Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Mourning before Easter

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Eden’s sick.

It started this afternoon with some bumps on her forehead that began to itch. Soon her whole face was red, inflamed and her head was hot.

I don’t know if she is having an allergic reaction to something she touched outside or if she has a virus.

Paul carried her up to bed and I tucked her in.

We talked about the video we watched earlier and how much we love it. We talked about Jesus and what he did for us. 
“It’s just so amazing and beautiful.” she said, yawning and turning to her side, snuggling in.
I stroked her hair, “It is, your’e right.”
“But it’s sad too.”

And then she began to cry about the new house, about how building it we lost so many of the trees that made it through the fire. In particular we lost the climbing tree, a large maple, that stood in the middle of our front yard.

“I was just getting tall enough to climb it, but I never got to.” She cried and I cried with her.

We talked about all the trees that were lost, some to the fire and others when we broke ground for the new house, despite our every effort to save them all. It is especially painful to have lost so much, to take stock of what remains, and then to lose that too. For Eden, losing her garden and the trees was  deep sorrow.

We talked about mourning, how the Bible says that blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

We talked about what mourning looks like: letting God know that you’ve been let down and telling him how that makes you feel. It’s also choosing to hope. I encouraged Eden to pray for a climbing tree.

“Mom, I know all the trees. I walk through our woods almost every single day.”

But we prayed and asked.

Please pray for my girl.

Booties

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Since Eden first got Oliver she has been wanting to get him some booties to wear. Yesterday I noticed that our local pet supply store had all their dog clothes marked way down, so we brought her back to check things out. I actually only saw coats and sweaters, but Eden found a little bag of booties right away, as well as a matching parka. Oliver has been needing one…apparently.
We emptied out the shopping cart full of sales clothes hunting for a parka in his size but no luck. We did score a little utility jacket, I kid you not.
We had been home about 30 seconds when Eden and Christopher were putting the booties on Oliver.

Sadly,  they were too big.  Eden slapped the jacket on him next and that was too small. We have decided to return everything tomorrow and bring Oliver with us to ensure the fit.

Fiction and Non

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I was talking with Eden the other day about writing and the fire.

She is an accomplished writer. When she was in Kindergarten she wrote a book for her dad, a memoir, as a gift for Father’s Day. The plan was originally for it to be forty pages (each page being a chapter) but she settled for twelve, I believe. She went on to write many more books all of which I stacked on top of the bookcase in the hall outside our bedroom. I walked right past it that last morning and I have wished, more than once, that I grabbed them on my way.

The other day I told Eden that someone had asked me to write a short account of the fire but I was having a little trouble.

She sat up straight. “You need to write her back and tell her (the editor) that it’s impossible; it’s going to be long or nothing at all. It’s impossible for it to be short. I was going to write a book about it but I decided not to because it’s too long.”

“You were going to write a book about the fire? When?” I said.

“In second grade.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Cuz in a book you have to write your feelings and all that stuff, but in a story you don’t have to. It’s just a story, such as:  ‘Henry held the frog. Henry thought the frog felt nasty.’ That’s random, but it’s something.”

I agreed. It was.

“In a story,” she continued, “you don’t have to say, ‘But I was really scared.’

O Happy Day!

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I’m sick today and recovering from a fall so this will be short.
I just wanted to let you see the face of  longing fulfilled.

Here she is looking up the number for our vet to schedule Oliver’s first appointment.  She spoke to the receptionist herself right up until we got to the calendar.  The receptionist was impressed and touched.

Forgive the quality of the photos.  There have been more than a few Mactography sessions.  I know Oliver looks quite mournful here, but he’s a cheerful little guy, unless you separate him from his happy girl.