because my life began when your mother married me," he said. "We knew God was going to give each one of you to us; and for us, that was life and happiness, to have each other and all of you. So I never told you about things before then."
"Will you tell us now?" Charles Lee asked.
Jim put his fists on his hips. "We all have work to do. Boys, we have to work on those cabinets, and everybody has homework, and Mom and Aunt Gracie will see to dinner. So let's put in our work and eat dinner, and then we'll have popcorn and I'll tell everybody the story."
I admired Jim. His sons think so highly of him that they don't complain about working with him, and the prospect of hearing him tell a story after dinner interests them. Ben wanted to go along and watch the wood work, and Jim said yes.
Amy Carmichael told me, as she sorted through ingredients to pick something for supper, that Jim's own father had "worked" Jim and his brothers for two hours after school every day from the time they were in junior high school. That was how Jim had learned to build houses.
Jim had learned woodworking on his own, and during slow times at work he would come home early to instruct and assist his older two sons as they learned the craft. Otherwise, as long as Amy Carmichael was nearby, they could carry out specific tasks they had already learned.
Amy Carmichael laughed outright when I commented on how nice it was to see that the boys didn't mind working with their father.
"James Jr has been pestering his father to hire him part time in the summers," she said. "And Mark says that if James gets to work with him when James is sixteen, then Mark has to be allowed to when he's sixteen. I think every one of them wants to work with him. Of course, Jim and his own brothers still work together. Dolux and Robert have regular jobs, but they come in and help Jim on Saturdays if he needs them."
Dolux and Robert are just two of Jim's brothers. I have no idea what the name "Dolux" means or even if I am spelling it correctly.
It had been a peaceful day, and I felt more like my old self. During our excursion I had turned on my cell phone to check the time, and I forgot to turn it off. As Amy Carmichael and I chatted and peeled potatoes in the kitchen while the early winter night fell, the cell phone suddenly trilled at me.
Honestly, the trilling of the tone actually sounded frantic. I knew it was Greg. Amy Carmichael looked at me. "I can't speak to him" I said.
"Just look to make sure it really is him, Grace."
I plucked it up and looked at it, but it was a number I didn't recognize, a North Carolina number but not one that was familiar right away. Then I realized who it was. "It's Greg's mother," I said. I looked at Amy Carmichael. But Greg's mother is a good woman, and I have always respected her.
I put the phone to my ear. "This is Grace," I said.
I will write more tomorrow, Lord willing.
