Of two sisters one is always the watcher, one the dancer. ~Louise Glück

Can you guess which one is the free spirit, the dancer?

Ahhh...just remembering summer!

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The Cottages of Southport

Alright.  Day two of Kindergarten.  All is well.  I am trying to post something upbeat in an effort to move on in life!  Who knew I would have such an identity crisis because of kindergarten!  Thank you for your sweet words!

Last year, I posted some cottages in Southport {here.} 

 Southport is a quaint little town just south of Wilmington, NC.  It is a small fishing port, but big on cottage style and cuteness!

Rob entertains the kids for the day, so I can go walk around the town for a self-guided tour and some shopping.

Here are some hospitable greeters!

I love house art.  See the fish above the entrance?

Even the modern cottages have so much style.

Wouldn't you just love to hear the rain pelting down on these tin roofs on a rainy day?

So many of the houses are listed on the National Register of Historic Places and display the little black plaque for all to see.

The town sits right on the water.  Isn't this a lovely spot?

This one takes the cake for landscaping...just lovely.  How could it not be with that huge oak tree draping over?

Wednesday hosts a town market with fresh vegetables, flowers and goods.  We enjoyed the banjo and blues music.

The girls scout out the goods!

The Yacht Basin Provision Co. is a favorite of tourists!  Southern Living has recognized this little spot as a favorite, too and although it is sweltering to sit outside in August, it is worth it!

After some seafood, Flava's is a great place to stop for some homemade banana pudding ice cream!

So, after a few days of soul searching, I am going to take a course in web design through our community college!  I am helping my sister decorate her house (it is almost finished after the fire!) and I am going to help my sister-in-law decorate her baby's room.  I am thrilled to be back here at Three Pixie Lane, and I look forward to catching up with all of you!  Yes, I think those things will take my mind off of my baby!

Thanks for stopping by!

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A Treasure Hunt, Loggerhead Turtles and Letting Go

We spent the week before school at a sleepy little beach in North Carolina with Rob's family.  I love Caswell Beach, because it feels like a throwback in time; unchanged by the waves of modern society.  We had a house full of family and six kids!  A treasure hunt sounded fun!  The map was made from an old piece of fabric, burned around the edges and mapped out once we got there.

A treasure map in an old bottle seemingly washed up on the beach!

I used an old pharmacy bottle and attached the 'map' to a string.  Attach the string to a cork by staple or tape, so that the map is easier to pull out of the bottle.  You can put real wax on top of the cork, but we used aluminum foil to cover ours.

A band of 'pirates' find the map!

Items to be collected were a bucket, an eye patch, a pink star fish, a pirate flag, a deck of cards, a loggerhead turtle puzzle, and a treasure chest.  The map had to be followed to find the items!

Aarrggg!

The youngest 'pirate' finds the starfish!

Annabelle finds the flag!

The deck of cards is found near the 'deck!'  A pink set with pirate skulls wasn't too hard to find!

The loggerhead turtle puzzle was buried near the real loggerhead turtle nest, seen just behind my son.  We were thrilled to see the nests!  Incorporating the turtles into our treasure hunt helped with learning about these special creatures.  The size of a stone when hatched, it is hard to believe these turtles grow to be about 200 pounds with some reaching 1000 pounds! 

Clutch size averages around 115 eggs with the average incubation being 55 days.  Nesting takes place nocturnally, usually at 2 to 3 year intervals.  This 3-D puzzle makes the learning fun.  (See our 'deer' 3-D puzzle in the tree house.)

When we arrived at Caswell Beach, my daughter and I started to pray that we would see the little turtles hatch!  We were very excited to be able to see the hatchlings!  We had missed the journey of the hundred or so turtles make their descent to the ocean the night before, but were able to see the last of the babies the next night, three little guys, crawl their way to the great big ocean!  I couldn't take many shots because the flash of the camera would confuse them!

The kids find the spot marked, "X" and dig up the treasure!

The chest was full of small items left over from party favors.

But, you would think real gold and treasures were in that little trunk the way they all grabbed at the goods!  My guess is real pirates ended up...

here...

The Brunswick County Jail...

or the Old Smithville Graveyard...

Eerily beautiful!

No, our pirates ended up with some cupcakes from the local confectionery.

My baby grins with delight!

~

We parked behind the school and walked across the bus parking lot.  It was almost time for the bell to ring, so I told the children to run ahead.  I was, of course, carrying three large bags of wide-ruled paper, copy paper, pens, pencils, markers and crayons; enough for twenty kids, it seemed.  The humidity was low, and it was cool for this unusual August morning. August is usually the worst month of the year in South Carolina with its dreadful heat and steam coming off of the pavement as soon as the sun rises.  The early morning sun was beaming down on the bus parking lot, just barely above the school house. 

I could see my children running with their carapaced armor of backpacks trying to make their little refuge of seats before the bell rang.  And in a moment, as they ran toward the sun, they reminded me of the little loggerhead sea turtles racing toward the light of the full moon to the big, big ocean...to a place that could swallow them up in an instant.  My eyes fill and almost spill over as I think about those little turtles...my children...going off into the big world to fend for themselves.

  Then one of them stops.  I see her shoulders drop.  I can't see her head because of the bright sun.  Unable to run with all the supplies, it takes me several minutes to catch up.  She is crying.  My baby is crying.  She says, "Mama, I don't want to leave you."  I know I can't let her see the flood that is about to poor out of my head, so I try to remind her that we live right behind the school...that unlike those little turtles, she can always come home to her safe little nest.  I shift all the supplies that now feel like enough for a hundred kids, to one side and take her little hand. 

I wonder how the little logger turtles, no bigger than a pebble, make it to the water's edge and past the big waves without their Mama.  I wonder how Mama Logger lets them.  They are so little.  She is so little.  I just want to drop those bags of supplies, take her in my arms and run...run away from the huge waves that will engulf her...away from the world that wants to devour her!  I know we are probably going to be late, but I don't care.

I walk slowly and remember how just a blink ago, she and I would walk the older children to school and she would turn the corner of the building and say, "Come on, Mommy!  Let's go play tea party!"  Our most favorite thing to do. 

Today, I packed a small little tea cup in her lunch box with her juice.  It is the first day of kindergarten.  The school has asked that we not join the kids for lunch today, so that they can establish a routine. 

  I picture Mama Logger swimming just past the break of the waves looking for her babies to hatch and find their way to her...all one hundred of them.  I remember the little 'three' that we were blessed to see.  I pray they made it through the waves.  I pray my three make it through their first day of school.  I pray they learn and grow and...

come home to Mama.

Tomorrow, I will pack my little tea cup and join my baby for lunch.

I hope you are all having a better 'First Day' than I am!

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Welcome to Your Father's House

All the believers were together and had everything in common. ~Acts 2:44

 

Mac carried a picture of himself in his pocket.  It was a picture of ‘back then.’  He wore a black ski mask rolled up on his head in the photo.  He wore no smile.  If you ran into the man in the picture, you would have been afraid.  He looked angry; lost.  It was a picture of Mac ‘back then.’  Mac liked to show the picture.  It seemed to represent another life; another world; really, an entirely other man.  The Mac I knew was a godly man.  I can’t ever recall seeing him without a smile…

We drove for miles on McConnell’s Highway.  We turned down another country road and drove for many more miles into the belly of the South.  We passed fields and fields of cotton; not yet bursting forth the desired fruit of the farmer’s labor.  I pondered in my head why more people don’t grow cotton plants for the beautiful flowers they produce.

We passed the remnants of crops at summer’s end and found our turn down a long dirt road.  I wondered how anybody found this place.  It led us to a country church where Mac was being buried.

Because we were led in through the back of the church and not through the usual entrance, we took the seat closest upon entering; the front pew.  I guessed it was because Rob had been asked to speak that we dropped ourselves down at the front.  Now, I am not a ‘front pew’ kinda girl, but nor do I like a spectacle trying to find a seat.  I was keenly aware that the others on my pew were white folk.  I was embarrassed by this seeming act of segregation in the house of God.  It wasn’t intentional, but nonetheless, why was it so?  In a holy place that held over six hundred people, eight or so white people gathered on a front pew. 

Mac was sixty-one years old.  He was the finest man I knew.  There wasn’t a time that he didn’t visit us that he didn’t speak of the Lord.  Mac had this distinct laugh and an infectious smile.  Even as I conjure up images of him now, it is difficult for me to imagine Mac ‘back then.’  I only knew the Mac that loved the Lord with all of his heart.  This Mac was the only one my children had ever known.  He had been in their world for almost ten years; ever since they were born.    

Seeing Mac every week, my children thought of him like a grandfather.  Mac didn’t have any grandchildren, and he loved my kids.  When Mac was diagnosed with cancer just a few months ago, we visited him regularly in the hospital.  He would console us.   The kids and I would take turns praying for a miracle.  His greatest desire was the will of God.  I don’t know that I have ever seen someone so trusting and accepting as Mac.  Yes, he was on fire for the Lord.  Now, six hundred people gathered to share his life story and his ‘home going.’

The service was different than what I was used to at a funeral.  There were tears, laughter, clapping, outbursts, and praise; a roller coaster of emotions.  The incredible gospel music followed the rhythm of stomping feet and the clapping of hands.  It was the most heartfelt and beautiful music I had ever heard.  Much of the sermon, the readings and kind words from friends were interjected with words such as, ‘Amen’, ‘Hallelujah’,’ Yes, Lord’,’ Come on’,’ Praise Him’, and ’ Uhhhmmmm.’

The service lasted almost three hours.  I don’t think my children would have lasted so long, but they would have loved to have seen this wonderful service given in glory to God for a man that we all loved.  I could have stayed three more hours.

For one of our visits to see Mac in the hospital, the children drew pictures of what they thought heaven would look like.  Oh, he loved the visits with the children.  On our last visit, he told us that he had seen ‘Paradise.’  I remember feeling so close to the Lord and to heaven, while sitting next to a man who had just seen a glimpse.  Appropriately, my son drew a castle with a sign on the front saying, “Welcome to your Father’s House.”  Not long after, Mac would go to that castle and stand outside the door where it read, “Welcome Mac.  You are Home.  Welcome to your Father’s House.” 

I cried at this service for Mac.  Rob recounted our friendship through the years and how Mac had impacted our lives.  I thought of how my children had cried and the look on their little faces, when we told them Mac had passed.  I cried because it was the most incredible service and sermon I had ever heard in my life.

I cried because Mac and I have something in common.  We both have a photo of ‘back then.’  As the words were shared about his life, I could relate.  I cried because this church was alive.  It wasn’t afraid of shouting out praises.  It wasn’t afraid of how it looked.  It resonated with the most beautiful sound from the choir with just a simple beat.  I could picture Mac’s procession to that front door of the Lord’s house while hearing the sound of his church choir with the slow hum and steady beat that burst into an incredible and glorious sound.

At some point, I found myself shouting out the same words that were being interjected by others during the service.  I found myself standing with hands giving praise; unaware of the fact that I was the white girl on the front pew, who usually doesn’t like to draw attention.   I might have looked in the minority, but I was in the majority of those who were there to worship the Lord and pay respect to a man we all loved.  I felt love in this room; in this holy place to worship our Lord.     

Mac and I have something else in common.  We share the same Father.  God doesn’t see the color of our hair or skin.  He doesn’t care what we look like.  He sees our hearts.  When we stand outside the door, God doesn’t peak through the peep hole and decide based on what we look like, whether or not He will let us in.  No, He sees our hearts.    

Thank you, Mac for loving my family.  You treated me like a sister.  Brother, I hope to see you again when I come a knockin’ on the door of our Father’s House.  You finished well, my friend.  We will miss you.

Blessings on this 'Life Lessons' Sunday!

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