“Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.” —Mark Twain
They say in Missouri if you don’t like the weather, stick around a day, it will change! With snow and frigid temps in the forecast, a good night’s rest and recent health side effects diminishing, I had high expectations for my sunny Sunday.
Realistically, resistance was repealed. Mentally, fear was fended off. Emotionally, enthusiasm elevated. Spiritually, my Savior strengthened and supported me.
The bluff blew his bluff. Stumps couldn’t stump me. Lushness was lost, but the forest was heavenly.
The trail was tackled…just a tad. If tallying, it was only 1.5 miles. It was my trail of tender tears, talks with the trees, whispers by the water, and grounded grace. My soul sang.
My expectations aren’t too high or too low. They are just right.
“My soul, wait thou in silence for God only; For my expectation is from him.”—Psalms 62:5 (ASV)
photos courtesy of K.L. Hale, Spirngfield Conservation Nature Center, Missouri Department of Conservation, Springfield, MO.
“We tend to get what we expect.”
Norman Vincent Peale
My expectations aren't too high or too low. I’ll move forward with faith, Lo, my strength and health grow. K.L. Hale
“What do you see? What do you know?” I asked the big tree at site 35.
Tree replied, “I’ve been here many, many, many years. Years before all these people. The birds know what I know. The squirrels know what I know. See the geese family parading by? They know what I know. The possum, the woodchuck, the insects, and the grass know what I know.
I see people and their cars, RVs, and trappings. Hanging on to a lost art. Forming (or clinging to) a tradition. Attempting face-to-face, fires & fireflies, kids riding bikes, and the great escapes. Yet, more heads are down, and lines are blurred. Do you see that mother desperately needing attention? The Dad is stoic and stationary. The elderly couple made it by the skin of their faith- just now learning what it takes. The cancer survivor needs peace and hope. See that couple? They’re hanging on to their marriage by a very thin rope. That family of four has the least of stuff. They already know too much is just fluff. The dogs bark and play and provide fellowship. What do people today really worship?”
“Only one God created me. Do not worship me, said the tree. Just enjoy me. Nature is my home, my roots run deep, and my love never changes-it’s a promise I keep. No matter the things, the place, or the frills, what truly matters is what God fulfills.”
K.L. Hale
“We’re all sons and daughters, just ripples on the water. Trying to make it matter, until our time to leave. One day they’ll carve your name in stone, then send your soul on home. ‘Till then it’s praying for rain and pulling up the weeds, planting trees we’ll never see.”-Trees We’ll Never See (Amy Grant)
Thank you to my dear friend, Kim, for sharing this song. Enjoy this, friends.
Have you heard of NET, yet? 🦓
Did you have a good Memorial weekend? I pray you are all well. The timing for this holiday (and time out of treatment) was perfect. The echoes of small and precious voices ring throughout my quiet home. The voices of the adults I so love echo too. Hugs, love, playtime, food, …family. The perfect crowd. Handprints I don’t think I’ll clean. Memories made. It didn’t matter that the cancer is still here because so am I. Love and adrenaline boosted my energy. God provided strength. I’m resting now.
I’m 7 weeks out of my 3rd treatment. Typically, it’s weeks 7-12 that are my worst. For years I’ve known my symptoms and now, after 8 months, I’m familiar with when the P.R.R.T. side effects occur. My blood counts are dropping and my hope keeps rising. Thrombocytopenia is caused by low platelets and red, and white cells. Often I worry about my blood. As great as treatments can be, they also have many side effects. My feet might tingle and my bones hurt. It’s a hard balance-sitting versus staying active. There are a few new symptoms. If next week’s blood draw gives evidence of TOO low counts, I can be boosted. If you’ve followed my journey you know that this cancer can be masked by hypoglycemia (a type of diabetes), I.B.S., diarrhea, menopause, diabetes, arthritis (which in addition, doesn’t help the bones), and many other abdominal type issues that might go missed. Do you have unexplainable symptoms? If so, I encourage you to speak to your primary doctor. Be an advocate for yourself. Share what is going on. Don’t give up!
Thank you for your continued support and prayers. As my doctor stated, “This is a marathon, not a sprint!” Since it seems I’ve been in this for a while, I do find myself wanting to hand off the baton at times. God has his reasons. I accept it and will gladly continue my marathon with all of you helping to wipe off the sweat, put ice on the injury, yell in the stands (Batter Up!), and pray to our Great Physician. We all have our own marathons. Mine is no worse or better. It just is. Rather than compare our races, let’s all support the fact we’re in it together. “We’re all sons and daughters, just ripples on the water. Trying to make it matter, until our time to leave.”
As I gaze at the changing elms and maples around me I am reminded of their strength. Even with broken limbs coupled with the loss, gain, and change of leaves each season, one thing remains strong-their roots. As do mine. I am a Hale.
The memories of my visits to Grandpa and Grandma Hale’s doublewide are soul-secured. Although the distance between us was less than 20 miles it still felt like a long trek. Enjoying the journey over the rolling hills I knew we were close when the four females would all bend briefly right with driver Dad. It’s just ahead on the right after the grocery store.
Amidst their home were many others they sold. The smell of each “new” one still stings my thoughts and eyes (ah, the smell of the formaldehyde)! Alas, I’ve discovered my first love of trailers!
The gas station sat next door. Grandpa delivered propane and proudly wore his uniform (he had his name on it~I wanted one too). Grandma was the cashier. How lucky were my sisters and I to “run” a register? Even more fun was pecking the business calculator (note: even when my own two were young they loved playing with this. Although Grandma didn’t like having to replace the paper all the time). One-time Grandpa didn’t seem so happy about us girls “helping” in the station. We took our grape Nehi’s and scurried out (or did Grandpa escort us?).
When the family would gather a crew of cousins would mob the chow table. If it were a Sunday night us kids would hit the floor in time to hear the beginning of “The Wonderful World of Disney”! If lucky enough, I caught “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” before it.
The spare room kept us kids when the parents needed to get away. There were times we got “caught” going through Grandma’s scarves and shoes. But I loved most the signet ring Grandpa wore. Adoringly we called it his “bubblegum” ring (don’t ask me why we named it that). They had the perfect snow hill. Grandma would throw our wet clothes in the dryer, just like Mom did, so we could warm up quickly and return to the drop.
Once we were painting our nails (a very rare thing for me)
“Don’t get nail polish on my leather divan,” Grandma ordered. Well… it happened.
“Which one of you did it?”
Silence. (twins never blow the whistle on one another).
“Girls! God knows who did it even if you don’t tell me!”
One of us responded, “But he ain’t gonna tell you!”
K.L. Hale
Ouch! Sorry Grandma! “We love you!” “Isn’t it time to make homemade donuts?” “Can I vacuum for you?” Quick diversions and hugs of remorse segue nicely into another memory making moment.
It was 1984 when they moved to OUR TOWN. No more winding roads. They were just around the corner from me (this time a right and then a left bend). All I had to do was walk left to my parents. We lived on Chrysler Street (where I grew up). It was called the “horseshoe”. How blessed was I that I lived in my family circle?
Many years of Christmas breakfasts, croquet contests, garage sales, cook-outs, and table conversations were had at that house. Grandpa would have his scanner playing (along with the baseball game on his radio) and Grandma would curl her legs like a pretzel sitting cross-legged on the couch. Grandma always remained flexible and fashionable, Grandpa steady, hearty, and with a first-class laugh. The two of them resembled Bonnie and Clyde in one of my favorite pictures.
My family is a forest. Within it are so many exquisite types of trees. Our pipeline of root systems keeps us connected. Although sappy and alone at times we will not be uprooted. I am a Hale.
Afterword:
It was June of 1964 when Larry Hale (my Dad) married Darlene Wilson (my Mom). Darlene’s sister Connie married Steve Hale in 1967. Grandpa Hale (Gerald) was Larry’s father. Harold Hale (Gerald’s brother) was Steve’s Dad. Two Hale first cousins married Wilson sisters. You should see the look on faces when the “double” cousins try to explain it.
From “A River and Honey” to “To Hale and Back” my family is my everything. The ones we have lost are forever in our hearts and daily thoughts. The Hale’s and the Wilson’s- I am a piece of everyone of them in some way. May my faith stay unfaltering and my roots keep me forever grounded.
K.L. Hale
In honor of Mac Davis-I’ve always loved this song.
While Flannel with Faith is where I share my heart, Finley River Publishing is where you'll find my book and the shop collection. Read the story behind the collection here!
